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Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 01

By: nortythorts



This story goes back to when there were no mobiles and no internet or e-mail, so "Dating" personal adverts were largely confined to newspapers, with voicemail for a prerecorded message to be heard and responded to. Telephone kiosks abounded, too. In the UK they had closing doors and were made up of tiny, thick, near-vandal-proof panes of glass and had heavy, self-closing doors.

It isn't autobiographical apart from the neighbour-fixation, and the two glimpses of his neighbour when in his late teens are true events. Names and descriptions have been changed though.

All names are fictional (including, as far as I am aware, the town name) and all characters are over the age of 18.

Although I got a kick out of reading the ads, I never responded to any, so please excuse any inaccuracies.

This is simply a slow smouldering introduction – if you don't like that sort of thing, that's your prerogative, the next chapter will be hotter...

_____________________________________________



She stubbed out her cigarette and looked through her latest draft for the advert, having already torn up eight previous versions.

It was hard to phrase it to attract responses without sounding too desperate or slutty. She wanted "no-strings adult fun" – she liked this euphemism for "sex" – but was afraid of attracting the wrong kind of respondent.

She copied out her final draft one last time, folded it and slid it into the envelope she had addressed and to which she had already stuck a postage stamp. Preferring anonymity she did not write out a cheque, but had purchased a postal order for the payment. She enclosed this in the envelope as well, sealed it, and put it into her handbag.

She didn't post it that day, though, nor the next, nor the one after that. She knew that in delaying she had missed the deadline for that week's publication date. Her indecision and the resulting delay annoyed her – she thought she had already overcome her doubts and apprehension.

It was such a sordid thing to do, though. Most of the advertisers in the "personal" column of the local newspaper were seeking romance. She wasn't. She had divorced her husband just over seven months earlier for cheating on her. She had come home early from work one day due to a severe migraine, and had caught her husband – on their bed – with a blonde leggy woman at least ten years his junior with her face between his thighs. The bed springs creaked rudely and mockingly as she bobbed up and down before suddenly pulling away to cover herself up in her shame and shock.

She was now getting over the divorce and starting to recover her self-esteem. She was a long way off recovering her ability to trust a man, though, and most certainly didn't want a relationship. But she missed sex. Not just the physical act, but the emotional release it gave, the assurance of being feminine, desirable, the physical intimacy of holding and being held, caressing and being caressed.

She still wore her wedding ring for much of the time, mainly to deter unwanted attention.

So she had plucked up the courage to try this possible solution. And, on the eighth day after writing out the advert she finally posted it. Even then, she had walked past three pillar boxes with the letter in her hand but had lacked the nerve to post it. When she finally did so, her stomach churned for a while. She had taken a step that, whilst not irreversible, was a pretty major one. Moreover, to her conscience, it was very much a downward step.

She went over the wording over and over in her head, and even though she had agonised over several drafts and even though it was too late to amend anyway, she thought of some better ways she could have worded it. But it was too late now.

She tried to imagine the kind of person who might get contact her. She hoped it would be someone pleasant, decent, and, within reason, their appearance was of little importance. Some pleasant daydreams came to her mind. So did some nightmare scenarios and characters. Excitement, fear and guilt dogged her.

She counted down the days to the publication date. Each day she felt more apprehensive, ashamed, and unsure of herself.

_________________________

Dave was visiting his parents for a long weekend. He had taken a few days off work to extend his stay. Since graduating from college he lived and worked about eighty miles away, but visited every couple of months or so. 

That morning he skimmed through the local newspaper, and as he neared the advert section he discreetly raised the paper higher to hide from his parents the page he was browsing.

He had often looked through the "Personal/Meeting Place" ads, and on a couple of occasions had even rung the pre-recorded voice message (just to listen, not to leave a message), just for kicks. Two caught his eye today. One was from a "broadminded twenty-five year old, busty, seeking men, any age, looks unimportant, for fun times." He wondered whether the ad was really from a woman who was simply a nymphomaniac or whether it was a slightly sneaky advert from a prostitute. 

The other that caught his eye sent a twinge of excitement through him. "Attractive, late 30s blonde, good SOH, med build, disillusioned, WLTM considerate male, 20-30 for no-strings adult fun. Discretion required & assured."

His stomach fluttered with naughty delight. He tried to imagine the woman who had placed the ad. He wondered whether her hair was long or short, straight, wavy or curly. He wondered whether she was tall or short, plump or even fat, plain, or attractive, busty or flattish-chested. 

From the need for discretion he guessed that she was married, and smiled to himself as he built up a picture in his mind. A lady with a plain face, slightly plump and with medium breasts, with straight, shoulder-length, dark-straw hair was what he arrived at. And married. Neglected at home and wanting it. Very naughty – and very tantalising!

He cast his mind back several years when he had first noticed these kind of adverts, and thought of the fascination they had held for him in his late teens. He had been too young – and too shy – to act on them then. Now... now he was just too shy. And... well, too decent to get involved in sex with a stranger. Probably.

He also cast his mind back to some of the women about whom he had fantasised in those earlier days. He had attended an all-boys' school and, although he had met a few girls at a youth club, it wasn't until he went to college at the age of nineteen that he had the confidence to ask any out. The only females with whom he had any real contact until then were women rather than girls. And in the main they were of similar age to his parents, friends of theirs or neighbours.

Like most lads his age, he had often masturbated as he called this one or that one to mind.

He cast his mind back now to one of his mother's friends, Kath. She always wore smart clothes that made her seem very sexy, and her hair began to grey prematurely, giving her a distinguished look. There was another lady, Paula, who helped to run the youth club. Then there was the lady who ran the local grocery shop with her husband. All married, all in their late thirties or early forties compared to his youthful and inexperienced eighteen years of age. All were sexy in a natural, non-overt way. All were unattainable –and perhaps the more desirable because of it.

But one other woman overshadowed the rest. Mrs Martin, the next-door neighbour. His pulse quickened even now as he thought of her. She had been in her mid thirties at the time. She and her husband Paul weren't on particularly close terms with his parents, but they passed the time of day and helped each other out from time to time. They had later – three or four years ago – moved out the area.

Mrs Martin...

Even allowing for his somewhat frustrated frame of mind at the time, she was undoubtedly one sexy woman. His dad noticed her. So did other neighbours, though she did nothing overt to encourage the looks and glances she attracted. She was just inherently sexy, yet classy. She usually wore skirts that were quite short (though not so short that she looked cheap in them). She was about five feet four inches tall, and slightly plump without being fat. Her legs were shapely and her thighs fleshy. Her breasts seemed in perfect proportion to her build. In retrospect he guessed now that they were probably B-cup. 

She was facially attractive, too, with high, prominent cheekbones and a slightly dark complexion. His mother had said she might have some Italian or Spanish blood in her. That might also explain her near-black hair colour, too. Her hair was always smart and her make-up was applied subtly but to good effect. And she was outgoing and confident. To him she had been the ultimate sexy housewife. He had masturbated to the thought of her time without number. And as he thought back over the past seven or eight years he still remembered her with lust.

Mrs Martin... 

He had always felt it would be over-familiar to call her by her first name and had always called her and thought of her by her title and surname. It seemed naughtier, too, to keep in mind her married status whenever he thought of her, which was often, and when he masturbated to mental images of her – which at the time probably averaged at least once a day.

As he pretended to browse through the newspaper at his parents' house he recalled the few but delicious times when she had given him a lift. He had been painfully aware of the nearness of her thighs and her breasts to his hands, and found it hard not to leer at her. Truly those journeys had been delicious yet awkward, being alone in a car with this sexy, married woman. More importantly, was sexually experienced whilst he was a virgin at the time.

There had been two particular occasions from that period that made a powerful and lasting impression on him. 

One summer day he was sitting in the garden with his mother. Mrs Martin usually arrived home just after four, and he often found an excuse to be in the garden or near the window so that he could glance at her. On this occasion he heard her car pull into the driveway, and glanced up as soon as he heard the car door close and her stilettoed footsteps on the drive. 

She dropped something and, turning her back, she bent forward – right down – to pick it up. He caught a brief glimpse of the backs of her legs and even of her pink lacy knickers. Not a tiny g-string or thong or even brief, flimsy panties. But neither were they big off-putting bloomers, either. They were the sort of practical yet slightly pretty thing a thirty-something woman would wear to work. But he had seen them, even though it had only been a fleeting glimpse. And she had flashed them. She had actually bent forward and let him see right up her skirt. What a minx!

When Mrs Martin had gone into the house and shut the door, his mother had blurted out her shock.

"Did you see that?" she had asked him. He had pretended he didn't know what she meant, and after all he was wearing mirrored sunglasses (they were all the rage at the time) that allowed him to look in a certain direction without giving it away.

His mother had shaken her head and tutted.

"She... she bent right over and... well, she even showed her knickers!"

Dave had just shrugged his shoulders and pretended to read his book. 

After that he had found Mrs Martin even more enticing. He wondered whether the display she had given was entirely innocent and unintentional, though her subsequent behaviour or conversation when he was around remained unchanged, even on the odd occasion when he was alone in her car with her. 

And yet... she was a grown woman in her thirties. He found it hard to believe that she hadn't been aware of what she had done. And the more he had thought about it, the more sure he became that it had been deliberate. After all, she had seen that he and his mother were in the garden. It was unnecessary for her to bend forward with her back to them to pick up whatever she had dropped, especially as she knew that she was in their view. She could just as easily have squatted to do so. Or she could even have bent forward facing them, which would have kept her bum – that enticing, pink-knicker-clad bum – from sight! Maybe she had even dropped something deliberately in order to flash her bum. The reason remained a mystery, but he was sure it had been a deliberate act.

The other incident was even more taboo, but was certainly entirely unintentional. Even after the passage of several years Dave felt a twinge of arousal as he recollected it.

One summer evening she went out with her husband. They arrived back very late and Mr Martin parked the car on the drive close to their front door. Dave's bed was under the window. He was still awake and, as was his custom on such occasions, he had sat up in bed and gently eased the outer edge of his bedroom curtain aside an inch or so, just enough to peep between it and the wall. The car doors opened, and Mr and Mrs Martin got out. He heard hushed voices, then to his amazement, Mrs Martin suddenly squatted on her haunches on the drive in front of the car and close to the front corner of the house. She was shielded from view from almost anybody on the street – though she had not considered the possibility of her lustful young next-door neighbour watching. Mr Martin disappeared up the drive to the back door as she did so.

Dave had watched in shock and delight as Mrs Martin hitched up her skirt (though admittedly he could see nothing) and remained squatting for a couple of minutes. Then she stood up and straightened her skirt. She glanced quickly to her left and right along the street to check that nobody was looking. Dave was half sorry and half relieved that she hadn't glanced up towards his bedroom window, though he was confident that she would not have been able to see him in his unlit room, nor the slight gap at the edge of the curtain. She then hurried up the path.

Any trace of doubt of what she had done was dispelled by the small pool of liquid where she had squatted. It glistened in the subdued light from the street lamp across the road, and trickled lazily down the tarmac drive and under the car.

The incident had a huge and lasting effect on him. He remembered it vividly still, years later. How he had longed for her to be his first sexual adventure! But, of course, she wasn't.

By now Dave was twenty-six years old and had had several girlfriends, some serious, others less so. He had had sex a fair number of times, too. But to be truthful he still found his head often being turned by the sight of a woman in her thirties or forties.

On and off over the next couple of days he kept thinking about the advert. He played with the sordid idea of ringing the number to listen to a voicemail message of the woman in question, just for fun, to hear her voice. The idea kept recurring, though, and it seemed more and more appealing.

Over the evening meal on the second day of his visit, Dave's dad had joked about misplacing things when he was doing jobs around the house. He admitted that he had recently lost a hammer and a screwdriver on the same day. Dave said that he planned to go into town the next morning and offered to buy replacements for him.

The town centre was within walking distance, and Dave set off. But before he did, he turned impetuously back to that tempting advert and scribbled down the telephone number. After all, it wouldn't do any harm just to ring and listen to the woman's voice. He shoved a handful of loose change into his pocket.

As he walked along he toyed briefly with the crazy idea of going beyond just listening, and of actually making contact. He dismissed it. There was no way he would leave a message to tease or taunt her, or simply to gratify himself at the expense of her feelings. It would be enough – and safer – jut to listen to the voice. Just before he reached the town centre he spotted a telephone booth. He stepped into it, looked up and down the street guiltily through the tiny panes of glass, and pulled out the scrap of paper from his pocket. The door squeaked and closed on its strong hinge. His hands were trembling.

He dialled the number. The dial seemed to take forever to return to its starting position for him to dial the next digit. Eventually he got the ring tone, then a quick general message, then there was a click, and the woman's voice spoke. Her voice was faltering slightly, her intonation was a little strained, she was reading from a script she had written out, and she appeared nervous. He felt a tautening in his groin.

"Hi. I'm Brenda. I'm in my late thirties, and I'm considered attractive. I like wearing smart and slightly sexy clothes. I'm five feet five with shortish blond hair and a curvy 36C figure. I'm a bit disillusioned at the moment – maybe you could restore my faith in men? I'm looking for no-strings adult fun, but I AM looking for a considerate man between twenty and thirty who will treat me with respect. Might that be you? I need to be discreet and if you do, too, that's just fine. Why not call me?"

The message switched to an instruction about the number to ring if wanting to leave a message.

Dave hung up, but his hands were shaking and he felt a growing bulge in his trousers.

He nearly forgot what he had come into town for, and when he bought the tools he almost forgot to take his change from the assistant. He walked several times round the town centre, a battle going on in his mind.

He headed for home. As he approached a telephone booth he hesitated, then stepped inside and waited for the heavy door to close behind him. He glanced nervously up and down the street in case anyone was approaching and might hear.

The phone booth smelled musty, and the receiver smelled of stale cigarettes, but it hardly mattered. He dialled the number for the prerecorded message and listened to the voice again. He scribbled down the number to ring to leave a message.

"Er hi, this is... Dave. I'm twenty-six, and... er... and very kind and considerate. I'd... er... love to meet you. If you want to ring me, I need to be... discreet as well. Maybe... er... maybe you could say you're Phil's mum, as... my parents will probably answer the phone. Oh, and I've never done this before... rung a personal ad, I mean. Anyway.. er... the number is...."

He walked quickly home, annoyed at his foolish stammering on the answering machine. He tried to picture Brenda with her 36C breasts and her shoulder-length blond hair. He wished she had described her legs as well as her breast size.

For the rest of the afternoon he willed the phone to ring before his parents each arrived home from work. Part of him hoped that it wouldn't. He wondered how many messages she had received.

In case his parents answered the phone he also rehearsed who Phil could be and why his mother might be ringing him, Dave. Best to make it simple, he thought – he never was a convincing liar.

The telephone did ring twice. Each time his heart skipped a beat and his mouth went dry. But the first was just the gas company wanting to arrange a date to service the central heating, and the second was a catalogue company from whom his mum bought some clothes. He prepared the vegetables for the evening meal. He was on tenterhooks for the sound of the telephone.

He kept looking at the clock, counting down the available time for the call to come before his parents arrived home. It was not to be, though. At just after five-thirty his mother arrived, and just over half an hour later his dad's car pulled into the drive. 

They sat down at the table just after six thirty. Dave's heart was beating hard. As they began to eat, his dad thanked him for buying the tools and said he would try not to lose them. His mother shook her head in amusement and mock horror. "To lose a screwdriver I can understand. But a hammer...!" 


Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 01



Then the phone rang. Dave's stomach did a little somersault.

"Why does the phone always ring at bloody meal times?" his father snarled.

Dave tried to act casual and asked if they would like him to answer it.

"There's no point, dear, it won't be for you, and you'd only have to take a message or ask one of us to go to the phone anyway. I'll go," his mother replied.

Dave's stomach was churning slightly. Then he heard his mother's puzzled voice.

"Dave? David, you mean? Yes, he's here. Who's calling? Oh, right, I'll get him. Just a moment..."

He tried to look surprised as his mother came back into the room to announce that "some Phil's mum" was on the phone for him. He hoped that his guilt and nervousness might pass as just surprise as he got up and tried to walk slowly and naturally to the hall. He pulled the dining room door closed behind him.

"Hello – is that Brenda? Oh, hi. Yes, I'm Dave."

He knew that as well as concentrating on the conversation he would also have to speak in a way that would not arouse his parents' suspicion. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"I guess you can't really talk, Dave. Would you like me to ring back later?" she asked. He liked the sound of her voice, and her accent was quite local. 

"Er no... no, er... that wouldn't really make any difference," he replied.

"Okay. I'll try to make this easy for you. Shall.... shall we meet? Just... just say yes or no if that's easier, darlin'."

A surge of excitement washed over him at the endearment. It wasn't unusual where he lived but in the context it seemed erotic and enticing, a veiled promise of deeper endearment to come when they met.

"Er... yes. Yes, that would be nice," he responded, hoping he sounded relaxed.

"When? Tonight? Tomorrow?"

"Er... tonight would be er... difficult. Tomorrow would be better – if that's okay."

So far so good, he thought. He was content that his side of the conversation gave no cause for suspicion.

"Yes, that's fine," she said. "For safety I want to meet somewhere public. Where are you?"

"Just... just on the east side of Wallingborough."

"That's within fairly comfortable travelling distance for me, Dave. Do you have your own transport?"

"Er... no."

"Hmm. Let's think, darlin'. You're with your parents?"

"Yes... Brenda."

"Is the afternoon better? Say two o'clock?"

He could hardly believe his luck. Not only was this mature woman agreeing to meet him and hopefully then indulge in some "no-strings adult fun" with him, she was even offering to do it when he wouldn't need an excuse to give to his parents, as they would be out at work! He experienced another twitch in his groin.

She named a country hotel that was about fifteen miles from his home but on a well-served bus route. She stressed that she could not guarantee an outcome until she met him, but said that he sounded nice and that she was looking forward to meeting him. She stressed that he should arrive first and at least ten minutes before two o'clock, to save her the embarrassment of sitting in a bar alone.

All that needed to be arranged was a sign so that, when she arrived, she would know whom to approach. He tried to remain calm, though his mind was in an excited whirl. She suggested that he sit in a certain part of the bar, where it was usually fairly quiet, and that he bring along three small bunches of roses, one red, one pink, one white. She thought that it was just possible that someone else might be seated in a bar with a bunch of red roses, but that it was unlikely that any other man would have three bunches of differently coloured ones. If there was any problem getting one of each of three colours, she said, two colours would do, provided that three individual bunches were on the table of the bar when she came in.

Dave wondered how many times she had done this. It sounded very well thought-out. The cloak-and-dagger aspect aroused him, too, meeting her in a public place for a sexual encounter, appearing innocent and acting on coded signs. He blushed with embarrassment and excitement, but worked hard at replying in a way that would not betray his plans to his parents. He replied "Me, too! Thanks for ringing. Tell Phil I'll see him tomorrow. Bye!" as heartily as he could as she closed the conversation by saying that she was looking forward to meeting him. Then he went back into the dining room.

As he expected, his mum asked him about the caller. He tried to sound natural as he said that Phil, a friend and colleague from work, had been admitted to hospital for a hernia operation but had now returned to his mother's home to recuperate. His mother asked why Phil himself hadn't rung and jokingly hinted that he must have his mother around his little finger, doing all his bidding. Dave pretended to be chewing his food, to give himself time to think of an answer. He replied that Phil was still tired from the anaesthetic and, having tried to ring earlier when Dave was in town, had then asked his mother to ring. 

He went on to say that planned to visit Phil the following afternoon, as it wasn't too far, and was on the bus route.

"Don't be daft, David!" his dad blurted out. "I'll drive you there tomorrow night! It will be much easier than hanging around twice for buses, and the bus stops every flaming two hundred yards! It'll take you forever to get there and back by bus!"

Dave began to think of an excuse why he had to visit his friend in the afternoon rather than in the evening. Fortunately his mother interrupted that it was best not to interfere, that David was an adult now and well able to make his own arrangements.

"Okay, okay, keep your hair on, love. Only trying to help, that's all. Leave it as it is, then..." his dad said, winking at him.

"Phil's mum sounds nice, David. Have you met her?" his mother asked.

"Er... no. I guess I'll meet her tomorrow. Phil always says she's... nice." Dave hoped he didn't sound evasive or guilty.

He went to the pub with his parents that evening and tried not to be too preoccupied, but later when he went to bed he could not sleep for ages. He kept wondering what Brenda would be like, and whether she would be anything like his sexy former neighbour Mrs Martin. Brenda's age was somewhere between Mrs Martin's age when he had lived next door to her and the age that she must now be, and her hair colour was different. But she still sounded a thrilling prospect, and if he was lucky, it would be the fulfillment of a longstanding fantasy – sex with a housewife.

When they got home from the pub he said he wanted an early night and went more or less straight to bed. He called to mind various women over the age of thirty five whom he had met over the years. He rubbed himself but in a restrained way, keen to save himself in case he got lucky with Brenda. He tried not to build up his hopes, but it was a thrilling possibility. His ultimate fantasy beckoned – sex with a hot housewife!

_________________________

She hardly slept. Nerves, excitement, guilt and shame prevented her. She got up early and showered. She had little appetite but ate some breakfast. She kept looking at the clock, and when she knew that he someone would be there, she rang her workplace to leave a message for her boss, asking for the day off. There was no crisis, she said, but something had cropped up that needed her attention and she would really appreciate being able to have time out. Her boss rang back about twenty minutes later to say that was just fine.

She then rang the country hotel where she had arranged her rendezvous with her caller. She made herself speak quietly and slowly to minimise the nervousness in her voice. Yes, they had a double room available. She didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. The price was a bit more than she wanted to pay, but it was a classy place. She smiled to herself as she told herself that the money could easily come out of her divorce settlement.

As always happens when something momentous is looming, the time alternately dragged slowly, then mysteriously quickly, for the rest of the morning. Late in the morning she forced herself to eat a sandwich (she told herself it would be embarrassing if her stomach was rumbling with hunger while she and her prospective – partner – were sizing each other up, and even more so if it happened while they were having sex!)

She chose her clothes with care, wanting to appear sexy without overdoing it. She settled on a white shirt that was almost (but not quite) thick enough to mask the lace of her bra, and a white skirt with a big, bold lilac check pattern on it. The skirt reached half-way down her thighs to allow a nice glimpse without being too daring. The shirt fitted just tightly enough to show off her breasts without making them too obvious. She applied her makeup carefully. She wished she didn't smoke, and made sure that she brushed her teeth thoroughly. She even found a pill bottle, tipped the pills into some kitchen foil and rinsed the bottle thoroughly. She poured some mouthwash into it to freshen her breath with later and stood it upright in her shoulder bag.

She set off earlier than she needed, and probably earlier than she should, too. She almost failed to spot a red traffic light and urged herself to focus her mind on her driving. She arrived at twelve-ten. She found a place to park – she guessed that a conference was taking place, judging by the number of cars. She removed her wedding ring and slid it into a pocket of her shoulder bag. She took several deep breaths before getting out of her car, then walked into the reception area and introduced herself. 

The lad on the reception desk was in his mid twenties and seemed to speak to her breasts rather than to her face, and she was sure that he noticed the ring-shaped indentation on her finger where she had removed her wedding ring. Although divorced she was annoyed and embarrassed at his false assumption that she was here to cheat on her husband. She tried to look on his interest in her breasts as an encouraging omen for her forthcoming rendezvous.

Her room was generously sized, light and airy, with a view over the ornamental lake in the grounds. She was relieved that it did not look towards the main road and to the bus stop. She did not want to feel drawn to watch for Dave's arrival or to be seen doing so. Net curtains hung over the windows. The decor was classy, and the double duvet cover looked fresh and clean, pale cream in colour with a pretty floral print. The en-suite had a shower over the bath and, though not large, was clean and tastefully decorated. The white towels were brilliant white and looked very soft, and there were two white towelling dressing robes, one bearing the word "His" and the other "Hers" in red italic stitching. She felt herself blush as she looked at them, and at the double bed that seemed to taunt and beckon her at one and the same time.

She emptied the contents of her small, overnight case into the chest of drawers and made herself a cup of coffee from the courtesy tray. She sat in the armchair for ten minutes or so, trying not to glance at her watch too often. She wondered whether he was on his way yet, whether he was even at that moment buying the requisite bunches of roses. She wondered whether he was nervous or oozing bravado and self-confidence. 

She wondered mostly, of course, what he would look like – and how he would treat her. She had always considered herself a good judge of character, but was not infallible. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had guaranteed no outcome and that she had arranged to meet him in the bar. She would not bring him to the room unless she felt comfortable doing so. She reminded herself that she had resolved, however awkward or embarrassing, to decline to have a liaison with him if she felt any misgivings at all, however subjective they appeared. She was a strong believer in the maxim that the greater part of communication is non-verbal, and that "feelings" and "vibes" are often more reliable than some people might think. And if the worst came to the absolute worst, she could always scream for help, or at least threaten to.

It was just after twelve thirty five. An hour and a half to go. She decided to walk round the grounds for a while. She would rather be better occupied, but there was still a final debate to settle in her mind. There was still time to cry off, simply pay for the room and go, or hide in the room for a while until after he would have gone. There was time, too, to decide whether to try to get a sneak preview of his appearance as he made his way from the bus stop into the bar, or whether simply to use the "blind" tack and simply approach whichever man in the bar had three bunches of roses on his table. 

She sat on a bench for a time, lit a cigarette, and enjoyed the warm sunshine. Her face did not show it, but the debate that she thought she had resolved still raged in her mind. "You can't bottle out now – if you do, you won't have the nerve to arrange to meet anyone else who contacts you!" one voice pleaded. 

The other voice berated her. "Just look at you, you slut!" it said. "You're as good as offering yourself to a total stranger for sex, without even feeling any affection for him!" it continued. "How CAN you? And, besides – what if someone who knows you sees you? How will you explain what you are doing here? And if someone sees you with HIM...?"

But the other voice whispered softly and seductively, "You know you want to! What's the harm in it? You're hurting no-one, and nobody will know! You don't know him and won't ever see him again if you don't want to – you even live forty miles or so from his parents' home!"

It seemed to drown out the objecting voice with its reassurances and enticements. "You don't even have to go with him if you don't like him!" it reasoned. "Besides, you've taken the day off work and you've come this far in your plan! Might as well see it through now! Go for it! And, dammit, you deserve some fun after what you've been through!" it simpered to her, confident that it had won her over. 

_________________________

Dave was indeed almost as nervous as she was. Partly, like her, it was the fear of being recognised by someone and having to explain himself to his parents. Partly it was the potential disappointment of really liking her but of her not fancying him, and even the possibility that she might not show up at all. She might have had a better offer since he spoke to her.

Partly, though, it was due to his chivalry. He genuinely didn't want to hurt her feelings. What should he do if he really didn't fancy her but she wanted him? Should he go along with it anyway or be honest?

He bought the roses in town, arrived at the bus station with too much time on his hands and got a bus earlier than was really necessary. He struggled to avoid looking at his watch too often, and tried to concentrate on the view from the bus window at the familiar scenes.

He wondered if any other passenger could hear his heart pounding as the bus got nearer and nearer to his destination.

Then he saw it, approaching on the right – the Lakeview Country Hotel, with its painted sign and ample, nearly-full car park. The bus stopped a few minutes later and he alighted, trying to hold the roses carefully yet casually. He glanced at his watch – yet again. He was fifty minutes early. He half-wished he had caught the later bus, but it would only have arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, not enough time to play with if it ran late. Better to have time to kill, he told himself, than to be on the last minute, or late. 

To pass the time he walked past the hotel, glancing surreptitiously at the cars in the car park. It was unlikely that hers would be there, as the arrangement was for him to be there first, but it was fun to speculate. There were quite a few cars there. He couldn't decide whether it was good or bad to meet her with so many people around. Would that increase or reduce his feeling conspicuous?

He walked a little distance along the road away from the hotel, then doubled back. He tried to measure his pace so that he would still arrive in plenty of time without having too much time on his hands. He wondered whether she would be watching for his arrival, and half-hoped that she wouldn't. He considered himself to have a fairly average appearance, and didn't want her to judge him purely on his looks. 

He strolled into the bar as casually as he could, ordered himself a drink, and sat down in the area she had described. He looked at the roses on the table and felt dreadfully conspicuous. He looked around as casually as he could manage, half-hoping to see a woman on her own answering to Brenda's description. He felt a little like a slave at auction. Would she buy?!

_________________________

She looked at her watch. Four minutes to two. She made herself wait another three minutes. That way she would arrive just after two, late enough to build his anticipation, but not so late as to make him anxious or annoyed at her lack of punctuality. 

She called time on the debate still taking place in her mind. The enticing voice had won. She took from her bag the pill bottle into which she had poured the mouthwash, looked round to check that nobody was watching, and swilled it round her mouth to kill the smell of the cigarette. She turned and discreetly spat it onto the path behind the bench. She took a mint and popped it into her mouth for good measure, stood up, straightened her skirt, took several deep breaths to steady her nerve, and headed for the bar. She reminded herself that for the time ahead she was Brenda. She had decided to advertise under a pseudonym as a safeguard.

It was past lunchtime and the bar was past its busiest. She bought herself a fresh orange juice and made her way to the pre-arranged part of the bar. She felt hot and her pulse was racing. Although she was wearing court shoes rather than stilettos she worried that the sound of her heels on the floor might sound too conspicuous, but only two men's heads turned. 

She noticed the roses on the table. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He had his back to her. She saw his short, dark brown hair, his striped shirt, his smart-casual trousers and black shoes. A number of people were seated in this part of the bar, but none near the table he had chosen.

The point of no return had come.

She stepped forward and drew level with the sitting figure. He turned round. She looked at him in horror, and saw similar shock in his face.

"MRS MARTIN?!"

"Oh hell! Oh, bloody hell! David! David Jackson! Oh hell! Oh bloody hell!"

She felt cold. She looked round but nobody seemed to have heard her or noticed her reaction.

He felt cold, too with shock, embarrassment and shame. Yet he could not resist glancing at her gorgeous, fleshy bare thighs below her skirt hem and her ample breasts under her blouse, the lace of her white bra showing against the white cotton.

"I... I can't stop, David," she blurted. "I'm really terribly sorry to have dragged you here, but... bloody hell!"

"I... I'm, really sorry to have done the same, Mrs Martin. I..." 

His mind was in overdrive. His hopes were being dashed to the ground. He had been awake half the night thinking about today. It was now going to amount to spending half the day out of the house for two bus journeys to a country hotel for one expensive drink, and the purchase of three bunches of flowers. And his ultimate, his absolute ultimate fantasy had been presented, totally unexpectedly, then was being cruelly withdrawn before he could savour it.

A couple seated few tables away were looking, even though he was confident that they could not hear. Clearly his and Mrs Martin's behaviour had attracted their curiosity. Dave leaned a little closer to her so he could speak quietly but still make himself heard. It had the added but unintentional bonus of bringing his face closer to her breasts – the breasts he had longed for so often, the breasts of his sexy former, sexy neighbour. Fleetingly it occurred to him that they were slightly bigger than he remembered. He frantically tried to think how to salvage something of the situation before she walked away.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 01



"There's a couple over there who seem to be watching us, Mrs Martin.."

"Actually, David, it's Ms Hodgson now..."

"Oh... oh, sorry to hear..."

"Don't be. He's... a cheating bastard!" she said with some venom. But then she smiled at him.

"Well, as I say I'm sorry Mrs..."

He gave a low laugh. He saw that her face was flushed, and knew that so was his.

"You know, I don't know whether to call you 'Brenda' as in your ad, or 'Mrs Martin' or 'Ms Hodgson!" he said. "But anyway... at least why don't you sit down even if it's just to finish your drink? Just to avoid people looking."

"I... I suppose I could, darl... David." She had been about to call him 'darlin', to her just a fairly routine term she used with a number of people, but now it seemed too loaded, too intimate.

She pulled up her chair and looked at him. He had filled out and muscled up a bit since she had last seen him, not powerfully athletic but not skinny either. She remembered his former politeness and shyness – and his wandering gaze. She smiled at the recollection.

"Here, Mrs... I mean... Ms Hodgson..." he said falteringly, and he held the flowers out to her.

"I... I er... bought you these. As you know. Take them anyway. And... and I'm glad it's you that I'm giving them to! I mean that you're you and not Brenda." he added. 

He felt stupid, and cringed. The words sounded corny or maybe even too suggestive, given the way things were turning out.

She still held her sexual appeal for him. Her face was slightly more lined, and her belly seemed a little rounder than previously. Below the hem of her skirt her bare thighs – the fabulous thighs he had admired so many times, years ago – looked plumper, too, and he wondered if she was wearing pink knickers. He felt a twinge in his groin at the resurging memory. Her breasts were larger than he remembered, and through the white cotton her bra looked pretty. She looked very sexy, and to meet her again after all this time, especially in these circumstances, was highly arousing. He couldn't help wondering whether he might be able to persuade her.

He nearly said that he was surprised and sorry that he hadn't recognised her voice on the telephone, but was afraid again that it might imply that he had good reason to have remembered it several years later. He was in fact surprised that his parents hadn't recognised her voice, and that Mrs Martin had failed to recognise any of their voices either, but then they hadn't been on close terms and had simply passed the time of day when they saw each other. And she and her husband had moved away several years ago, too.

"I'm sorry to hear that things with you and Mr Martin didn't work out, Mrs Mart..."

She smiled and looked him in the eye.

"Why don't you call me Joan? At least that name hasn't changed," she said tentatively.

He felt a twinge in his groin at her invitation. It held some prospect of a change in the situation he found himself in. 

"Thanks... Joan."

He watched her sip her drink and caress the rose petals.

"These are pretty, David. They're my favourite flowers, roses. Always have been."

She cast her eyes over him. "Surely not!" said one outraged voice in her head. "Not with the lad who used to live next door!"

The other voice spoke temptingly. "You COULD, you know! It would be a bit embarrassing. But at least you know he won't be rough. And, okay, he knows you, but only from years ago! It's not as if he works with you and will gossip about you in the office or neighbourhood or anything!"

She tried to think rationally. Maybe, maybe... she had driven a fair distance, after all. And gone to the expense of hiring an expensive room. And until a few moments ago she had been feeling excited and – well, randy – as well. And she knew he had fancied her - in fact, that was an understatement. 

She had seen it, felt it those years ago. She had even teased him once with a view of her knickers, bending over in his sight as he sat in the garden one day. Seeing the expression on his face had given her as much of a buzz as the view had given him. And he still seemed to fancy her – or more accurately, to lust for her – even now. He kept glancing at her breasts and her legs. It made her feel good – sexy, desirable, and strong.

He couldn't be sure but he thought he felt her eyes checking him out.

"I... I'm glad you like the roses – Joan."

To address her by her first name sent a tingle up his spine.

"You know, David. Meeting you like this... it's..."

"It's nice – Joan," he interrupted gently. "So nice to see you again. After... after all this time. I... I don't know whether I should say this, but..."

He knew that a clumsy word could easily tip the balance against his chances.

"I... I always found you... attractive..."

"I know. I often saw you looking at me, darlin'." 

"and... and sexy, too. I... I'm sorry..."

"I'm not!" To his delight she smiled. "It... it made me feel good to be fancied by a young lad."

Her admission that she was aware of his desire for her those years ago embarrassed him, but her admission that she had enjoyed his interest – as an older, married woman – made him blush, and he started to get hard-on. He wished he knew what best to say to turn the situation around. He would just have to do the best he could.

He gave a low laugh.

"I never guessed that Brenda would in fact be you, Joan. Your hair's a different colour now. And..."

He just stopped himself in time from saying that whereas "Brenda" stated that she was in her late thirties, Joan must be in her early forties.

"I changed my hair colour when I divorced Paul. They say blondes..."

She had nearly said "blondes have more fun" but thought it sounded seedy.

"You suit it. Really. And still having it short suits you, as well, Joan."

"Thanks."

An awkward silence followed. They each found themselves looking round the bar rather than at each other. He knew he had to do something to retrieve the situation before it slid out of his grasp.

"You know, Joan, I'm... er... intrigued. If this is too personal, tell me. But I'd like to know. If... er... if it had been some other bloke here, instead of me... what were you intending to do?"

She looked him full in the eye.

"Well, darlin'. It would depend on whether I fancied him. If I did..." She looked down at his lap and spottted his bulge.

"Adult no-strings fun?" he asked.

She nodded and blushed.

"BEDROOM adult no-strings fun?" he persisted.

"Yes." She kept her eyes on the roses rather than look at him.

"I.... as I said, Joan, it's.. it's a shame it's me then, who turned up. I'm truly sorry to have spoiled things. Otherwise you might have been free to..."

The atmosphere felt tense, each of them seeming uncertain what to do, whether or how to progress, each looking to the other to take the initiative.

"Yes. Yes I would have been free to... indulge in..." she replied. "And... if I... if I had really been 'Brenda" instead of me, you might have been upstairs with her..."

She gave a low gasp as she realised that she may have let slip that she had booked a room. She felt cheap and dirty.

His heart skipped a beat. He had missed the significance of what she had said until she gave the game away with her gasp.

He picked up one of the bunches of rose, deciding to give it his best shot. He leaned forward and brushed the flowers up her arm, watching her gaze on them, then, seemingly innocently, he brushed them against her breast as he withdrew them.

"Has – 'Brenda' booked a room in case she wanted it – Joan?"

"May... maybe."

She averted her eyes. 

"Has... has JOAN booked a room? In the hope that she and the bloke she met might want to... to use it?"

She hesitated then quietly replied, "Yes."

He felt a surge of desire and excitement. He tried to remain calm.

"For 'no-strings adult fun', Joan?"

Still looking at the table she nodded.

"Is it a nice room? I've never been inside this place..." he asked. It was hardly subtle, but it was the best he could manage.

"Yes." She knew what lay behind the question. "Yes, yes it's really nice. It has a lovely view, too. Of the lake and..."

Her mind was in turmoil over the two options before her that were each struggling for mastery.

"You know, Joan, I... I wouldn't mind seeing that view. The view from your room. It sounds lovely."

It was about as subtle as saying "Please take me there and let me screw you, Mrs Martin", but the truth was that he couldn't think what else to say.

"I'm sure you WOULDN'T mind coming to my room! But, David, you can't. I can't..."

He stroked her arm and her breast with the roses again. His boldness excited her. She glanced round. Nobody seemed aware. But he was caressing her breasts – in public. Even if he wasn't using his hand, it was very naughty, very illicit – very arousing!

His mouth was dry. He felt hot.

"And... and... I think the room would offer other nice views too, Joan."

She looked into his face. His expression was intense, and hungry, yet still gentle. She looked away. His double-entendre was fairly obvious, and she could guess the gist of what was to follow even if she did not know the words he would use.

She glanced around. Her head was in a spin. She had come here in the hope of having sex with a stranger. Instead she had met with a former neighbour who had lusted for her years ago and still did. And, in the face of her resistance, he was trying to seduce her in a public bar. She was shocked at the situation – and at her own role and emotions.

"I think, Joan, there would be some nice views... inside the room, too. Even with the curtains drawn there could be some nice views to enjoy..."

He turned the bunch of roses round. He held them just below the flower heads and pointed the end of the stem to her. He leaned forward, partly to hide from the view of anyone else what he was doing, and partly to make it more intimate. He poked the ends of the stems between two of her blouse buttons.

"I think there could be a lovely view in here, if you were willing to let me see it..."

She gave a little shudder of excitement at his thinly-veiled crudity. To think that the shy young lad from next door should be acting and speaking so overtly and in public! She saw his hand drop level with the table.

"...and another gorgeous view up here, Joan..."

She caught her breath as, under the table, she felt her skirt hem lifted up and the dampness of the flower stems on her thigh. Then they withdrew. She blushed, and made sure that her skirt was back in place. She looked at him. His eyes were glued to her breasts.

"Darlin' – you... you mustn't!"

With a thrill he noticed the term of familiarity and the tension in her voice.

"Wouldn't you like to show me the various views in your room, Joan? I think you would!" he coaxed.

She saw his hand reach across the table for hers. His fingers stroked the back of her hand. She watched the tender, sensual movement and luxuriated in the sensation. His hand was trembling a little.

"Besides, Joan," he continued, "it... it's a shame to book a room and not use it. It must have cost a bit. And it was booked with a... a specific hoped-for purpose in mind. Wasn't it?"

It felt terribly hot all of a sudden. She felt that she was still in control, but that the control was meting away by the moment.

"Ye-yes," she replied sheepishly.

"Brenda is seeking some no-strings adult fun. So is Dave. Badly, actually. He's been so excited about meeting the lady who placed the ad. And seeing his former neighbour makes him want that fun even more badly."

"David, I really think we..." she interrupted half-heartedly.

"But it wasn't Brenda who travelled some distance to get here. It was you, Joan. So did Dave. I think we would both be disappointed to go home without doing what we hoped we would. And, you know – I think that if we didn't go to that room, we would both wish afterwards that we had. We would both be asking ourselves exactly what we would have done, how it would have felt. Don't you agree, Joan?"

He tried to hide the excitement in his voice, and tried not to sound too melodramatic. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I... I don't know!"

He brushed the rose flowers against her breast again. She looked down and watched the pink flowers drag across the white cotton of her blouse. She noticed that her nipples were now showing against the fabric. He seemed to have noticed, too.

"Maybe I could help you decide. Dave is between twenty and thirty, just the age that Joan advertised for. And he is considerate. And as randy for her as she is for him. I think we should go to that room, Joan, and explore the views together. And have some no-strings adult fun. Don't you? Hmm?"

She gave no answer. But she nodded very faintly, pushed back her chair and stood up. She picked up her shoulder bag and the flowers and walked slowly out of the bar. He walked beside her. Risking all once again, he reached for her hand and took it in his. He felt it tense, then to his delight it relaxed and he felt her fingers entwine around his.

She felt very conspicuous, a woman in her early forties hand in hand with her former neighbour more than ten years her junior. But his hand around hers was very reassuring and bold, and the public gesture of his desire for her excited her as they left the bar and headed for the stairs.

The young man on the reception desk looked and raised his eyebrows, then followed them with his disapproving yet jealous gaze. Joan cared little now, though, as she made her way up the stairs and the corridor with her young lover who had desired her so strongly and for so long. She felt embarrassed, ashamed and nervous, but also light-headed to feel so strongly desired, and randier than she had for a long time.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 02



As stated in chapter one, all names are fictional.

My first submission of this got rejected on spelling grounds; to be on the safe side my spellchecker this time has adopted US rather than UK spellings. However "arse" and "darlin'" are deliberate, so I hope that the editors bear this in mind. Sorry for any spelling inconsistencies between this and chapter 1, but I wanted this to be posted soon, and judging by some of the kind comments, so did some readers!

_____________

He let go of her hand and she went up the stairs ahead of him. He kept a couple of steps behind and gazed at the sensual sway of her skirt hem and its gentle flicking against the backs of her thighs. 

Her legs were still shapely and her thighs were a little bit plump. Her legs were bare and looked slightly tanned, though he reminded himself that she had a naturally dark complexion, and the white, lilac-checked skirt contrasted deliciously with it. Under her skirt her bum was nicely rounded and shapely, and he gazed longingly at her skirt zip. It seemed to entice him, seemed to tempt him to slide it down even as they made their way up the stairs, though of course he resisted the urge. Through her blouse he could see the outline of the back panel and straps of her bra.

He could hardly believe it was happening. He had been excited enough at the prospect of meeting a stranger named Brenda for sex. Now he was about to have sex with the woman about whom in the past he had fantasized and masturbated more times than he could begin to guess.

At the top of the stairs she led him through a fire door and along the corridor to a door about half way down. She stopped at a door numbered fifteen and rooted in her bag for the key. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. He followed her. His wildest dreams were unfolding before him!

He made a few nervous, approving comments about the room, unsure quite what to do or say. She smiled at him, but she still looked as nervous as he felt. She placed her bag and the roses on the dressing table. She locked the door and left the key in the lock so that it could not be opened by any domestic staff. She stepped to the window and beckoned him over.

"That's the view I was trying to describe, darlin'," she said softly, drawing back the net curtain.

He stood beside her and looked out of the large picture window at the neatly maintained grounds and at the lake. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's lovely, Joan. This is quite a place."

She ran her eyes over him. He still looked young compared to her, but the bulge in his trousers aroused her. She wondered how many erections he had had as he thought about her, and whether he had masturbated to the thought of her. It was a sordid question, yet it fed her ardor. 

She was determined to take things slowly and to tease him a little. It was her party as much as his, she told herself, and she was not going to let him take the lead entirely. Besides, she thought, he had hoped against all reasonable hope for years for this moment; another few minutes would not harm him.

She moved to one side, and to his delight she closed one floral print curtain, motioning him to do the same with the other. His pulse began to race.

"Why... why don't you sit on the bed, darlin? And... and close your eyes until I say..."

He did as she said, intrigued about precisely how things would develop, and excited that she was taking the lead. He felt slightly uncomfortable about having persuaded her to go ahead with this, and it was reassuring that she was now more than willing. He heard a soft rustling, then she invited him to open his eyes again.

She was standing by the curtains with her back to him. She was still fully dressed, but her blouse was no longer tucked inside the waistband of her skirt.

Mrs. Martin – for so he still thought of her – turned slowly round to face him. He looked into her face. Her short, blond hair suited her, despite his being used to her hair being dark. Her eyes were subtly made up, and her cheeks likewise. Her lips were nicely pink. She looked very sexy without appearing cheap.

Her blouse was unfastened apart from a couple of buttons over her belly. The white cotton hugged each of her ample breasts, and her nipples poked against it. It was obvious that she had removed her bra. As he looked he saw it lying untidily on the easy chair.

"You've seen the view from the window with the net curtains open. I... I hope you like the view as I open THESE curtains, darlin'..."

To his delight she unfastened the two remaining buttons and slowly peeled her white blouse open.

Her ample, ripe breasts sagged a little and looked fabulous. Her nipples were large and quite dark.

"It... it's a fabulous view, Joan."

"Is... is it as good as you expected, darlin'?"

"It's even better. I... I can't believe I'm seeing them naked. I... I've wanted to so many times."

"They used to be a bit smaller – and firmer, too," she said.

She raised her hands and scooped them under her mature orbs. She rocked them slowly up and down once or twice, then more rhythmically. He gazed, almost mesmerized by the sensual sight of her breasts as they surged and bounced.

"They're gorgeous, Joan. I love their size, the way they move..."

He looked up into her face, anxious to remind himself of the woman to whom they belonged. She gazed back intently at him, but she was smiling, evidently thrilled by his delight in her.

"I hope you like this view as well, darlin'," she said quietly.

She pushed her breasts together and up, pressing the supple flesh into a firmer shape, then relaxed the pressure once more. She was determined to take her time, to savoir every moment with her lustful ex-neighbor.

"Ohhh yes, Joan!" he replied, nodding his head enthusiastically.

His lust for her thrilled her, reaffirming her desirability and femininity. She also felt that she was getting a private, secret revenge for her husband's cheating on her.

She took her nipples between the finger and thumb of each hand and gently tugged on them, stretching them away from her breasts, watching his intense gaze and the movement of his growing erection in his trousers. She began to trace her hand over her plump belly, running it over her lilac-checked skirt. 

She slowly raised the second finger of her left hand to her mouth. He watched her draw it into her mouth and suck on it. It looked deliciously lewd and suggestive. Then she moved her hand slowly down to her breast. Her finger was glistening with saliva and she traced it round her hard, proud nipple. The rubbery point flattened and stood up again as she teased it. It glistened with the traces of her saliva.

He looked up at her face, the face of his former neighbor whom he had desired so hard and for so long. She smiled encouragingly. He stood up to walk to her, but she held up the palm of her hand to him.

"Not yet, darlin'."

"But Joan... I want to..."

"So do I, Dave, so do I. But let's take our time. Lie on the floor..."

"On the floor, Mrs.. Joan? Not on the bed?"

"No, darlin'. On the floor."

He unfastened his shoes and tugged them off, then his socks, and eased himself onto his back on the floor.

Her sexy, shapely legs were only a yard away, and he looked up at the underside of her mature breasts, framed by her open blouse. She stepped closer and stood astride his head.

He gave a low gasp as he saw up her skirt. Her thighs were fleshy and she was wearing white lacy panties. Her skirt acted as a sort of pelmet, framing the erotic sight.

"No touching – yet – darlin'," she murmured. "You said you wanted to admire some views. Here's one..."

To his delight she hiked up her skirt and lowered herself slowly to her haunches, bringing her crotch closer and closer to his face, then raised herself again to a standing position. The lace of her panties stretched taut then loosened again as she did so, and through it he could see the contours of her mound, her slit, her lips.

She repeated this several times and he stared as she lowered herself to just an inch or two above his face. She did the same again, but this time she dragged the gusset of her panties so that it bunched into her slit. He could see her enticing dark hairs; evidently she trimmed herself rather than shaved completely. 

She did this four or five times, each time lowering and raising herself tantalizingly slowly.

"Do you like the view, darlin'?" she crooned.

"Ohhh yes, Joan. Please... please show it to me."

Despite what she was doing, it still embarrassed him to ask her. The intensity of his desire for her and the length of time he had felt it were slightly intimidating.

"Show what to you? I don't know what you mean," she teased.

"Your... what's inside your panties, Mrs. Martin..." he replied. He was too ashamed to use coarse language, and to use technical ones would have been too clinical and aloof.

Despite her invitation to call her by her first name, and despite her statement that she was now divorced, he couldn't help reverting back to her married one. Instead of correcting him, though, she savored it, realizing that he was living out a long-smoldering fantasy that he had never dreamed of fulfilling.

"You can do better than that, darlin'. Don't be shy. Use a name for what's inside Mrs. Martin's panties. A polite one or a rude one or a four-letter one. Whichever one you like."

"I... I want to see your pussy, Mrs. Martin." He deliberately used that name again, going back in time to when she lived next door, he was a virgin, and she was (in his mind) the married temptress seducing him.

"I want to see your pussy, Mrs. Martin. Your twat. Your... your cunt..."

His voice tailed off to a whisper as he spoke the four-letter taboo word to his former neighbor.

She laughed softly.

"You like me still being your married neighbor and you being a hot eighteen-year old virgin, don't you?"

"Yes. Is... that okay?"

"Yes. Hang on a minute..."

She strode to her bag and drew her wedding ring from it. She slid it onto her finger.

"Even though I'm divorced, I often wear it just to avoid getting unwanted attention. I'll wear it for now and be Mrs. Martin again for you..." 

She felt strong to pretend still to be married, getting her own back on her cheating husband, and feeding off her ex-neighbor's fantasy.

"So – you want to see Mrs. Martin's cunt?"

"Yes."

"But you're only eighteen, David. And I'm twenty years older. And married. Do you think it's right that I show you my cunt? It's a private, secret part that a young lad from next door shouldn't see. And he shouldn't even be thinking about seeing it, either."

He was thrilled that she had latched onto his back-in-time mental journey and that she was going along with it.

"Mrs. Martin, I know it isn't right. It's wrong. Terribly wrong. But I want to. So badly. I need to see it. I've wanted to see it for so long. Please... please show me!"

"Well, all right darlin'. You can see it. But you mustn't touch it. Or kiss it. Or lick it. You can see it. In fact as you've wanted to so badly you can see it very close and sniff it. But no touching... just the view of it. Right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Martin."

Her teasing, her delaying the progression to petting and full-on sex, was very arousing. Still standing and looking down at his eager expression she smiled. He could tell that she was enjoying the scenario as much as he was. With a slow movement she gripped the gusset of her lacy panties and slid it to one side.

He gave a low groan. Her lips were puffy and her folds were pink and protruded somewhat. Her hair was trimmed short and the immediate area around her pussy itself was shaved. He looked up at her face, her blond hair in sharp contrast to the darkness of her trimmed pubes. She lowered herself to her haunches, bringing that long-withheld prize close. He inhaled. He could trace her musky sex-juice. He stared as she straightened for a few moments then brought it close. He gazed, too, at the tensing of her calf and thigh muscles, and realized that her legs and thighs were in fact well toned and fleshy rather than plump.

She straightened up and stepped to one side. She winked. Then she began to fasten her blouse buttons and stepped to one side of the easy chair where she had dropped her bra.

"Well, David, I'm glad you enjoyed the views. I shouldn't really have shown you, but..."

He was unsure whether she was serious or simply teasing him. He sat up.

"You ARE kidding, right, Joan?"

"What do you think? You said you wanted some views. Is that not enough for my eighteen year old virgin neighbor?"

A wave of relief washed over him as she reverted back to the scenario in his mind.

"No, Mrs. Martin. It isn't enough."

"What do you mean? What more can you possibly want?"

"I... I want to fondle and caress your tits and... and your nipples, Mrs. Martin. I... I want to suck them. And... and while I'm sucking your gorgeous juicy tits I want to slip my hand up your skirt and caress your... your cunt, Mrs. Martin."

"I see. Even though you're only young and a virgin?" she taunted.

"Yes."

"But the cunt you want to touch belongs to a married woman! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Yes. I am. But excited, too."

She felt her desire rising as she drew from him his fantasies from those several years ago. Though in some ways it seemed pathetic, the crude language to which they had both reverted excited her, too. 

"And your prick – your young virgin prick – I expect you want to put it inside your married neighbor's twat where her husband's goes?"

"Yes."

Her crude and explicit talk excited him immensely. Mrs. Martin, the seductress, the seemingly prim and proper woman who had nevertheless flashed her panties at him years ago and whom he had spotted urinating in her driveway in the dark, now goading him with dirty talk and leading him moment by moment to letting him take her!

"Yes."

"But you would you take it out again quickly, surely? You wouldn't shoot your young hot spunk inside your housewife-neighbor, would you?"

"I would. Every last drop. Especially if I though she wanted me to. And... and I DO think she wants me to, Mrs. Martin!""

He was rock hard now. He gazed at her breasts, hugged by her blouse without a bra to mask their size or shape, at her shortish but sexy legs and well toned thighs, at her nice lilac-check skirt. He gazed into her eyes, the eyes of his former neighbor, the first woman he had masturbated to in the secrecy of his room. He fixed his gaze on the part of her skirt that now hid her crotch from his view once more.

"I see. And if Mrs. Martin allowed you to do that, would it be enough? Would that cure your naughty longings for her?"

"There's only one way to find out!"

"Don't be so damn cheeky! I asked you a question. If you fucked me, would that be the end of your naughty longings? Would it put an end to your perverted sly glances at my tits and trying to see up my skirt, staring at my legs, my bum, trying to see my nipples? Would it?"

Her tone was teasing but tinged with reproach. It excited him greatly. He felt his pre-cum seep into his boxers.

"I... I don't know. I wish I could say yes, but I don't think it would. I think... I think I'd want to do it again and again. In your house. In your car. Any time, any place. I think I'd want to screw you every day, Mrs. Martin."

She knew his language was exaggerated, but it made her feel good nevertheless to have such a powerful effect on him.

"Well, at least if you did you wouldn't need to wank as you thought about me. I presume you do that?"

He blushed. This was getting a bit close for comfort.

"Yes."

"Speak up! I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, Mrs. Martin. Yes, Joan."

He used her first name because somehow, shameful though it was, he felt the need to admit for real his sordid secret, the burning desire he had felt for her. He wanted her to picture him bringing himself off as he thought of her. She sensed his motive. It revolted and aroused her in equal measure.

"And how many times do you – or did you – wank as you thought about Joan, darlin'?"

"Most days, for a long time. On average once a day, because sometimes it was probably two or three times a day – Joan."

"Bloody hell, David. Bloody hell!"

"I.. I hope you're not offended," he replied."

"No. No, I'm a little bit shocked at the frequency of it that's all. Anyway, no need to wank today or to make do with imagining..."

She walked over to the bed. He sat up as she stepped past him, her skirt hem wafting close to his face. She stopped and pulled her knickers down, then slid onto the bed. 

In a slow, sultry move she drew her skirt hem high up her strong looking thighs.

"You've seen some views of me. Now it's my turn to get some views. Get your shirt off. Let me see your chest and your nipples. Then when I've seen that turn round and take your trousers and underpants off and show me your firm young arse."

His heart was beating in overdrive. He stood up and unfastened his shirt, feeling curiously shy. He slid it off and draped it over the easy chair. He avoided looking at her, feeling self-conscious and hoping that she wouldn't be put off. He wasn't skinny, but although he wasn't overweight either, he wasn't particularly muscular.

"Very nice, darlin'. I like your hairy chest and your lean build. Now show me your arse!"

He turned his back to her and removed his trousers then his boxers.

"Lovely!" she commented approvingly. "Is your prick hard?"

"Yes."

"Is it sticky? Is your pre-cum dribbling?"

"Yes."

"Show me. Mrs. Martin wants to see it. Turn round and show me!"

Her commanding tome made him shudder with arousal. He slowly turned to face her again, feeling embarrassed by his erection as it stuck out rudely towards her.

"Bring it over here, darlin'. Let Mrs. Martin feel it and see how hard it is..."

He walker to the bed, his eyes fixed on her breasts, partly concealed by her white blouse that hung open, and on the retreated hem of her check skirt and on her fabulous thighs below it.

He stood close to her. He watched as her hand – the hand of the sexy neighbor whom he had lusted over for so long – reached out and wrapped around it. He watched as she gently squeezed it and began to shaft it firmly but slowly. She rubbed his seeping juice over his tight-stretched foreskin. The gesture looked very lewd. His gaze rested on her ring finger as her hand slid up and down.

"Oh David... I can't believe we're doing this!" she laughed.

He pushed her blouse to one side and cupped her squashy breast, thrilling in its size, its weight, its half-hard and half-soft consistency as he scooped it up and down. The sight was rude and sensual.

"You're... you're even sexier than I imagined... I... I want to kiss your breasts, Mrs. Martin – your lovely... housewife... breasts!"

"Do it, darlin'! Do it! Kiss Mrs. Martin's tits and suck them for her!" 

She sensed that the excitement in her voice was very evident.

He lay beside her on the bed and kissed her breast tentatively. Her skin was soft and smooth and her orb gave way under his lips. He pressed his mouth harder against it, savoring the sight and the feel of it yielding. She sighed. So did he.

He stroked her other breast, then cupped it, with his finger and thumb each side of her erect nipple. He kneaded her soft flesh and at the same time gently pinched her nipple. She groaned softly. He stared at the rippling movements of her breasts as he fondled and kissed them. He pressed his head against her breastbone and rolled her orbs round, pressing them down slightly and releasing the pressure to allow them freer movement.

"Suck those tits, darlin! Lick those hard, sensitive nipples. Suck those juicy titties for me!"




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 02



He swirled his tongue around each rubbery point and drew a mouthful of warm, yielding breast into his mouth. He sucked on it gently, then harder. As he did, he flicked rubbed her other nipple with his nail and brushed it gently but vigorously with the backs of his fingers. She whimpered with pleasure and caressed his back.

He felt her fleshy thigh rub against his throbbing erection, and thrilled in the sensation. She varied the pressure and paused, then resumed, teasing him, building his excitement. To hold his younger body close gave her a warm emotional glow as well as physical pleasure; his eager kisses and caresses had the same dual effect. She watched her hands caressing his back, and strangely felt a pang of guilt as her gaze fixed on her wedding ring.

An image came to mind. Ascending the stairs of her house with her head thumping with a migraine. Stepping into the bedroom and seeing a girl with her head between her husband's thighs, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked his prick.

Joan rolled from under her eager lover.

"Would you like Mrs. Martin to suck your big hard prick, David?"

He groaned "Yes!", scarcely able to believe what he heard.

She knelt up and slid her blouse from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. It rustled softly as it fell. He looked at it, and at her bra on the chair and her panties on the floor. It somehow seemed a little abandoned and wanton for her clothes to be scattered in different parts of the room. She reached behind her to unbutton her skirt but he reached out and eased her hand away.

"Would... would you mind keeping that on – just for a bit longer?" he asked. It wasn't essential, but he always liked a sexual partner to remain partly dressed. It seemed ruder, as if her passion was too intense for her to get fully undressed.

"Of course not, darlin'." She smiled reassuringly, and shuffled round so that she was kneeling facing across the bed, at ninety degrees to his outstretched body. She took his throbbing hardness in her hand and closed her fingers round it.

"I'll be honest, darlin'. I've only done this three times. My husband had a habit of pushing while I was doing it, and I hated it. Promise me you'll let me just lick and suck it but that you won't thrust?"

"I promise, Mrs. Martin..."

"And you won't shoot all your spunk in my mouth?"

"No."

"Good. Because Mrs. Martin wants to feel it shoot up her naughty cheating cunt, you bad boy! She wants her hot virgin eighteen year old to pump his load deep inside her housewife hole!"

He blushed at her explicit coarseness, then stared as she lowered her mouth and poked out her tongue to lick along his shaft and around his bare tip. Then to his delight, his sexy neighbor took him into her mouth, clamping it tight around his pulsing pole and sucking it. He groaned with delight. He had enjoyed giving and receiving oral sex on a number of occasions. But as Mrs. Martin tickled his balls with her fingertips, he gazed at her wedding ring, savoring the fantasy of receiving oral sex for the first time ever from his sexy neighbor on her bed while her husband was out of the house. It thrilled him, too, to be pleasured in a way that she had withheld from her husband.

Her breasts rested against his thigh, and he stared at its flattened form. He rocked his thigh up and down, and watched her orbs move sensually. Below her skirt hem her thighs – his housewife-neighbor's thighs – looked incredibly enticing, and her skirt hem swayed deliciously. He hiked it up to her waist and mauled her plump buttock, kneading and rolling it round. He gripped her thigh and fondled and squeezed its warm firmness, then he slid his hand up between her thighs to her pussy – Mrs. Martin's pussy! 

Her trimmed pubes felt slightly bristly but her lips felt spongy and moist. He placed his finger against her slit and rocked it from side to side. He felt her give a little quiver. He stared at her attractive face, her cheeks puckering and relaxing as she sucked him, then ran his eyes over the rest of her mature, housewife body. He located her hood and found the hard, sticky button of her clit. He rubbed it. She gasped and ground against his finger.

She knew that she was close to coming now, and that he was, too. She rolled onto her back beside him and tugged her skirt up and out of the way. 

"Put that lovely big prick up me, David! Give Joan a good hard screw! It's been a long time and she needs it even more than you do, darlin'!"

For a moment he stared at her, running his eyes over her ample, naked breasts, her slightly plump belly and her subtly trimmed pussy, then down to her lovely thighs and legs.

He wondered whether she could possibly need this more than he did – if so then she must be desperate indeed, he thought briefly. Then he swung one thigh over her and braced himself on his elbows. He thrilled as her trembling hand sought his almost painfully hard erection, and he gave a soft moan as she led it inside her enveloping warm moistness. He nuzzled her neck, but she pulled his face to hers.

"Kiss Mrs. Martin as you fuck her, darlin'! Mmmmhhh!"

He kissed her urgently and she responded equally passionately as they began to bump and grind their bodies together. He managed to get his hand between their perspiring bodies to her clit and pressed his finger against it. He felt her strong thighs lock around his waist as she ground herself up against him, and her hands clasped him tight.

Their mouths molded against each other's almost roughly and their tongues pushed against each other as their pace quickened.

The seediness of what she had done came to her, advertising in a local paper for precisely this encounter, and doing it with the lad who had once lived next door. She wondered whether she would get any more responses, and whether tomorrow she would be doing this with a different young man, a total stranger this time, and whether the day after – or even later the same evening! – she would have yet another young man inside her. A sense of shame and wantonness fuelled her as her orgasm flooded over her, and she shook and jerked under him.

Within moments, he, too, was gripped by his own orgasm, one of the most intense he had yet known as the fulfillment of his long-term fantasy proved even better than he would ever have imagined. He withdrew his mouth from hers and sucked her breast hard and greedily as he emptied himself into her warm, clasping tightness.

He rolled onto his back and she snuggled against him, swinging her thigh over his and caressing him. Apart from her sighing that it was "so, so, good", and his murmur that she had made every one of his dreams come true, neither spoke, though they whimpered and sighed as they caressed each other. Their passion spent, they dozed off lightly and briefly. As they nodded off, each hoped that the other would want to stay for a while yet, long enough to savoir more of each other.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 03



Thanks for the comments on the previous chapter – hope that you like this one.

As stated in chapter one, all names are fictional.

_________________________

He had only been dozing for a few minutes, but came round to the luxurious feel of her hand caressing his shoulders. He gazed at the tender movement of her fingers and rested his eyes on her wedding ring. Though now divorced, she had worn it to satisfy his longstanding infatuation for her as his housewife-neighbour. He rolled onto his side. She smiled at him. It was a warm, natural smile. 

"Bloody hell, David. That was good!"

"I hope it was good for you, Joan. It was... even better than I dreamed. In my wildest dreams. And I've... er, had a few of those about you..." his voice tailed off. Despite what had happened and despite their being naked next to each other, her felt oddly shy again, and unsure of what to say or do next. He glanced around the room, taking in the expensive decor, and glad to be in such a hotel room. Sex with Mrs. Martin had been unbelievably thrilling, but the quality of the surroundings had added to its uniqueness.

She felt the same way, too. She propped herself on one elbow, caressing his chest and playing with his nipples. He followed her lead and slid his hand to her hip, fondling and caressing her lightly but without moving to a more erotic part of her. His eyes wandered over her kind, smiling, slightly lined face, her smart hair, and down her body. He took in her slightly pendulous, matronly C-cup breasts, her nipples (now almost flat), the curves of her waist and hip, and her trimmed but hairy pussy. Her labia were pink, moist, and swollen. Some of his cum dribbled rudely from between them onto the duvet cover.

They chatted about each other's jobs, where they were each living and such. She asked after his parents, but he avoided asking her about her divorce. This chit-chat went on for a slightly strained ten minutes or so.

Joan pulled him closer and gave little and repeated grunts of contentment, a soft "Huh-huh-huh...". She kissed him fully on the mouth then pulled away a little, still propped on her elbow, still gazing into his eyes, still caressing his chest and his shoulders.

"How long have I got you for then, darlin'?"

"Wheww.. let me see. There's a bus back every hour... I... I guess if I rushed I could get the eight-minutes-past three. After that it's just after four..."

"Is... is that the latest one you can get?" she asked, falteringly. She was shy about asking him outright to stay longer, and didn't want to pressure him, either. On the other hand, for him to rush off almost right away would be a sudden way for their liaison to end, and she was more than happy for a second round – or even a third, if he was willing. She sensed that he had the same reluctance to impose on her.

"I er... crumbs, Joan, I... if you wanted me to I could stay and get the four o'clock one or even the five fifteen. But... only if you wanted me to."

She laughed.

"We're as bad as each other!" she joked. "I'd love you to stay all bloody night if you could, David, but I know you can't. Do you want to stay till four – or till five? You won't hurt my feelings either way, darlin'. You've told me how long you COULD stay. I've told you how long I'd LIKE you to stay. The one question remaining is the same one I asked – how long have I got you for?"

"If you're sure, Joan – I'd LOVE to stop till five. Till four would be nice. Till five would be... unbelievable," Dave replied tentatively.

She chuckled with pleasure and kissed him again. They spent a few minutes snogging deeply, caressing each other lightly but tenderly as their tongues met and their lips moulded together. She chewed his lower lip with hers, tugging on it gently.

"And what should we do till then, darlin'?" she asked. "Don't worry – I'm nor proposing a walk through the grounds or another visit to the bar. I was planning to keep you right here in the bedroom. I'm... I'm really asking what sort of thing you like?"

He felt a warm glow. Her manner was genuine and warm, and despite her earlier crudity he was at this moment more comfortable with her politer speech. Such after all was the Mrs. Martin that he was familiar with. On the other hand, it was difficult to say what sort of thing he wanted. When it came down to it, despite what had just happened, he felt curiously shy – and afraid of alienating her.

"I er... whatever YOU like would be fine by me, Joan," was the best he could manage.

She laughed again.

"Here we both go again, both too afraid or too polite, David. Let's have a coffee – the stuff is on the tray..."

He watched her, enthralled by the sight of her as, unashamedly she wriggled off the bed and walked naked over to the dressing table. Her ample breasts shook and swayed enticingly as she did so, and her bum cheeks quivered a little, too. He felt a tingle in his groin, even though he had just spent himself. She switched the kettle on and asked if he wanted tea or coffee. They reverted to their slightly awkward conversation, but managed to exchange and share a few anecdotes that were not too personal.

She brought the coffees over to the bed and placed his on the bedside cabinet on his side of the bed and hers on her side. 

"Shall I show you some of the clothes I brought? I hope you won't find it too... tacky..." she said softly. It seemed the best way to move the conversation – and stop the situation from lapsing into awkwardness again.

"Love to, Joan, love to!" Dave's heart was beating slightly faster with anticipation.

He gazed at her naked, slightly plump body once more as she walked to the dressing table. As she stooped forward to open one of the drawers her breasts flopped forward deliciously, and her bum cheeks tautened.

She lifted something out and turned around to face him, holding it against herself. He blushed with excitement. It was a black, see-through nightdress that even with its double thickness against her nevertheless showed her breasts, her navel, her dark, trimmed pubes and her pouting pussy lips. It reached just part way down her fleshy thighs.

"Oh yes, Joan! I love that!" he blurted out enthusiastically.

"I hoped that whoever I..., sorry, David, that YOU would like it." She blushed at her slip of the tongue. She remembered that others may yet contact her in response to her ad. She felt like a prostitute with clients waiting to see her. But the naughtiness of it made her feel aroused, too. From the drawer she also pulled a pair of black fishnet stockings and a black suspender belt. Little white bows decorated the suspenders.

"Or... or there's this instead, if you prefer..." she continued. She draped the clothes over the dressing table and stepped to the wardrobe, again giving him a view of her bouncing breasts, her shapely bum, the smooth skin of her back, the curve of her waist and hips. She opened the wardrobe door, slid a black and white garment from a coat hanger, and paused a moment, unsure whether he would laugh out loud or whether he would be genuinely aroused instead.

Dave felt another twinge of intrigued arousal as his sexy former neighbour stood with her back to him. He glanced in the mirror at the reflection of her ripe breasts, slightly soft and sagging, and at her now-flat nipples.

She turned slowly round to face him with the garment held in front of her, as before. He gave a low gasp of delight, and his jaw dropped a little. She blushed with delight at his reaction.

"Oh wow! Mrs. Martin! I mean 'Joan'!"

He ran his eyes over the French Maid outfit that she was brandishing to him. The black material was slightly silky, and was drawn in at the waist to emphasise the curve, and flared out at the hem. The neckline and short sleeves were trimmed with white subtle frills, and the hem had a wider band of white frilled material around it. A little white bow adorned the bottom of the neckline, cheekily drawing attention to it. The obligatory white, frill-and-lace-trimmed apron hung down from the waist, its ribbon ties hanging loosely down. Below the waistband the dress was not just flared. It positively stuck out a little, with a number of alluring pleats adding to the effect.

Clearly this was no cheap, tacky outfit bought from a novelty shop for wearing once or twice for a fancy dress party. It looked well made. Fleetingly he wondered where she had bought it, when she had done so, and what looks she had drawn from the assistant as she paid for it. Then he realised she had probably bought it by mail order.

He looked into her eyes. They were twinkling, and she grinned widely and saucily. He could hardly believe that his former neighbour, about whom he had fantasised so many times, was standing here before him in this way. He had always considered her unattainable, and now here she was acting the slut before him with an erotic costume and egging him on.

She winked.

"C'est d'accord, oui?"

His stomach fluttered. As if it were not thrilling enough to be showing him the sexy outfit, she was actually playing a part as well. He vaguely remembered that she had a sister or brother in France, and had a smattering of the language as a result. "Beyond my wildest dreams" is a badly overworked cliché, but in Dave's case it was literally true right now.

"Er, yes, Joan. Bloody hell, I love it!" He hadn't taken in her actual words, let alone understood them from his former schooldays, but the gist was obvious enough.

Joan was thrilled at the strength and genuineness of his reaction.

"Which do you want me to wear then, darlin'?"

"That one. Please. That one you're holding, Joan. Bloody hell!"

Joan laughed softly. She felt a little wave of arousal. 

There was good reason for her to have brought along special costumes. She had of course been expecting – under the fictitious name 'Brenda' – to meet a total stranger. If she liked him, she would have "no strings fun" with him. But she had felt that it would be a lot easier to have sex with a stranger in an erotic costume, and a little play-acting would trouble her conscience less. Sex in the guise of another persona would put a little distance between her and whatever she got up to.

Meeting David, the son of her former neighbours, had been an enormous shock initially, and ending up having sex with him was an almost equal shock.

But although she had already had sex with him – and very good sex it had been, too – she still fancied wearing something naughty and acting a part for their second time. Partly she fancied being naughty for him – shocking him a little with her now overt sexuality, and playing the slut for this younger man.

Also, the fact of the matter was that she had often fancied some sexual role-play in her marriage. But Paul, her ex-husband, had proved quite unimaginative. Sex with him had been okay, positively good at times, but he had always been more intent on his pleasure than on hers. And, whilst he quite liked her dressing up in some way or other for sex, including the outfit she was now showing off, it was simply the clothing that gave him the kick. He seemed embarrassed or maybe disinterested in playing out a scenario.

And of course, when he had bored of sex with her – despite her own efforts to please him – he had decided to screw a younger woman instead. Joan had disturbed them as the girl was giving Paul oral sex on their own marital bed. Joan had several times previously offered her husband other sexual variety, but hated the way he had once rammed his erection against the back of her throat, nearly choking her. The floozy with whom she caught him clearly had no such qualms.

"Bastard!" she thought. "If you could see me now you'd have a shock, wouldn't you, you BASTARD!"

But basking in the glow that David's longing gaze upon her produced, Joan beamed with pleasure, walked over to the bed and kissed him on the mouth.

"I'll wear it with pleasure, darlin'. But... I want to play the part of a maid, not just dress like one."

The words sent a shudder of pleasure down his spine. He had a penchant for role-play himself, though he had had little chance to indulge it. He was now in the early stages of a relationship that was still fairly casual, and enjoyed good, basic sex with his girlfriend. His former girlfriend had agreed on occasion to wear stockings and silky lingerie for him, but she complained (despite his protests to the contrary) that it made her feel that he fancied her more for the way she was dressed than for herself. Any mention of role-play produced an expression that combined derision and disgust, as if he was some kind of pervert.

So on and off over the past few years he had nursed two fantasies. One was to have sex with an older woman. The other was to have role-play as the build up to sex. His great fantasy would be to have role-play sex with a mature woman. His ultimate dream – that would surely never be more than that – would have been to have role-play sex with Mrs. Martin. He had often masturbated to such fantasies of her, relishing the impossible scenes in his mind.

Now his ultimate fantasy stood before him. He almost pinched himself to make sure he was not dreaming.

Mrs. Martin kissed him again and whispered a few ideas in his ear and he nodded, his eyes widening, and his limp manhood beginning to stir.

He rolled away from her, feeling strangely embarrassed again by his nakedness before her. The roving of her eager eyes told its own story and embarrassed him further and excited him at one and the same time.

_______________

As she had suggested, he picked up his boxers and trousers, and stepped into the en-suite bathroom. He had a pee and flushed the toilet. He stood in front of the washbasin and ran some warm water into it, then took some soap and washed the stickiness from his penis, rubbing his thumb inside his foreskin. Two or three minutes must have passed. He heard her softly humming a pop tune in the adjacent bedroom. A couple more minutes went by.

Then, although he was expecting it, the door suddenly burst open, and there stood The Maid. Mrs. – or, rather, Madame Martin. She had a cleaning cloth and a bottle of household cleaning liquid in her hand. He guessed that she had retrieved them before he came to the room. 

She looked incredibly sexy, and the outfit was clearly of reasonable quality and not some cheap novelty shop product. She was wearing a little white headpiece. Her slightly dark skin that showed above and through her black fishnets was highly arousing. Her dress was short enough to expose a strip of skin between the tops of her stockings and her white, frilly hem. The white apron and white bow at her neckline contrasted sensually with the black of the dress. A similar but smaller white bow was attached to each black suspender that held up her fishnet stockings. The whole contrast between the black and white of the uniform seemed at once austere, feminine and enticing. Her red shiny lipstick emphasised her sexy mouth. He flushed with embarrassment and lust.

She looked at his naked penis as he washed it and froze with feigned shock. She put her hand over her open mouth (her lips were coated with shiny red lipstick), then looked away and covered her eyes.

"Pardonnez moi, Monsieur! Pardonnez moi! Je ne pensais pas..!" 

He was taken aback that she was playing the part so much as to even speak in French. That she did so with a tangible provincial English accent made it seem more appealing than if she had spoken it perfectly. It served as a reminder that it was all done for pure fun and not primarily for realism.

"No, it's my fault, Mrs... Madame. Pardonnez MOI si' il vous plait! I should have shut the ..." his French was extremely rusty, but it was fun, it was like a genuine struggle to communicate with a foreign maid. "I should have... er... fermed la porte!" For effect he mimed the action of closing the door.

But she had already turned around, returned to the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. 

Dave's pulse had quickened and he had the start of an erection. He stepped into his boxers and trousers and tugged them up. Then he gently opened the bathroom door and went back into the bedroom.

She had her back to him but turned round as he came in. She looked at him coyly. She had a feather duster in her hand. He stared at her ripe breasts under her dress, at her face, then at her fishnet-clad legs and thighs. Her red-glossed mouth and her eyes opened a shade wider as she looked at his bare chest. Then she looked away again, feigning embarrassment, and flicked the feather duster over the windowsill. She started humming again.

He stared at the shiny fabric of her dress, following the line of the zip from her mid back to the back of the neckline. He gazed, spellbound, at the white frilled hem as it swayed sensually in time with her hips as she moved about. Her legs were plump, her thighs fleshy, (though not fat and flabby) but her black stilettos made her legs appear longer. Her fishnet stockings fascinated him, her skin showing through the criss-cross weave. He had seen fishnets in old films and in porn magazines, but never for real. His former girlfriend had declined to wear them, and had been reluctant even to wear nylon ones. 

He picked up the glossy magazine that lay on one of the easy chairs, sat down, and pretended to browse through it. In truth he was gazing at Mrs. Martin. Her waist looked appealing due to the flared cut of the lower part of her dress, and the frilled hem still swayed deliciously as she moved. His gaze rested on her bum (that he had caressed not long ago), then shifted to the bare skin of her thighs between her stockingtops and her dress.

She moved along one side of the room, again briefly turning to him and running her eyes over him. Seemingly unintentionally and innocently – though of course in reality it was neither – her tongue ran over her lips for a brief moment. Then she turned her back again. She dusted the chest of drawers, moving the feather duster lightly and with feminine, unnatural flicks of her wrist.

He was really hard now, but made himself wait for the pre-arranged signal. She put down the duster and walked past him to the bed. He was very tempted to grope her thigh or her lovely backside as she passed him, but he refrained. She shot him a brief smile, then looked away, pretending coyness. Her ripe breasts jiggled under her black maid dress. It was cut just low enough to show some of her cleft and the bare skin of the tops of her breasts. She leaned forward and tugged the bed covers straight. 

He stared inside her neckline. She was wearing a white lacy bra. It was fairly scanty. Her breasts surged forward. He gazed at them, at her smart hair and the little white headpiece of her costume. She ran her hands over the covers to smooth them out, then shook the pillows on the side of the bed furthest from where he was sitting. 

Her own heart was thumping with excitement. This slow, teasing pre-foreplay was surely far more delightful than immediately launching into sex, or even getting straight down to kissing and caressing. She was determined to build it up slowly, and to savour each moment of the scenario without making it too stilted or corny. Having a sister living in the south of France and married to a French man was a great asset, too, she reminded herself. It meant that her French was reasonably fluent and her accent was acceptable. She had also made a point of looking up a few naughty words in her dictionary especially for this afternoon.

His eager stares made her feel incredibly good about herself and sexy. Like her ex-husband Paul, she, too, was clearly well able to attract and bed someone considerably younger if she chose to. Like him, too, she was able to indulge in what took her fancy. But unlike him she had been entirely faithful through twenty-two years of marriage. She had been tempted a couple of times to go beyond harmless flirting with a colleague. But as a married women she hadn't bared her genitals to be kissed and sucked for a few moments of illicit pleasure with another. Not like him! The bastard!




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 03



She looked across at David once more. The transitory bitter thoughts about Paul were driven from her head by his evident hunger for her, and by the bulge in his trousers. She was tempted to make a more definite move, but held back. There was plenty of time ahead yet. Another few minutes would do no harm!

She stepped past him once more to stand by the side of the bed nearest to where he was sitting and pretending to read. She leaned forward over the bed. She knew that her saucy dress had risen high up the backs of her thighs, and that her legs and backside were only inches from her hand.

She leaned further down. She knew that not only were his eyes feasting on the backs of her thighs, on her fishnet stockings and her skirt hem, but that he must be able to see up inside the white-frilled hem of her dress to her panties. 

Panties? Knickers was the real term for them. French knickers. She had chosen them especially for today, to be in keeping with the suggestive outfit. She knew that not all blokes liked them. But she loved the feel of them next to her skin. They were made of silk, pure silk. They made her feel a little luxurious. And, because of their relative unpopularity, slightly exotic. And naughty. They left a little gap all around her thighs. A gap that would allow a finger or two to slip inside...

Her eyes alighted on a little damp mark on the duvet. She hadn't spotted it before. She felt shocked and ashamed at leaving such evidence behind for the hotel domestic staff to notice and gossip, and smirk about. Yet she also felt pleased by it. She leaned a little lower still, giving him an even better eyeful of what was up her costume than before. She shook her head as she lookd at the damp mark.

"Ooh la la! Ooh la LA!" she exclaimed.

He stepped closer and stood next to her. Her nearness excited him immensely. He could not resist tilting his head to one side to see her knickers. He felt a surge of arousal. He normally preferred little panties but these seemed unusual and very much in keeping with the way she was dressed and with the scenario they were acting out. They were pure white and looked expensive. They were mainly plain but trimmed with lace. Although they were quite short, they didn't hug her but hung down loosely around the tops of her plump thighs.

"What's wrong, Madame? Er... quest ce que c'est? Oh... oh... I see what you mean..."

To his shock, revulsion and delight she rubbed her finger across the slight sticky patch and raised it to her nose.

"It's spunk – and pussy juice, Madame," he muttered. As she turned to look at him, he felt shocked with himself for speaking so coarsely to his former neighbour.

She stifled a grin and managed to look at him with a saucy but puzzled expression.

"Oh er... never mind..."he said, feigning frustration at her apparent inability to understand what he said. " I wish I knew the words but I don't. Never mind! Er... it's nothing... er.. rien, rien!" he added.

His crude talk excited her. So did her own pretence not to understand. She shook her head and went to the bathroom. She returned with her cloth, now dampened, and the bar of soap. Again she made a big show of leaning forward, dabbing and rubbing the mark with the cloth and the soap, showing him her white silk drawers.

He was longing to slip his hand up her dress, and maybe just inside those knickers, too, to stroke her thigh, then maybe even her pussy. But she had already arranged a signal and hadn't yet given it. So he made himself refrain. All the time his heart was thumping as his ultimate fantasy unfolded before him.

After a few minutes of dabbing and rubbing, Madame Martin seemed content. She straightened up – to his disappointment – and moved over to the coffee table. It contained a number of items – some notepaper with the hotel letterhead, a couple of menus for the restaurant, a glossy brochure about the health club and pool. 

Joan's heart was pounding in her breast. She was impressed and pleased by his chivalrous restraint, despite his obvious ardour. She felt desired and desirable, and feminine. She felt she was getting her own back, even if secretly, on her husband for his cheating on her, and in their marital house and bed, at that. But as she felt David's hungry gaze on her she felt strong and in control, too. She was dictating the pace, deciding when to pause and when to progress. And, having whispered to him the sign when and how to come on to her, she felt that she held the trump card.

Her mind went back all those years when she had teased him in his garden with a view up her skirt. She grinned at the memory as she let the papers slide – seemingly by accident – from her grasp.

"Oh, merde!" she exclaimed.

Dave blushed. In his schooldays he and some friends had, puerilely, looked up some rude words in a French-English dictionary. He remembered the word for "shit!" even after all this time. To hear it from Mrs. Martin's mouth was quite something.

Then she did it. She gave the signal. She parted her legs – her mature sexy legs – and leaned slowly forward until she was almost touching her toes. Her maid's dress rode up and the backs of her thighs cane into view, their tops naked above her fishnet stockingtops. As she stooped lower still her sexy, expensive-looking knickers came into sight, too. The white silk contrasted deliciously with the inner black surface of her dress, with the colour of her skin, and with the black of her fishnets. He rubbed his rising erection and stepped towards her.

She picked up most of the leaflets and other items in one go and straightened a little. She dropped them on the corner of the bed. She turned and stooped tantalisingly slowly again to pick up the remainder. Again her dress rose slowly and invitingly. Again her thighs appeared, then her French knickers with the cheeky gap between the high-cut knicker legs and her skin.

He grabbed the feather duster where she had left it on the bed and ran it up her inner thigh. He tickled her skin with it. She twitched at the feel of the feathers teasing her sensitive skin, stood up straight and giggled. But she also wagged her finger reprovingly.

"Non, monsieur! Pas la! Mais non!"

The wagging of her finger aroused him massively. He raised the feather duster and brushed the tops of her breasts with it, watching the movement of the dark soft feathers on her smooth-looking skin above her neckline.

"Non, monsieur!" she said a little more firmly, and pulled away. She stepped back a couple of paces. He reversed the feather duster, holding it by the feathers and pointing the stick end towards her. He rubbed its tip against her crotch and lifted her little apron with it.

She gave a little gasp.

He lifted the hem of her dress with it.

"Monsieur! Non, NON!" She tried to sound convincing without raising her voice too much and risking being overheard.

She stepped back, but stood with her legs still parted and he slid the wooden end of the duster up inside her maid-dress and gently rubbed her crotch with it. She giggled, but pushed it away and tried to look serious.

Her French words thrilled him. It was truly a delicious detail to the scene they were playing with. He held the feathered end of the duster against his erection and lewdly pointed the other end at her as if it was a long, skinny penis.

"Mais oui, Madame, oui! Je vous desire beaucoup..." he said huskily. His throat was dry with lust for her.

Still holding the feather duster at about forty-five degrees from his crotch towards hers, he nudged forward, gently poking and rubbing its tip against her in a very lewd gesture.

"Oui, Madame, let me fuck you... laissez-moi... do this! MERDE, I don't know how to say it but you must be able to understand THIS!"

She stepped back another pace. He still waved the duster rudely up and down as if the wooden phallus was real and coming to, and from, attention.

She felt very aroused now. It wasn't as if they were acting out a tightly and over-scripted scene, she had just whispered a few ideas. His own improvisations were at least as naughty as hers, and it thrilled her that he was as keen to role-play as she was. She briefly wondered whether she needed any other replies to her "Would like to meet... for no-strings adult fun" advert that she had placed.

"Non, Monsieur! NON!" she protested, but her eyes betrayed her.

He leaned forward and rubbed the wooden tip of the duster against her crotch again. She feigned a shocked facial expression. But then she gave a little giggle. Then she sank slowly to the floor. He felt a surge of arousal and delight.

Madame Martin took hold of the tip of the duster as he held it out from his groin. She stroked it and kissed it as if it was indeed a very long but thin penis. She tugged it down a little and flicked her tongue across its hard, unyielding tip. She gazed up into his lusty face. He glanced into hers in return, then his gaze was drawn back to her red-glossed mouth as she kissed and licked the stick end of the duster.

With a sudden move that startled him she grabbed the feather duster and flung it across the room. She knelt up a bit higher and, cupping her hands under her breasts, rubbed them unsubtly and wantonly across his trouser-clad crotch. She pressed herself against his hardness and unzipped his trousers. Then she unfastened the button and jerked his trousers down to his knees. He groaned.

She nuzzled his throbbing erection through the soft, musky cotton of his boxers. Her boldness surprised even her. The blood was pumping in her ears.

"Monsieur, ooh monsieur, il est tellement grand, n'est pas? TELLEMENT grand! Et... tellement.. DUR!"

Dave racked his brain. It wasn't easy to concentrate as she tugged his boxers down and fondled his hard cock. Ah, yes, that was it! 

"You're right there, Madame, as you say, it's so big, isn't it? And so HARD!" he sneered.

She sucked it for a few moments. He looked down at the rude movements of her shiny lips and the bobbing up and down of her white, starched headpiece as she worked her mouth over his boxers. She found his hard balls and sucked them through his boxers. A damp patch from her mouth appeared. It looked very lewd.

She slid her fingers up inside his boxers and stroked his hard, hairy balls. He groaned. She looked up at him and smiled cheekily.

"C'est bon, monsieur?" she murmured.

"Tres bon, Madame. Unbelievably fucking bon!" he groaned. "Continuez, Madame!"

He bent slightly forward and slid the zip of her dress down a little. He caressed the soft skin of her back and ran his fingers along the back panel of her white bra. 

Madame Martin was now licking and kissing his erection, and again he looked down at the damp cotton of his boxers and at her head, adorned with the white maid headpiece, as she moved along his throbbing length. She started to suck his tip through his boxers.

He took the back of her bra and gently but firmly tugged it back and forth from her. She gave a little whimper of pleasure as she felt her breasts being rhythmically squeezed by his bra-tugging. She was thrilled by his imagination. 

She stood up and pointed to the bed. He pretended he wanted to confirm her intentions, pointing to himself, then to her, then to the bed, and making a questioning gesture. She nodded. 

He pulled down his boxers and stepped out of them. He got onto the duvet, avoiding the damp patch, and lay on his side. She walked quickly to the bed and leaned forward. He gazed at her breasts inside her maid's dress. She rolled him onto his back. Then, to his surprise and huge delight, she clambered onto the bed and stood on it astride him. Her black stiletto hells dug into the covers.

She stared down at his face, his eyes almost glazed with desire for her. She needed no caressing or other stimulation to prepare her, she was ready and desperate for him. She slid her arms behind her back and he heard the zip of her dress slide down. 

He watched as she peeled the top of her dress down. He stared at her white lacy bra and the soft-looking skin of the tops of her breasts above it. This skin was slightly lined. Truly she was the mature, experienced woman of his wildest imagination. He stared at his own erection. It was as hard as he had ever known it and was pulsing. 

She knelt on her haunches. He stared at her legs in the fishnet stockings and stroked them. The feel of the soft mesh with her skin underneath and between it was very sensual. He gazed up as she dug one hand, then the other, inside her bra to scoop her fabulous, C-cup breasts free. He had already kissed, caressed and sucked them a short time ago, but such was the strength and longstanding fixation on her that he was engrossed by the sight.

She thrilled to see the keenness of his stare, knowing that he had imagined them often for so long, that many times he had closed his eyes and masturbated to the thought of them.

She knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. She led it inside her dress hem. She placed it on her bare inner thigh, and guided it up to her silk knickers. He groaned. She whimpered. He slid his hand inside the leg and stroked the very top of her thigh, and found her dank, hairy pussy.

She sighed.

"Ah oui, monsieur, oui! Ma chatte, caressez ma chatte..."

He realised that she was using a variation of the French word for cat. His heart was beating quicker than before.

"Oh, yeah, Madame likes her PUSSY being caressed, huh?" he grunted. In response she whimpered and gasped softly as he explored its contours through her damp, silk underwear. She gave a few little thrusts against his hand.

Then she stood up on the bed again and dragged her knickers down. She stepped out of them and squatted on her haunches astride him. She hiked up her dress to her waist. Her breasts flopped forward and her nipples were erect. She held his throbbing erection in her hand, lusting for it but denying herself for a few more aching moments. She lowered herself and rubbed her tender pussy against its length, allowing it to rub and nestle lengthways against her slit rather than taking it in. He stared at her stilettos digging into the bed. 

She raised herself and repeated this several times. He stared at the rude sight, and although she was divorced, the sight of her wedding ring thrilled him. It was as if the clock had been turned back and he was about to have sex with another man's wife, to be inside her when he had no right.

The words came to her head. She was shocked as she found herself speaking them. She had never spoken of herself in such a way during sex, but the role-play made it seem natural and easier to do. 

"Ooh monsieur, monsieur, je suis une chienne... une chienne sale... votre chienne... prenez votre chienne sale..."

It was unbelievable to hear his former neighbour speak like this. It was even more incredible to hear her calling herself a bitch, a dirty bitch, and urging him to take her.

She guided him into her slick opening and began to ride him slowly but hard and deep. The bed squeaked softly in time with her thrusts. He stared at his hard cock as it drove inside her hairy minge and partly re-emerged again. The sight was very rude and erotic. He gripped her fishnet-covered legs.

He gazed at her, her juicy breasts rocking rhythmically up and down as she rode him. He stared at her fishnet-clad legs and thighs, and the black suspenders with their cheeky white bows. He gazed at her naughty outfit hiked up around her waist, and at her sexy face, almost grimacing as she ground against him.

"Okay then, Madame, okay then. Hold still and I WILL take you..."

Despite her using the rude French term for herself, he could not bring himself to use it himself to her. But he did reply, "Yeah, alright then, I'll take you, Madame... ohhh yeah, I'm going to come inside your naughty 'chatte', Madame!"

She held still and rigid to allow him to thrust against her. She thrilled in his deep driving inside her, filling her, pushing her up and down, filling her. She looked down at the thrusting movements of his pelvis. He in turn stared alternately at the sight of his cock ramming into her hairy pussy and at the vigorous bouncing of her breasts. He came very quickly and so did she. But it didn't matter at all. They were both entirely sated.

As before she cuddled up beside him and held him close, and they remained silent for a time, simply enjoying the intimacy.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 04



I have an idea for a grand "climax" for Joan. But even though this series is only a fantasy it's hard to imagine that she would only have one response to her advert, or only meet up with Dave as a result!

This chapter is another slow build-up to the "real" action of the next chapter, so bear this in mind when deciding whether to read this one. But like Joan, the reader needs to get to know a bit about the next person whom she meets up with in response to her advert. And, like Joan a bit of delay for the resolution may be exciting for the reader, too.

So I hope you like this one and if you don't, you'll have to be patient for a short while until I can write the next chapter -- I only have limited free time!

As ever, many thanks for the positive feedback so far

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL AND OVER 18

_______________

Joan felt strange and rather sad to be hugging and kissing David goodbye, though in effect they had already said their farewells. In all they had enjoyed sex three times, the third with David pretending to be asleep and her gently "arousing" him. As they parted, each had sought to assure the other that a further meeting would be delightful (without wishing to appear desperate), and each added that this was of course dependent on the other's wishes (to avoid appearing pushy). She had already decided against accompanying him back to the reception area. 

"No strings" needed to be precisely that -- at least as far as possible given that she had just had sex three times with her former neighbour who was half her age. And, after he had gone, she just managed to refrain from watching him leave from the bedroom window. She caressed the piece of paper on which he had written his telephone number, though. And although he had encouraged her to call him Dave, she still found herself thinking of him by the more formal name she had used for years. 

No strings. It was more complicated than it sounded! 

Joan felt guilty and ashamed as well. She had never behaved like this before, indulging in sex purely for sex's sake. And to do it three times! In close succession!. With a lad half her age, too. She could not decide which was worse -- intending to do it with a total stranger or actually doing it with her young, former next door neighbour. An accusing voice in her head berated her. 

But she felt happy, too. A warm glow and even a sweet, slight inner ache made her feel good, and the thought that -- even though secretly - she had somehow struck back at her ex-husband for his cheating on her filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

She made herself a coffee from the courtesy tray and lit a cigarette. She had reduced her smoking over the last few months but could not resist having one right now.

Nervousness and excitement crept upon her, too. She wondered whether there would be any more respondents to her advert. There had been several so far. Some had been simply obscene messages left for kicks. Others she had not liked the sound of, although she had made a note of a couple of telephone numbers as possible candidates to meet -- she had been unable to get through to them so far. One call had been most unpleasant, a sneering voice offering to be her "bit on the side", taunting her for her loveless or sexless marriage, and bragging about being the answer to all her problems. Joan tried to be philosophical, but it angered and upset her.

There was another problem, too. Having been the victim of cheating herself she was reluctant to meet married men and be responsible for the feelings of hurt, betrayal, anger and low self esteem that she knew only too well. 

She would go home soon to check. If there were any likely candidates she might even be able to meet one this very evening and -- her heart skipped a beat and she felt a little wave of arousal at the very thought -- if she really felt it safe, maybe she would even have sex with him. Who knows, she thought, she might even do it in this very room where she had already had sex three times in the last few hours! After all, she had booked the room for the night. She blushed at the thought -- however unlikely -- of having sex with two different men on the same day and on a total of four or five occasions. She felt a surge of arousal -- and a blush of shame.

She realised, though, how lucky she had been that David, her former neighbour, had been her first contact. She knew that meeting for a blind date, especially when advertising for "no strings adult fun" was very risky. She was not so desperate that she would put herself in any danger. Violence or infection were not on her agenda. She had in fact intended to use a condom with David but the shock discovery that she knew him half drove it form her mind. It seemed pointless and embarrassing to mention it after the first time. 

She looked around as she drew on her cigarette. As her eyes alighted on the maid uniform that she had worn just a short time ago, she smirked to herself again at the role play in which she had engaged with David. She was glad that she had splashed out on a nice hotel, especially for her first time. The quality of the decor helped to mask some of the seediness of what she had done. She would have hated doing it in some dingy cheap room somewhere. On the other hand she knew that she could not afford such relative luxury every time she wanted to get laid.

Her mind drifted back over the events of the afternoon, and she felt twinges of pleasure and shame as she revisited them, alternating between grins of naughty delight and furrowed brows of guilt.

She looked at her watch. It was time, she decided, to head for home and check for responses to her advert. She would have had time for a quick shower before leaving, but decided to wait until she got home. Although imperceptible she felt she wanted to drive home feeling slightly tainted from her earlier encounter. She would freshen up at home instead.

She picked up the maid uniform, and as she hung it up in the wardrobe she again chuckled softly at the intensity of David's arousal, and of hers, in its use just an hour or so earlier. 

She headed off along the corridor and down the stairs to reception to hand in her room key. The young lad who had ogled her as she checked in was on duty again. To her annoyance he did the same again, leering shamelessly at her breasts as she waited for him to complete his telephone conversation. As she handed in her room key she noticed his gaze rest on her finger. 

He had noticed that she had put on her wedding ring again. Even though she was divorced, she usually wore it to discourage unwanted attentions. Earlier on the lad had noticed the ring-shaped indentation left on her finger that showed so clearly that she had removed it temporarily. For the duration of the afternoon when she had met a lad of similar age to him, in fact. It was a small detail, but the lecherous young man -- his name badge said "Richard" -- had noticed it, and its apparent significance. To him, she was evidently a married woman out for the day to have a bit on the side. To be truthful, his assumption was not far wrong. 

When he had finished speaking on the telephone Richard looked at her breasts and ring finger more than her face as he took the key from her. He had an unpleasant smirk on his face. Joan felt like slapping him or reporting him, but she did neither. And, despite his sheer cheek and lewdness, at least it confirmed her appeal to him, even to younger men. It made her feel sexy, feminine, and even a bit powerful.

____________________

It seemed very sordid to be driving home to check for other responses to her "no strings adult fun" advert so soon after having sex with one respondent. But she felt liberated, too, a free agent at last, pleasing herself after divorcing her unfaithful husband.

As previously there were a number of obscene messages. There was also one from a couple asking if she was interested in meeting them. Joan was shocked by this -- she knew she was probably naive but she hadn't expected it. She moved on to the others.

Three definitely made her feel uneasy. One was from a bloke who freely admitted to being interested in rough sex and it was clear that he wanted to be the one meting out the roughness. There was no way she would meet him.

There were another two that made her feel uncomfortable, though for different reasons, and despite their apparent politeness in their recorded messages. One was a bloke in his thirties who said he was looking for a mistress who would be available regularly but at short notice. Joan shook her head as she listened. "No strings" to him clearly meant no strings to tie him down but a very thick string attached to her. 

There was something intangible about the tone and manner of the other one that disquieted her. She had once seen a documentary about prostitutes who plied their trade in flats or apartments rather than on the streets. One in particular had claimed that she had developed a sixth sense when screening potential candidates on the telephone, and if she felt intuitively uneasy she declined offering them an appointment, even if business was slow that day. She had claimed, too that it had worked, and that she had never yet been assaulted in several years of working in the sex industry.

Joan prided herself with being a good judge of character and had determined from the outset to trust her own intuition and to err on the side of caution. Similarly she would only initially meet in public like a pub or hotel bar, and even if she decided to go all the way with anyone she met, it would be in a hotel room. There was no way that she would get in a car with a relative stranger, far less go to their home or take them to hers.

So, having ruled out these callers (with the possible exception of the couple, about which she would have to give some serious thought) she was left with Laurence.

She wasn't sure whether that was his real name. Not that it mattered to Joan -- she had placed her ad under the false name Brenda. 

Laurence was polite and had a quiet and distinguished voice, yet without seeming snobbish. He sounded quietly self-assured without being full of himself. His quiet confidence appealed to Joan and even, strangely, reassured her. Maybe it made her feel that respectable professional people did what she was doing and that it was not such a perverted thing after all.

She guessed that he was married as he said that he was available to meet on some weeknights if given a little advance notice, but not at weekends.

Joan liked the sound of his voice as she listened to his brief message on her voicemail. Three things bothered her, though.

Firstly, he was in his fifties. She had leanings towards men her own age or younger. Secondly, she suspected that he was married, and the last thing she wanted was to bring the kind of misery on another woman that she herself had experienced through a husband's philandering. 

Thirdly -- and his honesty and matter-of-fact manner on the voicemail took her aback -- he said in his message that he "liked to be dominated a little."

Joan's hand felt clammy. She put the telephone down and sat in stunned silence. She listened to it several more times.

However, the more she listened, the more intrigued she became. Both the kinkiness and the genuineness of the voice, the honesty and the ordinary, everyday way that it was stated both shocked her and appealed to her.

Several times she began to dial the number, but lost her nerve and hung up before completing. She had a cigarette. The fourth time she rang the number, and as soon as she had done so felt she had reached the point of no return. She could not hang up, or at least if she did, she knew that she would feel unable to ring again. Besides, she told herself, this was only a telephone call, and she had made a point of withholding her number before dialling. There was nothing to lose -- and maybe -- just maybe -- a lot to gain!

The phone rang a number of times without being answered (though probably not as many as she thought), and she was about to hang up when the rich, refined voice she had heard already said "Hello?". It sounded formal yet friendly. Joan took a deep breath, reminded herself to call herself Brenda, and made herself speak slowly so that she didn't gabble and sound nervous or stupid.

"Oh, hello, er, Laurence. It's Brenda. Thanks for your message."

She blushed guiltily at using her deceptive pseudonym, especially given his candour.

"Ah, Brenda. How nice to hear your voice. I hope I didn't alarm you by what I said. But I felt it was important to be honest from the start. Brenda is a nice name, by the way..."

Joan felt a fluttering in her stomach. She hated herself for it, but found her excitement and her nervousness flustered her. She stammered and faltered a little. Laurence, however, took it all in his stride and somehow made her feel at ease.

She could not remember afterwards the order in which things were said, nor who had suggested what and how the arrangement came to be made, as it all seemed to happen so quickly in her excited frame of mind.

Early on in the conversation Laurence explained that he was married, and apologised if this offended her. But he explained that his wife was disabled and, much as he loved her and looked after her, he had needs that through no fault of her own she was unable to satisfy. 

Joan found herself frowning at this point. Again, though, Laurence's honesty disarmed her completely. 

"I really don't know what she would do if she found out, the poor dear," Laurence said. His voice dropped and he spoke more ponderously and with a tinge of guilt. "Probably divorce me and sue me for every penny. Serve me right, too, of course. It would hurt far more than my bank balance, too, though. I would, ah, find it so hard to live with the knowledge that I had betrayed her and hurt her. Doesn't deserve that."

Joan was torn between feeling sorry for Laurence and despising him for his cheating. But his openness and admission of guilt rather than attempts to justify his actions impressed her enough not to interrupt.

"But," he continued, "it's hard not being able to have sex at all. And... ah, I'm sorry if this sounds crude, my dear, but one thing I will say about my activities. I never can bring myself to... ah... to go quite all the way. You know what I mean. I like sex, I need it from time to time but I never can bring myself to... ah... to have, forgive me, penetration. Very arbitrary dividing line, I know, what? Ridiculously so. But anyway -- that's the nearest thing to an excuse I can manage. Not much of one, I know. But it's honest, and I... ah... admit I choose to do what I do, even though I hate myself for it afterwards. I'm not saying that anyone -- or even that my own hormones -- make me. Anyway..."

He went on to explain that he worked in the legal profession and needed to spend about half the week in an apartment "in town" to avoid a lengthy daily return commute. He had bought a cottage in the countryside just over an hour's drive away with fine views for his wife to enjoy. And although it meant that he was away from home for several days at a time, it also allowed him to spend four whole days at home to look after his wife and spend quality time with her. And, of course, he added, again with a slight note of sadness and guilt, the arrangement also enabled him to, "ah... satisfy my needs from time to time with maximum discretion -- for ah... HER benefit, the discretion I mean, you understand?"

Joan said she did -- which was largely true.

If she were more cynical Joan would have wondered whether his guilt and shame was just pretence. She didn't think so, though. She felt that he was indeed being honest about his feelings. The way he had switched to clipped, incomplete sentences seemed to indicate it. And he spoke with conviction, yet still in a down-to-earth way and without wishing to elicit sympathy.

Besides, Joan was by now no stranger to experiencing a cocktail of emotions, or to feelings of turmoil and battles with conscience herself.

She struggled to remember all the details of the conversation later, as her mind was right now in such a spin. She did remember, though, that she had checked that he liked receiving "a little" domination rather than administering it, to which he emphatically answered "yes." She wanted to know more but was too shy to ask.

Whatever the dynamics of the conversation, she found that they had somehow agreed to meet at eight that evening in the big town about forty minutes' drive from where she lived. He suggested a particular pub on the outskirts, and although she vaguely knew it, she scribbled down the directions anyway.

Despite her high excitement she also later remembered stressing that she had no experience of what he had in mind and that in any case this was simply a meeting of the two of them with no outcome guaranteed.

To her delight Laurence sounded genuinely appreciative.

"You know, Brenda, my dear, I am so glad you said that. I like to take my time and form opinions of people, too, and to be honest if you had said otherwise I would have had reservations about meeting you. Is eight acceptable to you? Please be assured that I will be there a good fifteen to twenty minutes earlier than that. I would hate you to have to enter a pub alone and to have to wait for me. Ah... Most uncomfortable for a lady, what?"

Despite her reservations, Joan felt herself warming to him. He had a public school, almost military air, yet combined with vulnerability. The way he said "ah" instead of "er" was an indication of his affluent background. It sounded unaffected, though, and not put on. Most of all she felt sure that, apart from his straying from the marital bed, he was on the whole a decent, respectable bloke. She thanked him and said that she was genuinely looking forward to meeting him. He reciprocated, then spoke in his slightly more clipped way again.

"Oh, and... ah... one more thing, Brenda, my dear. I'm afraid you will be meeting a pretty plain-looking chap with only a small amount of hair, and I, ah, carry a few more pounds in weight than I should. You're... ah... not going to be meeting some muscle-bound chap or one who women would swoon over, I fear. Probabbly wouldn't look at twice in fact. Just don't want you to build up an unrealistic image and be disappointed, what?"

He tried to sound jovial and almost succeeded.

Joan's mind was racing as she thought quickly of what clothes to wear. He assured her that he would be near the doorway and would introduce himself as soon after she entered as possible and in a way that would not attract attention. He confirmed the details and travelling instructions once more, then wished her "au revoir" in his rich but soft voice. 

Joan had to stifle a giggle as she said goodbye; the French term reminded her of her naughty role-play just a few hours earlier that afternoon with David.

David. She felt a twinge of guilt. He had been sweet, he had declared the intensity of his suppressed desire over many years to her, and they had enjoyed thoroughly enjoyable role-played sex. For a long time she had fantasised about that very thing -- not just dressing a certain way, but playing a part, fantasy sex. After the shock of discovering that her blind "no strings" date was none other than her former and much younger neighbour, the surprise of finding that he too shared her penchant had been almost as great.

Yet here she was, just a couple of hours or so after having sex with him (three times, at that!), arranging to meet someone else with whom she may end up doing the same. Maybe next week, maybe this week -- "maybe, even -- who knows?" she thought -- that very evening.

The increasingly familiar mix of guilt, shame, self-recrimination -- and liberation, excitement and naughty delight -- flooded her mind. She felt a little tingle in her crotch, too.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 04



She had no idea what to wear for a man who liked to be "dominated a little". She had no way of knowing how much "a little domination" amounted to in his case, either, nor did she have any experience of such. In any case she would have to dress respectably and discreetly if she were meeting him in a pub.

Again she thought of David. Doubt began to gnaw at her. She was sure that he would want to meet up with her again, and she certainly wanted sex with him again. Should she volunteer to him that she had met with someone else? And if she and Laurence ended up having sex, should she volunteer that information to David, too? Should she say nothing at all? If David asked outright if she had met up with anyone else who replied to her advert, what should she say? Deny all? Admit all? Partly deny and partly admit? Which parts?

She shook her head and urged herself to get a grip, and to concentrate on the evening ahead. "No strings, Joan, no strings is what you advertised, and that's how it will damn well be!" she told herself. "No strings tying me to David, or to Laurence!"

She felt nervous, too, of course. She had no idea what to expect. But that also added to the excitement.

And "being dominated a little" -- whatever might that include? And how would she cope? Her stomach churned slightly.

Joan avoided having another cigarette to calm her nerves. She had forgotten to ask Laurence whether he was a non-smoker, and she didn't want to smell too strongly of nicotine or for her clothes to smell of tobacco smoke.

Besides, she would have to move fairly sharply to get ready for her "ah" liaison, what?" His jovial and slightly quaint manner made her smile.

She grinned to herself.

In the end she decided on a black pin-stripe, knee-length pencil skirt with buttons up one side, and a purple silky blouse. Although she considered it unlikely that she would do anything more than simply assess Laurence's suitability for a sexual encounter on a future occasion, she decided to wear black stockings and suspenders anyway. She was feeling naughty and might as well at least dress in keeping with her aspirations, she thought. 

She looked at several sets of underwear. She cursed her indecision. Time was passing. She had limited time to get ready. 

Eventually she took out the corset, the black satin but "boned" corset embellished with small red, oriental-styled flowers that she had bought a couple of months earlier.

She had only worn it once. It had been a night out with some work colleagues. Her corset remained hidden and secret throughout the night, but it had made her feel very sexy. And incredibly horny. A few blokes had eyed her up. She had smirked, thinking how much more they would stare if they knew what she was wearing under her dress. It made her feel powerful to have a secret that they would love to see if only they knew. 

She caressed the soft yet stiffened fabric as she remembered her feelings that night and considered the evening ahead. Hell, yes, she thought, why not? Nobody would see it -- unless she wanted them to. And, anyway, she was feeling randy and this seemed just right. And maybe it was just the thing if events were to lead to...

The naughty thought kept coming to her mind. "Who knows -- I might! I just bloody well might, you know!" Her pulse quickened and she was conscious of a slight seep of moisture in her crotch.

She went to the bathroom and had a quick but thorough wash, brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. She put on the corset and admired her reflection in the large mirror, the way her corset pushed her breasts up, the way it emphasised her curves and flattened her stomach. It looked very sexy, the small red flowers standing out against the shimmering black background. The suspenders looked saucy as they hung redundantly down.

It all made her look brazen. At her age she should be past wearing such lingerie, not taking delight in wearing it. She felt aroused by at the sight. She raised and lowered her eyebrows in self-approval. 

She went back into her bedroom and slid into the panties that matched her corset, and tugged them up her thighs and to her waist. They were brief without being tiny, and tight enough to show the shape of her mound. She eased on the black stockings and drew them slowly up, then hooked the corset suspenders to them. She watched herself in the mirror. To her shame -- and delight -- she felt like a hooker. A mature hooker seeking a client. 

Or maybe not a hooker, out to make money from hiring out her body for sex. She felt more like a predator - the Americans had a term, cougar. Yes, cougar described her feelings and her attitude. 

A predator seeking, stalking its prey, assessing each potential victim against the others, stalking, waiting, hunting to fulfil a primal desire. Hunger. Not food-hunger, but a need and a drive just as strong. Sex. Sex for the naked thrill of it, the naughtiness of it, the sheer daring act of seeking sex with a stranger for its own wanton sake.

She put on the blouse and drew it over the corset. She buttoned it up. Its dark colour and its style kept her corset beneath well-hidden. Nobody in the pub would guess but she would know, she would be aware all the time of her hidden secret. It would add a whole extra sexy element in her mind to each look she gave and received, each gentle touch of the arm. 

She stepped into the skirt and tucked her purple silky blouse into the waistband. She left a couple of buttons unfastened to show just the top of her cleft. She left three of the buttons on the side of the skirt unfastened, too. Again she checked herself in the mirror. She felt that she looked respectable but her skirt would flash enough plump thigh - in sheer nylon stockings, though nobody but her would realise that they were indeed stockings with suspenders and not tights, of course! - to catch a few admiring glances. 

She tried unbuttoning one further button on the side of her skirt. She moved around, checking her reflection. She felt she was showing a bit too much leg, even though her stockingtops remained hidden. She refastened the button then, as she turned to go to the dressing table, she undid it again. "To hell with it!" she thought. 

She opened her dressing table drawer. She looked at the two packets of condoms. She paused and reached for the right hand one; then she hesitated. After a brief moment she slowly picked up the left hand one instead. The flavoured ones. 

"Ah... flavoured, what, my dear?" she said out loud, though in gentle jest of Laurence's voice rather than mockery. 

She had never attempted to give her ex-husband oral sex (despite his enthusiasm) more than once, as he had thrust into her mouth and she had thought she was going to choke. It had scared her and angered her. It was a selfish and horrible thing to do without asking, and undermined her trust in him for some time afterwards when they had sex. 

In fact, looking back, that was when the rot had set in. She avoided having sex quite often in case he tried to do it again. And as having his dick deep in a female's mouth was clearly so important to him he had strayed elsewhere in his quest for satisfaction.

It was his fault that the sex grew less frequent, not hers. He had scared her, treated her badly for his own gratification. And now, though he did not know it and probably never would, she was paying him back, albeit in her own secret way and in her own mind. And it felt delicious.

She had been curious what performing oral sex would feel like if the man was considerate and respectful. And maybe -- maybe a man who liked "a little domination" would be gentle and respectful, especially if ordered to be. And doing it through a condom would prevent getting a mouthful of cum on her first time, with the attendant uncertainty of how she would react and what to do with it.

Besides, doing it to someone else -and a stranger into the bargain - after refusing her ex would be like sticking up two fingers at him. After all, she had caught him in bed -- THEIR bed -- receiving oral sex from some young thing. Even if he felt that the decline of sex with his own wife was partly her fault, he had no right to do that. In their own marital bed. 

Joan really had warmed to Laurence's voice and manner over the telephone. She tried to remain open minded about his possible appearance and simply hoped that he would at least look okay. In particular she hoped that his standards of personal hygiene were as well refined as his speech. She hated the thought of sex with someone who laid little store by fresh breath, adequate bathing and a subtle application of deodorant.

"Dominated a little." The phrase haunted her, intrigued her, scared her, enticed and delighted her. She tossed it around in her head over and over. She would need more clarification before taking things beyond meeting in a pub. Joan considered herself no prude and reasonably broadminded. But there were limits of decency. She hoped too that it would be nothing too corny that would give her a fit of the giggles.

"Dominated a little." What would he expect? Would he take the lead or expect her to do so? If the latter, she feared feeling out of her depth altogether.

But Joan reminded herself of his kindly voice, his up-front honesty, his quiet self-assurance mixed with a dash of sadness, guilt and shame -- in short, his vulnerability.

And her female intuition had not experienced any misgivings apart from his married status and his kink. His naughty, illicit yet intriguing and alluring kink. She felt as confident as was possible that he posed no threat.

She checked her appearance once more in the mirror. Nobody would guess that under her skirt and blouse she was dressed to kill. But she would be conscious of her corset, its delicious softness and stiffness against her skin and her flesh, and the provocativeness of it. 

She blushed as she stuffed the flavoured condoms into her bag. Even if she and Laurence did end up having sex, she argued, they could be used just as any other condom. In fact Laurence wouldn't even need to know they were flavoured if she kept the packet hidden and simply removed a condom from it. She stepped into her black calf-length boots that would still show enough leg yet strike the right chord. 

In a flash of inspiration she lifted from another drawer a pure silk headscarf. It was pink with lilac flowers on it. She fastened it loosely around her neck and let it rest on her shoulder. She liked the look of it against her blouse, but there was another, darker purpose as well. She sensed that it might prove useful with the man who liked to be "dominated a little". She looked around the room. She removed the belts from two dressing robes, rolled them up, and pushed them into her bag. After all it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that even tonight she and Laurence might do it. She felt another little squish and surge at the thought.

"Surely not tonight?" her conscience chided. "Not after doing it already three times today, and with a lad young enough to be your son at that, you dirty bitch!" 

"Ha! I might! I just bloody well might! We'll have to wait and see! And less of the reproach, if you don't mind. I deserve some fun after everything I've been through! Besides..." and Joan actually said the words that followed aloud, though softly. "And when I do I'll think of that good-for-nothing bastard of a husband having his dick sucked by a young floozy -- on our bloody bed, too! And as I suck Laurence's dick -- tonight or another night -- I'll bloody think of Paul and how I refused to suck his but am doing it for a stranger!"

The image of her ex husband and his floozy flooded back into her mind. She sniffed and wiped away the first trace of a tear. She breathed deeply. Then she rummaged in the drawer. The corset rubbed against her, reminding her of her naughty intentions.

From the drawer Joan retrieved, still wrapped in tissue paper, the scarlet, satin gloves she had bought with the corset. They were still wrapped in tissue paper. Joan smiled. She rubbed them gently against her skin, savouring the soft feel. She re-wrapped them in the paper, then tucked them into her bag. Her stomach gave a flutter of naughty approval.

She checked her appearance in the mirror one final time. She touched up her make-up, though she was always careful not to wear too much. She changed her stud earrings for some medium sized gold hoops. She grinned at her reflection.

"Ah.., you look just spiffing, BRENDA my dear. Or... ah... should I say, 'dressed to kill' -- or even 'dressed to dominate a little'?" she said, mimicking Laurence's voice affectionately. 

She made a mental note to use and to respond to her assumed false name, "Brenda". She felt guilty to be deceptive towards a man who had been so honest with her. But it was all part of the secrecy, her need to keep her identity secret part of the double life she wanted to lead at the present. Besides, she had to admit that the whole cloak-and-dagger thing added to its illicitness and thrill. 

She hurried down the stairs, grabbed her car keys, locked her front door behind her and stepped into her car. She glanced at her watch. She had adequate time for the journey ahead. 

She pulled out of the driveway and set off on her journey into what was, for her, unexplored territory. She tried to avoid building a mental picture of Laurence. She also tried not to think too much of David and of the hot, role-play sex they had enjoyed -- three times -- that afternoon. 



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 05



Although some people clearly don't like slow build-ups and tease I am gratified by the feedback to some of my stories that other folk really like them. I have tried to cater for both in this chapter as I build up to the next chapter(s?) which will bring Joan's tale to a climax.

Partly for my own enjoyment and partly to help the story along I really do like to develop characters and their feelings, reactions, etc. As well as hopefully building up a tease I feel it also makes the characters a bit more real too.

FOR THOSE WHOP PREFER TO GET STRAIGHT TO THE ACTION I HAVE FLAGGED WHERE IT STARTS WITH A ROW OF -*-*-*-*- AS OPPOSED TO JUST ______. 

Hope you enjoy it – if you do I would value your comments

ALL CHARACTERS AND PLACE NAMES ARE FICTIONAL

____________________

As she drove, Joan's felt the same mixture of excitement, nervousness and shame that she had felt earlier when on her way to meet her first blind date, who had turned out to be her former neighbor, David. Snapshot-like scenes came to her mind. The initial shock of recognising him when he turned round to face her. The cat-and-mouse game in the bar until they both agreed to retire to the room she had booked. The provocative glimpses of herself she had given him. The way she had stood astride him to let him gaze up her skirt. The French maid role-play.

She recalled with a thrill the hunger in his eyes, the burning desire that he had felt – and nurtured – for her over several years, and the intensity of its release as he came inside her. She thought of the feel of his younger body, his tender and ardent caresses and kisses, and of the naughty role-play. She felt a surge of squishy delight as the images flooded her mind.

But just a few hours after having sex three times with David, she was now heading to meet another stranger, a man who was a few years older than she was and who was married. And she was hoping that the encounter would lead to sex. She felt a twinge of shock at her wantonness.

She tried not to guess Laurence's appearance to avoid disappointment. She tried, too, not to try to speculate about his liking to be "dominated a little". She tried instead to think about mundane things like what to add to her shopping list, and tasks that needed to be done in the garden. And over and over again she reminded herself that for the time ahead she was Brenda, not Joan.

Her nervous excitement grew as each motorway roadsign she passed counted down the distance to her destination. At last she left the motorway and approached the outskirts of the city. She looked at her watch, reassuring herself that she was on schedule.

Her stomach churned as she saw and approached the Black Bull pub and pulled into the car park. A navy blue BMW was among the parked cars, and she wondered whether it was Laurence's. She sat for a few moments to compose herself. She played with her wedding ring. It seemed futile to remove it – it would leave a visible mark around her finger where it had been anyway, so she left it in place.

A couple in their thirties approached the pub doorway as she got out of the car. Joan's partly unbuttoned skirt flashed a glimpse of her thigh as she did so, and the bloke furtively checked her out before entering the pub with his partner. Joan took it as a good omen and followed a few yards behind them.

She pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. It was a weeknight and not too busy. She made herself look straight ahead at the bar to avoid making eye contact with the wrong man. She had described herself on the telephone and would wait for Laurence to approach her. The suspense was agonising but after just a few steps a voice she recognised spoke just behind her, questioningly, "Brenda?"

She turned round.

He was about her own height. He was not hugely overweight but, as he had said, he was carrying a few more pounds than he should. He wore glasses, and was balding. The crescent of hair he had was short and greying. He was clean-shaven and although dressed casually, his trousers, jacket, and shoes, and even his shirt, were clearly well made and expensive.

She smiled, though she felt silly and out of her depth, unsure whether to shake hands, offer him a peck on the cheek, or neither. Laurence, however, beamed reassuringly at her and guided her to a quiet table. He enquired what she would like to drink and returned with a Britvic orange for her and what looked like a pint of shandy for himself.

Despite his plain appearance, he proved to be engaging and witty. He looked into her face as they chatted. And although he allowed his eyes to drift to her breasts form time to time, she felt flattered rather than uncomfortable. His glance alighted on her wedding ring. She was tempted to explain that she only wore it to protect her from unwanted attention. But she decided against it. It felt deliciously naughty to pretend she was still married and playing away from home. In fact it felt like payback on her cheating ex-husband.

After a brief awkward lull in the conversation they discovered a mutual interest in cats. Laurence was flattered that she knew of the unusual breeds that he owned, and was quite a raconteur about their antics. He also had some amusing anecdotes from his legal career. They both began to feel more relaxed together.

The younger man and his partner who had seen her get out of her car were sitting at a table not far from Laurence and her. Joan saw the man furtively glancing at her thigh. She was embarrassed yet glad that she had left some of the buttons at the side of her skirt unfastened. She was showing enough to catch the eye yet little enough to appear respectable and innocent of any intention to arouse. She shuffled forward to make her skirt fall open just a little more. It felt very naughty to court deliberately the gaze of other men while she chatted to her "date". The man's girlfriend glared and hit him on the arm. Joan had to hide her gratified smirk behind her glass.

And as she chatted with Laurence and enjoyed the glances of the bloke at the nearby table she called to mind with a thrill what neither Laurence, nor her secret admirer, nor anybody else in the quiet pub would ever guess. Under her respectable outer clothes she was dressed to kill in her appearance, she was dressed to kill in her stockings, suspenders, corset and matching panties. And in her bag she had scarlet satin gloves. And a packet of condoms – flavoured ones at that!

Joan smiled to herself at her outrageousness.

"Anyway, Brenda," Laurence said in his soft, refined voice, "let's be honest. We didn't meet to chat about Abyssinian and Somali cats and their antics."

Fortunately Joan had been making a conscious effort throughout to listen for, and respond to, her pseudonym. Laurence casually looked around to ensure that nobody could overhear, then leaned forward.

"About your advert and my response, my dear," Laurence continued. "I am flattered that you agreed to meet me. I tried to explain that I am nothing to look at and that I am past my prime. I also mentioned my marital status and my, ah... PENCHANT to you."

Joan smiled to herself at his formality and especially at the way he said "penchant" in an emphatically French accent. Besides seeming quaint, it also reminded her of her earlier French maid naughty role-play with David.

"I assume that as you are here I didn't alarm you too much," he said, tentatively. "Though I have no way of knowing how near or how far away you live – nor do I need or wish to know. No-strings, what?"

Joan felt tense but nodded as Laurence glanced around again to check that nobody was within earshot.

"It isn't a particularly extreme PENCHANT. I simply like being ordered around somewhat, perhaps told off, maybe even spanked for being naughty. And I like to be tied up and teased during foreplay and sex. And as I mentioned I do not like penetrative sex, for the reasons I stated."

His candour and matter-of-fact manner surprised and reassured Joan. His leanings were much tamer than she had feared (though she was unsure how well she would be able to partake) and Laurence's frankness made it seem not so taboo.

"That's me, anyway, Brenda. Now, I am convinced that besides you evident charm and attractiveness you would make a... ah... most delightful and appropriate companion. But I have no desire to put you on the spot..."

Joan felt that she should say something, but had no idea what. Then, as he had done, Joan looked casually around to ensure that nobody could hear and leaned forward. She placed her hand on his arm.

"Well, like you, I have a PENCHANT too, darlin'. I er... I really like role-play. Not just dressing up a certain way, but... well, getting into a character... sort-of-thing..."

Compared to his fluency and command of language she felt stupid, uneducated and inferior. But his eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically.

Still speaking softly Laurence made a chivalrous suggestion to avoid her feeling awkward or under pressure as she decided whether to progress their "ah, liaison." He would go to the gents' toilet for five minutes. If when he returned she was still there, all well and good. If not – and, he insisted, she must feel no embarrassment or offer any excuse or apology should she decided that she did not want "no strings fun" with him – then he would understand completely.

Joan could think of nothing to say in response, so she simply nodded again.

_______________________

Laurence turned his back and walked slowly to the gents' toilet. He resisted the temptation to look back at her one more time, even though it might be the last glance he ever had of her.

She was sexier than he had dared to imagine, not only bodily, but facially attractive too, yet with a natural, down-to-earth, woman-next-door attractiveness.

Her breasts (C-cup, as he rightly guessed) looked perfect under her purple, shiny blouse; and although she was not tall, her legs were shapely and her thighs fleshy. Her whole figure was perfect for him, too, neither skinny nor fat.

He took a pee in one of the cubicles then sat down on the toilet seat and counted down the minutes. He rated his chances no more than fifty-fifty. On the surface they seemed to get along well enough, but after all, she was seeking a sex partner, not a companion. And, despite her age, she could easily attract better-looking men by far than him.

To Joan's surprise, most of her doubts had been dispelled. She had driven a long way for this meeting anyway, and it would be an anticlimax to drive home unfulfilled. More than that, though, she found herself genuinely drawn to him, not romantically, but in the same way that two colleagues might enjoy each other's banter and company despite differences of age, interests or background. And she was sure he would treat her decently and with respect.

She hoped deep down that he would offer to take her somewhere now rather than arrange another time. Delay would be an anticlimax and would allow more time for her doubts to return.

She heard the door that led to the toilets swing open and there he stood, a huge grin on his face as he saw that she was still there. As she smiled back, somewhat coyly, he blushed bright red, and when he sat down he was clearly excited.

"I can't believe it, Brenda. I really can't!" he gasped quietly as he rejoined her.

She placed her hand on his.

"And in some ways, Laurence, neither can I, darlin'! But... where do we go from here? I mean – we both want to do... what the advert said... I suppose we need to decide..."

He looked down at the table.

"Yes, it comes down to where and when, doesn't it? If... ah... you're really sure you want to..." 

He still looked down at the table. For the first time he seemed doubtful. Joan sensed she needed to take the lead.

"I DO want to, Laurence. I... I can manage most evenings. What... what about you?" she coaxed.

He looked into her eyes briefly again and smiled nervously.

"Well, as for the 'where' – there is a hotel just a mile or so from here where I sometimes go. It's fairly upmarket. As for 'when' – it's Wednesday evening now. I go back home tomorrow until next Monday. So I could manage next Monday. I... ah... I'm sorry I can't manage any sooner than that. I mean... ah... I nearly suggested tonight, but that I expect that would be rather short notice. I would hate to..."

"Just fine, Laurence. Tonight is just fine," Joan murmured, and gave his hand a little squeeze. "In fact, tonight is perfect. I was hoping you'd suggest it!"

He opened and closed his mouth several times in rapid succession, but no words came out. He was still amazed to have struck so lucky. He had paid for sex with less attractive women than her. He looked at her and drained his glass. She did the same. They looked at each other again, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

Joan stood up. He immediately did the same. She sensed the other bloke look at the partly open flap of her skirt, and at her calf-length boots as she followed Laurence to the door. She smiled to herself.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

As the hotel was no great distance and lacked its own car parking, they walked, though they spoke little, each lost in thought and feeling nervous. Joan slid her arm around Laurence's. Before long "The Metropole" came into view and they stepped inside. 

Joan looked approvingly at the decor. The smart young female receptionist smiled as they approached the desk. Joan guessed from her blush that she recognised Laurence from previous visits with other companions.

"Room 103 is available again tonight Sir, if you like," the young lady lilted.

Laurence nodded appreciatively, took the key, and led Joan to the lift. She squeezed his hand, which was rather clammy, and smiled. He smiled back nervously.

"There's only one way for us to do this, darlin'," she said softly as the lift door closed behind them. "Once we are in the room we start. If we don't, we'll be awkward and nervous and it all fall apart and be spoiled. Why... why don't you let me take control of things?"

Laurence's nervousness had made his mouth dry. Nodding, he cleared his throat and said, croakily, "Just one thing, Brenda. If either of us becomes uncomfortable we use a phrase as a sign to the other to stop. Wha-what about, ah, 'no strings'?"

Joan found her false name hard to get used to, and felt a little guilty in view of his candour. Her heart beat fast at the mention of a special password to call a halt to whatever kink they were about to indulge in. She gave a little shudder of fear and excitement and nodded in reply. 

She briefly admired the room, but as she swept her eyes across the bed she guessed why he liked it. The bedhead and the foot of the bed were made of brass, vertical rods connected by horizontal ones. Rods – or bars. As in for being tied to. She felt a flutter in her stomach again. Laurence stood almost rooted to the spot with apprehension. Joan shared his nervousness but forced herself to act. She switched on the two bedside lamps, and closed the door and the curtains.

Still Laurence did and said nothing. Joan took a deep breath as she looked around the room, knowing that he was now depending on her to take the initiative. She was slightly annoyed – after all, she was new to his "penchant" that he had clearly indulged previously. However she felt instinctively that this was how he liked it to be. Besides, she had been tossing a few ideas around her head in the silent walk from the pub. Then it struck her.

Louvre doors were a common trend at the time, and the fitted wardrobes in the room were faced with mahogany ones. 

"Take your jacket off, Laurence. And your shoes and socks. Then get in the wardrobe and close the door behind you. I'm going to start getting undressed. And you can watch me – PEEP at me – from in there. But not for long. And I won't be too bloody pleased when I find you, believe me!"

Her tone was firm, but she grinned as she spoke. He blushed, and smiled back meekly. He took off his smart jacket, and kicked off his slip-on shoes. He sat on the bed and tugged off his socks, quaintly folding them and placing one neatly in each shoe. He hung his jacket on a coathanger in the wardrobe. Then, sheepishly, Laurence stepped into the wardrobe, knelt on the carpeted floor and pushed the door closed behind him.

Joan switched on the radio, partly to break the silence and partly to prevent their being overheard in neighbouring rooms. 

The wardrobe where which Laurence was concealed was in effect a double one, with a partition to form a single one adjoining it. He gazed through the angled slats as she stepped in front of him, her heeled boots clumping on the floor, and her skirt hem swaying alluringly.

She stood with her back to him and leaned forward to place her shoulder bag on the dressing table. He gazed at the backs of her legs. They were slightly plump but shapely. Her black, calf-length boots had heels about an inch and a half high. The leather was well polished and caught the light, while lines of shadow emphasised the soft folds. They seemed incredibly sexy. Her tights – he did not yet realise they were in fact stockings – were sheer and slightly shiny. Her pinstriped skirt hung over her backside beautifully, showing its nicely rounded shape. With a twinge of shame he nevertheless found himself unzipping his trousers and sliding his hand inside.

His gaze returned to the back of her purple satin blouse. As she rooted in her bag it shimmered deliciously in the subdued light from the bedside lamps. Her hair was immaculately groomed and silken in appearance. He rubbed and stroked his rising bulge through his boxers.

He both liked and silently cursed the wooden louvres. They inhibited him from seeing her properly and he found himself craning and twisting his neck. But they hid him from her view and made a perfect setting for the voyeur role-play she had instigated. 

Joan unfastened her folded silk headscarf from around her neck and folded it on the dressing table. Then with a thrill of delight and a quickening of his pulse Laurence realised that, still with her back to him, she was unbuttoning her blouse. He stared through the louvres as she tugged it from the waistband of her skirt. It shimmered and shifted sensually. She sprayed some perfume onto her neck.

She turned round and looked in his direction, yet without acknowledging him. Although his view of her was partially blocked by the angled strips of wood, he gave an involuntary gasp. He had been expecting to see bare flesh and a bra, hopefully a pretty bra. But instead he saw a black corset that pushed her breasts up above its top. It seemed to be made of satin and caught the light, though more subtly than her blouse. The flowers that patterned it were red, small, delicate, pretty, and oriental in style. He could see tiny glimpses of bare skin between the hook-and-eye fastenings. His erection was complete and he had to slow down his teasing of it for fear he would come.

Joan strutted slowly towards the wardrobe. He froze with his hand still inside his trousers, wondering if she would now "discover" him. Instead she stood by the door through which he was peeping and opened the door next to it that formed the single wardrobe.

Her booted and nylon-enshrined legs were just inches from his face and hands. So was the hem of her black, pinstriped skirt. He was conscious of her sweet perfume. He was trembling with excitement and expectation.

Joan's heart was pounding, too. She was acutely aware of his closeness and aroused by the knowledge that he was ogling her just a few inches away, but she delayed the moment of finding him a little longer. She planted her feet a bit wider apart as she removed a coathanger from the wardrobe, slid her blouse onto it and hung it up.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 05



Between the louvres he saw her put her hands behind her waist and with a further surge of arousal he knew she was unbuttoning and unzipping her skirt. She stooped forward as she slid it down, and the tops of her breasts surged erotically above her corset. The skin and flesh looked soft and smooth, and inviting, and were close – painfully close – to him as he knelt, hidden by the wardrobe door.

As she worked her skirt free he saw the remainder of her corset, and the bare skin between it and the waistband of her matching panties as they each emerged into view. He admired the soft satin of her panties, adorned with little red flowers, and the shape of her mound through them. Her surrounding skin contrasted fabulously with the black flower-patterned satin. His gaze was drawn to her black suspenders, and to the sheer nylon of her black stockings. Her thighs were plump and desirable without being too fat. He watched her legs emerge fully into view as she stepped out of her skirt it and hung it in the wardrobe next to where he was kneeling. He ran his gaze from her stockingtops to her calf-length boots.

The reduced circulation in his legs as he knelt was making them go numb, and he shuffled his position slightly.

Joan feigned surprise at the sound. To Laurence's delight he saw her squat down and peer through the downward-angled louvres. He could see the lining of the back of her skirt where it hung down and away from her legs. She moved her head to one side and the other. She leaned further forward, pressing her eye right against the gap in the slats and glaring right into his. Its sudden appearance next to his startled him.

"What the bloody hell?" she hissed, and flung the door open. She was shocked to see her companion, hitherto so chivalrous and respectable, with his hand inside his trousers.

"Who the bloody hell are YOU, you pervert? And how the hell did you get in my room?" she spat.

"I... please don't shout or make a scene, lady. I... ah... I meant no harm. I... I'm... that is my, ah, stepmother owns the hotel and I help out in vacations from college. My father is away on business a lot and I help out when I can. I... I was just checking everything was okay when I heard you come in and I... ah..." he stuttered.

Joan's adrenaline raced and she felt a surge of moistness between her thighs. She grabbed his ear and tugged.

"On your feet, you bastard! The only thing you were checking out was me, you sick pervert! You were going to stay there hidden till I was bloody naked, weren't you?"

Laurence stood up. He felt very aroused by her scolding, angry tone, and by the scenario that she was unfolding. He did his best so speak pleadingly while keeping his voice down so as not to be overheard.

"P...please... I meant no harm! I... I'm sorry. I'll do anything, anything, to m-make it right. J...just please don't tell her... my... m-my cruel stepmother, I mean." he faltered.

Joan tweaked his ear a little, not enough to hurt more than a shade, and he flinched. She led him to the bed and stood him by it. She had to stifle a grin. The cruel stepmother sounded like a character from a fairy tale. And Laurence was in his fifties, too! It was slightly corny but it mattered little – it was all just a fantasy, after all. And, whatever the details, the overall thing was very enthralling and frothy.

"Look at you! You can't get your eyes off my tits can you? I saw you gawping at them – and my legs – as soon as I checked in to reception!"

"Please... ple-please don't tell..." he begged again.

Joan stepped closer and pushed him hard on the chest. Despite his large build she caught him off-balance and by surprise, and he dropped onto his back on the bed.

"Lie down and put your hands above your head!" she growled.

"M-my hands above my head?"

"Yes – you're not deaf as well as perverted, are you?" she retorted.

"N-no, lady," he snivelled.

She turned her back and he gazed longingly at her juicy bum cheeks, partly concealed by her satin panties. He let his gaze roam over her stockingtops and suspenders as he wriggled up the bed, and over black the criss-cross strips of the back of her corset, with her skin showing between them.

From her bag she produced a white towelling belt that she had brought, rolled up, from a dressing robe at home.

She leaned forward and tied it to one of the bars of the brass bedhead and looped the remaining length around both his wrists, securing them together and to the bedhead. She made sure that the tops of her breasts, pushed up by her corset and now hanging over its top a little, came close to his face. His hungry stare and perspiring brow excited her. She felt desirable, sexy – and strong, with him powerless below her.

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" he asked.

"Oh I haven't decided that – yet. And you can start showing me some respect and call me 'Ma'am' – understand?" she spat.

"Y-yes, Ma'am. Please don't tell..."

"Oh shut up!" Joan commanded, and pulled from her bag the scarlet satin gloves. She turned to face him and watched his lustful and incredulous stare as she brandished them and pulled each in turn slowly and enticingly up to her elbow. She stood with her gloved hands on her hips and stared at him. He avoided her glaring eyes but feasted his on her gorgeous body and her provocative lingerie. Then she leaned forward again, bringing the tops of her breasts close to his face once more. His eyes locked onto them. She saw it and felt a shudder of excitement.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I was supposed to be meeting my lover here but he can't make it. I'm feeling randy and I'd rather do it with a bloke – even a pervert who peeps at me in my room – than just pleasure myself..."

As she spoke, Joan looked at his eager expression and did her best to appear detached, though she was in fact very turned on by the whole scenario that was unfolding.

"But I need to punish you as well..."

She leaned over him, conscious of his hungry stare on her as she unfastened the buttons of his well-tailored shirt and swept it open. She knew that if his hands were not secured to the bedhead he would reach out for her. She half-wanted to untie him and enjoy his caresses, whether slow and sensual or swift and ardent. She knew he liked to be teased, though, and in truth she was enjoying the power she had over him, the fact that he was unable to touch her even if he wished. It was entirely new to her, very naughty – and highly arousing.

She looked at his hairy, chubby chest and flabby stomach. With a flush of embarrassment and delight she noticed that in his excitement he was trembling somewhat. She tried to put on a look of disdain.

"I'm going to use you for my pleasure – but as you were gawping at me in the privacy of my room as I undressed, you won't see any more of me than this, right? Well, there's another thing you won't do actually. You won't get to put that willy inside me – well not in my PUSSY anyway..."

He stared, enthralled, as she folded into a triangle the silk headscarf that had been round her neck. She was slightly annoyed at the distraction of having to remove her gloves to do this. He watched, helpless, as she removed his spectacles and placed them on the bedside cabinet, then lowered the scarf over his eyes. She pulled his head up roughly and tied it at the back of his head. 

The silk felt deliciously soft against his face. It was still warm from contact with her skin, too, and bore the scent of her perfume. She let his head drop down again onto the pillow and slid the gloves back on, enjoying their feel and erotic appearance. 

"And I'll tell you something else now," Joan added. "If I'm not satisfied I WILL tell your cruel bloody stepmother all about you. I'll tell your dad, too, what a pervert his son is! So you'd better do what you can to satisfy me. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes, Ma'am!" he groaned.

He felt the bed yield as she clambered beside him. She lowered herself over his face and rubbed the bust of her corset across his face and mouth. The fabric was soft against his skin yet stiff and barely yielding, and he felt the lacy edge against his lips. He could feel her breasts, large but firmly restrained under it as she massaged his face with them.

She rubbed her corset-clad stomach against his chest, rubbing firmly up and down and then more gently in circles. Then he felt the warm, soft – and moist – satin of her panties against his stomach. He inhaled her perfume through the scarf-blindfold and tried to picture the bare tops of her breasts, her corset, her panties, her stockings and suspenders, her red satin gloves and her black boots as she teased his body with hers.

"Put your tongue out!" she instructed, and watched with delight as he obeyed. She leaned forward and rubbed the bare tops of her breasts above her corset against his hard, wet tongue, watching the progress of her flesh across it. She sighed contentedly at the sight and sensation. He moved his tongue back and forth and from side to side and pressed it against her yielding flesh.

She knelt astride him and spread her thighs to clasp his chubby body. She thrust her crotch a little harder against his stomach. She looked at his wrists tied to the bedhead, and at her silk scarf covering his eyes. Despite her reservations she felt excited by the novelty and naughtiness of it all. She caught a glimpse of them both in the mirror. She puffed her breath out at the sight.

Joan held her corset top with one satin-gloved hand and with the other she scooped each of her breasts in turn free of it. 

"I'm getting my tits out now. What a shame you can't see them! I'm sure you'd LOVE to! They're C-cup and they sag a bit, but they're still reasonably firm. I'm looking at them in the mirror. When I move they jiggle and sway in a really arousing way. My nipples are hard and sticking out, too. I bet you'd LOVE to squeeze my tits and rub my nipples between your finger and thumb – oh, but you can't, can you, because your hands are tied to the bed!" she taunted gently.

She leaned forward, bringing her bared breasts closer to his blindfolded face.

"I'll have to do it myself and pretend it's you..."

She held the top of the brass bedhead with her left hand and with her right hand she rubbed her gloved hand over her squashy orb. She gazed down. She got quite a buzz out of seeing and feeling her satin-covered fingers caressing her breasts. He gasped at the sound.

"Can you hear it? Hmmm? Answer me!" she ordered.

"Yes. Yes Ma'am!"

"It's the sound of me fondling my naked, ripe titties... mmmm, they look lovely surging and rippling under my hand as I fondle them through my glove – my RED... SILKY... SATIN... GLOVE!"

He groaned as he tried to imagine the sight.

She lightly pinched her nipples, relishing the feel of the satin between her nipple and her fingers.

"Now I'm playing with my nipples... ooooh yeah, they're quite hard and erect already, but... yes, yes they are, they're swelling even more and going even harder as I pinch them... wouldn't it be nice if you could see them?"

"Yes Ma'am – I really wish I could..." he pleaded.

"Well you're not bloody well going to! That's the price you pay for being a peeping bloody Tom! I will give you a treat though – but you're still not bloody seeing them!"

She leaned further forward and brushed her naked, swaying breasts from side to side across his face, watching them mold against it. She scooped one hand under her breast and gently slapped it against his cheek. Then she rubbed her hard nipple against it, too. She thrilled to watch it. She felt ashamed yet strangely liberated, too. She stroked his face with her fingers, drawing the red satin over his skin. He groaned with delight.

"Poke your tongue out again!" she hissed. "Don't move it! Keep it as still as you can!"

She looked down at his chubby face below the silk blindfold, and watched his tongue slide rudely out between his lips. She stooped and pressed her mouth against his tongue and flicked hers around it. Then she repositioned herself and, cupping her breast in the palm of her satin-gloved hand she pressed her orb against his tongue. He groaned and raised his head to press harder against her, but she pushed him back down.

"Ah-ah! Just do as I say!" she snarled, but smiled as she said it. "Just keep still. If I want you to do something or decide to allow you to, I'll tell you."

She teased his tongue and lips with her nipple, watching her erect sensitive tip on its little journey. She felt a seeping in her crotch and rubbed it, still covered by her satin panties, against his soft stomach.

"Mmmm, that looks nice. You should see that mature tit swaying and surging against your face – and that hard, erect nipple glistening with your saliva – I love the way it looks – and I KNOW you would, too... if only you could!" she crooned teasingly.

She saw his body and his tied arms tense. Again she wondered whether to untie him and remove the blindfolding scarf, but she was enjoying this new kinkiness so much that she desisted. Instead she raised herself she dug her gloved hand under his headand brought it to her lightly perspiring but perfumed cleft.

"Go on then, darlin'. I'll let you. Nuzzle Ma'am's tits, then suck them. I give you permission..."

He moaned softly as craned his neck and stretched up until his face came into contact with her. His mouth came between her breasts, and he pressed against her hard breastbone, then brought his mouth to one side to kiss and suck her semi-soft, ample orb. He found her nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He licked it and chewed it with his lips, then drew her orb into his mouth. He sucked hard and noisily. The rude sound made Joan blush, but it thrilled her, too.

"Hmmm, enjoying that, aren't you?" she crooned gently.

"Oh yes. Yes Ma'am. You have wonderful, ah, breasts Ma'am" he replied.

He heard her move and felt her leave the bed but of course could not see her and wondered what she was doing. She stood still for a moment and debated what to do next. Then she removed her right glove, took from her bag the packet of flavoured condoms and opened the foil wrapper of one. She placed it, still in its open wrapper, on the bed in readiness. 

She gazed at his half-covered face. She smiled to herself and walked backwards and forwards a few times, not for any particular reason, but just for the kick of seeing him straining his ears and moving his head to gauge what she was doing.

She leaned across him, dragging the glove she had removed across his face. He sighed deeply and moved his head from side to luxuriate in its feel. Then, resting her naked breasts on his leg, she unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. She pushed her hand inside.

"Well, well – what have we here, then? Quite a big willy for a pathetic peeping pervert!" she said, gazing up to his half-covered face as she fondled his bulge through the soft warm cotton of his boxers.

She stood up straight and suddenly yanked his trousers part way down his plump thighs and legs. His belly overhung his striped boxers. She pulled his trousers right off and, folding them, draped them over the stool close by.

"What a shame you can't see my tits wobble and jiggle about as I move! Still, you're mighty bloody honoured that I'm doing any of this instead of telling your cruel stepmother – or even the damn police!"

She lowered herself over his large body and gently massaged it with her own, rubbing her corseted torso and her naked breasts against him, and thrusting her crotch rudely against his. She felt him try to push up underneath her.

She took the condom from its packet and held it close to his nose.

"Can you smell that, pervert?"

"It... it smells a bit like strawberry. Ma'am," he added quickly.

"Yes. Do you know what it is?" 

"No, Ma'am. I can't see. I presume it's a sweet."

Joan had to stifle a chuckle.

"Not quite. Guess again." She rubbed the thin, filmy latex against his lips and saw his tongue lick it.

"Is it... is it a wrapper off a sweet, Ma'am?"

She laughed out loud. He genuinely had no idea.

"No. It's a condom. A flavoured condom."

Laurence felt a bead of perspiration on his brow and a wave of heat flood him.

"Any idea why it might be flavoured, pervert?"

"No Ma'am. Unless... unless, ah, you were going to use it on your lover and then use your mouth on him. Through it. Ma'am."

"Very good. Do you think Ma'am would use it in that way for a pathetic pervert who was hiding in her wardrobe masturbating as he watched her?"

She gave his nipple a tweak, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to elicit a sharpish intake of breath from him.

"Answer me!" she commanded.

"No Ma'am," he replied sheepishly.

She knelt by his head and pulled his face to her stockinged thigh.

"Kiss that thigh. Kiss the nylon. Feel it and enjoy it with your tongue – and try to think how nice it would be to see it so close to, and to touch it with your hands..."

Again she watched as he planted kisses on her nylon-clad thigh. She shuffled her position.

"Now find the top of that stocking... try to picture it, black and lacy – and with my bare skin above it..."

He groaned as he sought it, and again he kissed and nuzzled the stockingtop.

"Oh Ma'am... would you like me to, ah, kiss your bare skin, too?"

"Yes. I give you permission."

Joan sighed with delight as he kissed and sucked her sensitive inner thigh, and teased his tongue back and forth along it. She caressed his hairy chest with her left hand that still wore a satin glove. She lay on the bed with her feet close to his face. She rested the side of her calf-length boot by his face and told him to kiss it, then moved closer to the top of the bed so he could kiss the back of her leg above her boot. 

She was shocked to be enjoying her power and his helplessness and slight humiliation, and felt bad about actions. She thought of his earlier politeness and chivalry, so at odds with his present appearance and behaviour. Then she reminded herself that this was his "penchant", not hers. She was simply acting as he wished her to. 

She swung off the bed and ordered him to put his tongue out again and to keep still. She unzipped her boots and pulled them off. She clambered on the bed and squatted astride his face, gazing at his tongue, his double chin, and her silk scarf covering his eyes. Holding the brass bedhead she lowered her panty-covered pussy and rocked up and down, bringing it down to his tongue and back again, sometimes slowly and gently, sometimes quicker and harder.

"I'll make a deal with you. Make me come and I'll make YOU come. Deal?"

Oh yes. Yes please, Ma'am!"

She lowered her pussy to his mouth and he nuzzled the soft satin of her panties, relishing the dankness and the musky aroma. He could feel her pubes through the flimsy fabric and realised with a thrill that she did not shave her pussy but trimmed it. To him it was the best of both worlds – hair to savour yet not so much that it would get in the way when giving oral sex. He chewed and tugged, licked, kissed and frigged her through her panties. The satin rustled sensually and felt delightful – warm, soft, moist, and flimsy enough to betray the shape of her spongy mound and swollen lips beneath.

"Mmm, darlin'," she gasped. "Oooh yes, that's it!"

She dragged her panties to one side. He heard the sound and wished he could see her pussy in its nakedness. She lowered herself once more and yielded to his attentions. In some ways they would both have preferred his hands to be free to assist and to enjoy, but their immobility added to his concentration on the movements of his lips and tongue. 

He pushed his tongue between her swollen lips and into her moist slit, enjoying the taste, and rocked it back and forth. He chewed her lips, tugging on them, stretching them gently and releasing them. He flicked his tongue over her hard button. He felt her quiver. He continued, and with a thrill he heard her breathing become ragged and felt her quiver more against his face. Then a few moments later she was gasping and jerking, her pubes brushing his face and her juices trickling onto his deft tongue.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 05



It was one of the most powerful orgasms Joan had ever had.

She paused for a few moments to regain her breath and composure. Then she swung away from him and kissed him on the cheek, then on the mouth, shocked at herself as she tasted her own most intimate taste on his tongue. 

"Bloody hell, Laurence! Bloody hell! That was good! Shall.. shall I untie you now? Or would you like to carry on as you are? Hmmm, darlin'?"

"Would you mind taking off the blindfold, but, ah, leaving my hands as they are, Brenda?"

She shuffled up the bed and as he lifted his head she unfastened the silk scarf. She saw the wonder in his eyes as he ran his eyes over her bared breasts, her corseted torso, her crotch and her stockinged thighs.

"Hell, Brenda! Hell! You are one hell of a sexy lady!" he murmured.

Joan felt a warm glow. She held her panties and dragged them to one side to show her trimmed but hairy pubes and her sated pussy.

She smiled at him provocatively as she removed her left glove, peeling it off seductively for his enjoyment.

"Now Ma'am is going to suck your big hard willy and make you come – but don't you dare push it in my mouth!" 

"I... I wouldn't dream of it. Ma'am," he reassured, sensing genuine concern behind her taunt.

She gazed at his striped boxers and at the big bulge in them, then tugged them down and off. She stared at his swollen member, half erect, running her eyes along its length and over its purple head.

Joan moved down the bed and held it to slide on the condom. To her delight it gave a rising salute and stiffened in her hand. It felt very lewd.

"I wish I'd bought a bigger size!" she joked, to break the tension. He laughed. He knew he was probably no more than average size, but her flattery and humour were a nice gesture.

Joan played with his erection, enjoying the feel of its pulsing weight and stiffness. She gazed down at it and slid her mouth around it. The sheathed hardness in her mouth was an odd and rude sensation, but it felt deliciously taboo to have a near-stranger's penis in her mouth. It felt definitely illicit to be doing to a stranger what whe had refused to do for her ex-husband. She played her tongue over its tip and, holding it in her hand, clasped her mouth around it and rocked her head up and down, taking it in and letting it part-emerge.

She looked up at his face. He was grimacing with the sensation, trying to hold off as long as he could, but staring intently at her. She realised, too, that he was gazing at her breasts pressing against his leg. She swung to the side so that they hung – and swung – freely. She saw his gaze alternate between her mouth as she sucked him and the sensual swaying of her breasts.

Joan was greatly relieved that true to his promise he remained still and let her do the work. She increased the tempo, and sucked as she moved her head up and down. It made a rude noise that both embarrassed and excited her. She felt him tense, a little sooner than she had hoped as this was really her first time, but then she had spent quite some time teasing and arousing him already. She rocked her hand up and down, wanking him as she continued to work her mouth on him. He tensed again. Then suddenly she felt the hard, pulsing object spasm in her mouth, and Laurence's whole body was jerking and twitching as, gasping and grunting, and straining with his tied wrists, he emptied himself.

Joan rolled off him and they cuddled and kissed, saying little for a time, relishing the physical intimacy, the warm glow of satisfaction and sense of wellbeing.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 06



Here is the first part -- and first "climax" of several! -- of the grand finale of Joan, David -- and Laurence too.

This final section (one or two more chapters to follow) of Joan's story has its characters indulging in role play and fantasy for their naughty pleasure. In effect it will be a series of role-plays rather than one extended one.

There will inevitably be some inconsistencies and unrealistic elements - simply because they are role-playing for their own enjoyment and not acting out a part to the finest detail or adhering to a detailed script and plot, which would intrude and spoil their fun - please bear this in mind and try to enter into their enjoyment of the flexibly played roles.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL

____________________

It was Joan's fourth meeting with Laurence. She now trusted him enough to be escorted to his apartment that he rented while on his legal business during the week. As previously he let her take the initiative and she had come up with a naughty role-play fantasy. She took the part of a cruel stepmother discovering him looking at porn magazines (of which he had a small collection, he had confided guiltily).

She brandished his hairbrush at him and used it to spank him with, though not too hard. She had become fond of Laurence, though not romantically, and was relieved that it was the fact of being spanked that turned him on rather than receiving hard blows.

And, despite her stern warnings not to "bloody well dare rub yourself against my thigh, far less bloody well ejaculate on it!" -- though the sternness was feigned, of course -- he had done so. 

And, though his penis was average sized both in girth and length, Joan had been deliciously shocked at the copious amount of cum that emerged from it. She regained her composure and ordered him to clean it off with his handkerchief. Then she told him to kneel before her and to kiss between her legs. She had a powerful orgasm -- he certainly knew how to please where giving oral sex was concerned.

____________________

She looked into his adoring eyes as he clambered onto the bed beside her. The time had almost come to tell him.

They kissed and cuddled for a while. Then she told him that she had something to confess. She told him her real name and that she felt bad only to be telling him at this stage. And -- although he had promised at their first meeting not to ask, nor to think badly of her if she was seeing someone else, as he considered the arrangement to be "indeed, ah, no strings", she told him about David.

He was not in the least bothered by the news about her pseudonym and said that he half suspected, simply because he would do the same if advertising to meet strangers. Her disclosure about David did not really surprise him either, he said, given her attractiveness. Joan could tell, though, that deep down he had hoped that he was the only one she was seeing. She could not blame him.

She also told Laurence that David had turned out not to be her former neighbour. Partly it was because she wanted to be as honest with him as she could, and partly because of The Idea. At this Laurence burst into laughter as he imagined the scene unfolding. His laughter was quiet and almost wheezing, and he laughed until tears began to roll down his cheeks. It was a very infectious laugh, and Joan shared his hilarity. It was useful, too, as it defused the tension and prepared the way for her next revelation.

She told him of her Idea, her Ultimate Fantasy (though not to be taken as a signal that this would constitute the last time she would see him). Without going into detail or being over-emotional, Joan told him of her ex-husband's cheating on her and how part of the appeal of the "no-strings fun" was a sort of secret payback and revenge. 

She didn't go into great detail about The Idea and concentrated mainly on the fact that, if they were both willing, it would include both him and David separately or maybe together as a threesome with her. She did not want either to shock him or spoil some of the surprise. She asked him to think about it and let her know. To her delight and despite a measure of surprise on his part he did not seem too shocked and agreed to do so.

She did the same with David on their next meeting, their sixth. He loved the idea, his face lighting up instantly, but she urged him to think it over anyway.

And, the following week, the three of them met at the pub where she had first met Laurence. She stayed with them both for the first hour to break the ice and as a visual aide-memoir of what was on offer. Then she departed and left them to chat with each other.

Her shame and arousal rose to new heights and were matched only by the apprehension of awaiting each of their decisions.

____________________

As she expected, David got back to her first, full of enthusiasm and chuckling with almost incredulous delight. Lawrence was more restrained, but he did sound keen, even though he had one or two reservations. He wanted to know more detail of what she had in mind when they next met, though he offered to meet the entire cost himself.

David also eagerly wanted to know more when he next met up with her for more "no strings adult fun". He, too, offered to meet some of the cost. He seemed to have no reservations at all.

Joan told them, independently, something of the Ultimate Fantasy and put Laurence's mind at rest over one or two concerns, but kept the detail secret. The secretive nature of it to which she alone was privy and over which she had control added to her excitement.

Next she began to launch her plans -- the date, the location, and the little but essential details. She had to rein in her impetuosity. There was no need to rush, she told herself. It would take as long as it took to get it all just right. 

____________________

She was slightly annoyed that she had made it difficult to return to the country hotel where she had arranged her first liaison with David. But when she had checked out, the young man on reception who had ogled her had pushed his luck a little too far.

She smiled at the memory. He had leered at her breasts again as she handed over the keys.

"I hope that you and your... er... COMPANION" enjoyed your stay, Madam," he had sneered. "Has your COMPANION left already?" His tone was sardonic, and the way he phrased "companion" was laced with innuendo.

At that point Joan had nearly lost it. She glanced around to make sure that nobody was within earshot and leaned forward. As soon as she did so she saw his eyes fix on the top of her cleavage.

"Yes he has left -- he didn't stay the night," she said softly and pleasantly. Then she changed her tone. "And yes we did enjoy ourselves while we were here. In fact three fucking times we enjoyed ourselves in as many hours. Then in the evening I met someone else and enjoyed myself with him twice!" she hissed. 

"I know what you're thinking, with your judgmental sarcasm. What I do here is none of your bloody business. Well, if that makes me a slut, what does it make YOU for fancying me? You wish like hell that you had been one of my two 'COMPANIONS' yourself, so don't take that self-righteous tone with me, you... you prick! You can't take your eyes off my fucking tits, and my legs, can you, you pervert?"

She awaited a response, but none came, though he did flush bright red. His sullen silence angered her even more. A couple entered the lobby to check out also. Joan spoke a little louder for their benefit.

"Well, I'm considering making a formal complaint about you and your attitude, and if I ever come here again and you lower your eyes from my face for one sodding second I bloody well will! Understand?"

He said nothing in response and nodded in a surly manner.

When she got outside she had laughed aloud. She laughed at her own courage in confronting him. She had never spoken to anyone like that, rarely if ever used such language. 

Also, although she occasionally liked to know that her appearance had turned a head or two, she usually found being eyed up extremely intimidating. But today she had struck back. She laughed, too, at his embarrassment, and at her tawdry exploits the previous day -- though as she had said, he had no right to judge her. She had simply indulged in what he would love to indulge in. She felt good, strong, invigorated.

Anyway, after half a dozen or so calls she got the hotel booking she wanted. Yes, they could manage that, she was told. They had a big party booking and they were sorry, there was to be a disco until late. But they had a single room and a double room, both on the same floor though not adjoining. If that was acceptable. It was all Joan could do not cheer in triumph.

She booked a couple of days off work, wanting no stress or distractions to take the edge off her thrill. Her boss smiled kindly at her coyness in refusing to disclose her plans. She looked at Joan and said, "Well, good luck -- it sounds as if you have something really special lined up. If it includes a fella, double good luck!"

Joan thought that as her plans included two fellas she should have been wished triple good luck. But she doubted that she would need it.

Then there were all the special details to take care of, including choosing and obtaining lingerie to complement her dress. Not least was that special dress itself she wanted to wear for the occasion. She had only worn it once before, and it brought a tear to her eye when she tried it on, but the prospect of the Ultimate Fantasy cheered her. 

It was a slight squeeze, but she managed to get into it and determined to lose a pound or two over the next three weeks. She also had her hair restored to its natural, raven colour and had it trimmed short. The style was a bit retro, but she felt that it would appeal to David to see her again as he remembered her from the past.

Three weeks. Not for a long time had three weeks gone so slowly for her -- or for David and Laurence, for that matter. Her excitement -- and theirs -- grew with each day until it was almost unbearable.

____________________

She picked up David as arranged, and smiled as he put his overnight holdall into the boot of her car and his suit, in its protective cover, on the back seat. They did their best to chat about trivia but he was clearly as preoccupied as she was.

As she checked in, Joan announced to the receptionist that her husband would be joining them later. Then she and David went up the stairs, for all the world appearing to be mother and son booking into separate rooms, and awaiting the head of the family.

David headed to "his" room, the single, and Joan entered the double room. She was slightly disappointed that a four-poster bedroom had not been available, but this one did have a king-sized bed, which was perfect. She only unpacked a few items from her case, wanting the remainder to stay hidden for now from her two "companions".

Fifteen minutes later or so she knocked on David's door and they went downstairs and to the bar. Joan bought drinks. Shortly afterwards Laurence arrived and bought a drink at the bar. Joan greeted him with a kiss as he joined them.

As they took their places in the dining room, a casual observer would have assumed that they were a family. After all, Joan and Laurence both wore rings, and were old enough to be David's parents. Anyone observing them more carefully would have been rather intrigued, however.

The "wife", although modestly dressed, was certainly good looking, but by contrast her husband was a few years older, plain looking, and slightly rotund. Also, while she seemed vivacious, the other two seemed rather preoccupied. There was clearly some tension behind the scene.

An astute observer might have picked up on something else, and in fact the waitress who attended to them did, but dismissed it as so unlikely -- and distasteful -- that it was not possible. The "son" seemed to look at his mother in a way that went beyond a normal mother-son relationship. But, the waitress told herself, it must just be her imagination running away with her.

Maybe she would have found the reality almost as disturbing. The attractive, vivacious, forty-something woman seated at the table had earlier placed a personal ad for "no strings adult fun." The young man with her was not her son but her first "date", and they had had sex -- slightly kinky, role-play sex at that -- three times in as many hours. 

The older man was another respondent to her ad. The woman had met up with him the same day as her liaison with the younger man, and had sex with him twice. On the same day, then, she had had sex five times with two different men. And now the three of them were booked into this hotel for shared sex. Overnight. But, though she was intrigued by the three of them, such a sordid scenario never crossed the waitress' mind.

They returned to the bar and Laurence went to buy drinks and to order champagne and two glasses for the double room into which he and Joan were booked. They sat there sipping their drinks, each awaiting Joan's cue.

Joan's excitement and arousal were rising by the minute, and was fuelled by the tension in her two companions. Of the three of them she was calling the shots and she alone knew fully what she had in mind. 

Their apprehension made it difficult to talk, but a sound test from the function room opposite provided a welcome distraction. About fifteen minutes later a party arrived -- they looked as if they were on a works "do" -- and were escorted, giggling and laughing raucously to the function room. Joan and her companions glanced half-interestedly across to watch.

About twenty minutes later the disco kicked off in the function room. In the bar Joan finished her drink and stood up. Her companions' faces looked strained. She discreetly took David's single room key and in a soft voice reminded him of the plan. She would take the champagne from her and Laurence's room and place it in David's. He would need to collect his room key from her room while she "was getting herself ready in her en-suite" (her eyes twinkled as she spoke the phrase). He would then go to his room, change into his suit waistcoat and trousers and return to deliver the champagne as if he was a member of the hotel staff. By which time she would be ready. For him.

She gave a contrived but erotic little pant in his ear and whispered, "and when you come in, Joan will have a lovely surprise for you!" She reminded him, too, that to avoid suspicion he must remain in the bar with Laurence for at least thirty minutes after she had gone upstairs. David blushed as she turned away and left to go to her (and Laurence's) room. 

David and Laurence resisted the burning urge to watch her go. They also struggled to make conversation, partly of course because they hardly knew each other but also because of their nerves.

Also, although both of them were aroused and excited, they each genuinely liked Joan and were unwilling to speak of her in a sexual way behind her back. She was hot, she was even behaving wantonly right now, but they genuinely respected and admired her and enjoyed her vivacious company. They knew that this was just an act for her fun and theirs, and in any case her fantasies and acts were no different than theirs. Deep down she was a respectable lady. This switch from nice lady to slutty and back again in fact made her naughtiness the more arousing. It was every bloke's fantasy, and to be honest neither could fully believe it was happening to him.

____________________

Joan's pulse was racing as she took the champagne and glasses to David's room, along with a pair of white cotton gloves she had purchased for the occasion, and returned to her own. She tossed his room key onto the bed where he would see it. She unpacked her remaining clothes, grinning with delight, and took what she needed into the en-suite bathroom. Over the muffled noise of the disco downstairs she heard David enter her room, announce it was him come to collect his key, and then he immediately departed to get changed also. 

It was probably hardest for Lawrence. He had to remain behind and alone in the bar for a good forty-five minutes after David left.

____________________

Although he was very keen on going along with his former neighbour's role play, David felt very awkward about dressing up and taking the champagne a few doors' distance to her room, and hoped he would not be spotted by any of the actual staff.

He checked his appearance in the mirror, straightened his tie and hair, and donned the white cotton gloves she had bought. He grinned, delighted at the detail to which she went.

He took the champagne and glasses, stuffed the key to his room into his pocket and glanced tentatively along the corridor to make sure that nobody was about. He pulled the door to behind him and walked quickly past the other five or six doors to hers. He knocked on her door, called "Room service" and stepped in.

What he saw shocked him so much that one of the champagne glasses fell from his hand to the floor, though fortunately it did not break, and for a few moments he forgot to close the door behind him.

She was sitting on the end of the bed facing the doorway. Her white dress was strapless and although its neckline was modest it showed the very top of her cleft. The skin of her shoulders and below her throat looked soft and inviting. The subtle white embroidery of the dress was very appealing. 

Her sandal-style shoes were white, and between them and the hem of her gown he could see white nylon. He guessed they were stockings rather than tights. The white fabric of her bridal gown shimmered, and the veil of her headdress was flicked behind her head. It contrasted lusciously with her short, near-black hair.

Her mascara had run a little. He guessed that it was just an added detail effected in the bathroom rather than the result of genuine tears.

She smiled, trying to make it look weak and vulnerable, though his transfixed expression made it hard not to break into a big grin.

David pushed the door closed behind him.

"I... er... your champagne, Madam," he said, unable to keep his eyes from roaming all over her.

Joan gave a few sniffs and dabbed her eyes.

"Thank you," she said in a shaky voice. "Though I doubt it will be much use. Tonight of all bloody nights!"

"Madam?"

"I... I know it's largely a m-marriage of c-convenience, but I d-did think he might b-be able to behave himself on his honeymoon night," she continued, her voice seeming to be racked with emotion. He wondered whether it was entirely put on, or whether some of it was down to genuine excitement.

"I... I'm sorry, Madam," he said in a manner as close to aloofness as he could manage. He was getting harder by the moment.

"I c-came upstairs for a bit to g-get out of the way -- so I don't have to watch him getting drunker and dancing with B-Brenda and staring at her tits as they b-bounce about!" she hissed.

Her veil flopped forward and she brushed it back again.

"Surely not, Madam? Not on... on your special day?" he said. He had a job not to laugh once more at her attention to detail. Just a short time ago he and Laurence had said to her that they hoped the noise from the disco would not intrude too much. Now he knew it was all part of the scenario -- Joan the bride's husband philandering under her nose at "their" wedding reception; Joan the cheated-on, seducing a younger man in revenge and behind her groom's back as he partied downstairs. It was almost unbearably tawdry and delightful. 

She raised her handkerchief to her mouth and made several sobbing noises. Her bare shoulders jerked up and down. So did the inviting flesh -- the hint of the tops of her breasts -- just above her neckline.

David sat on the bed. His arousal made it difficult to hold back and take things slowly. He put his arm around her bare shoulders, Her skin was soft and warm, and enticing, and her perfume was strong and sweet as she leaned in to him.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 06



"I... am I ugly or t-too old to be attractive?" she sobbed and sniffed.

"No, not at all Madam," he said, glancing at her neckline, and at the frontal embellishment of her dress over her midriff and breasts.

"I... I bet you're just saying that to make me feel b-better," she replied, giving a forced laugh.

"Not at all, Madam, I really mean it. You really are an attractive woman," he said, giving her bare shoulder a gentle rub. "Any husband of yours who even looks at another woman needs his head examining!" he added.

"It... it's good of you to say so... -- your name's David, isn't it?"

He nodded, gazing into her mascara-streaked face.

"As I say, I mean it, Madam... I mean, if I... no, sorry..." Even though it was only role-play he blushed at the intimacy, the intensity of it all. He had long had a leaning for role-play for precisely this reason, though it had been unfulfilled until his first encounter with Joan.

"I... I think 'Madam' is a bit formal. Call me Mrs. Martin. Or even Joan."

"I er... right, thanks, Mrs. Martin. Listen, I really must be getting back..."

He stood up but she tugged him back beside her again.

"In a minute, darlin'."

Again, although she had called him this many times before, its significance in the present context sent a thrill of excitement down his spine.

"What were you going to say before you went tongue-tied, David?" Her arm was resting on his. He noticed that her arm was trembling slightly -- then he realised that so was his.

"I... no, really, I nearly blurted something out. I'm glad I didn't," he said, waving his arm as if to dismiss the horror of it.

"Tell me -- darlin'" she urged.

"No, really, it... it's... I don't know what almost came over me..." he fumbled.

"Oh alright then, I won't insist, David. You've made me feel a bit better telling me I'm not ugly and that my husband needs his head examining. I suppose men my husband's age might still find me attractive..."

Joan looked down at her feet -- her white-sandalled and white-stockinged feet. She was relishing every moment of this cat-and-mouse game. Although it was not for real, it was nevertheless juicy and, besides, the outcome was inevitable.

David gave her shoulder a tight squeeze.

"I er... I didn't mean just that men your own age should find you attractive. I... I should think that er... most blokes would find you so -- whatever their age." He glanced down at his bulging trousers.

"Oh, I don't know about that!" she laughed, trying to make it sound brittle and still half-anguished. She placed her hand on his thigh. "I can't imagine someone like you..."

"I... er... " He coughed to clear his dry throat. "I must be getting on now, Mrs. Martin. But... I did mean what I said about being sure that even younger blokes must find you attractive. And... well, if you must know, sexy, too... Anyway, Mrs. Martin, I really must be getting back to my duties. It's a busy night downstairs with the... I mean with YOUR reception taking place. Why don't you dry your eyes and go back down there yourself? You could push -- was it Brenda? -- out of the way and have a nice dance with your husband... I'm sure when he sees you he will only have eyes for you."

"I doubt that very much. You don't know him. Still, I suppose you're right about my needing to go back downstairs" she replied, in a resigned tone.

He stood up to leave. She hadn't told him much of the detail, and the wedding attire had truly been a delicious shock to him, but she had said to him in advance that he must try to leave her room.

"Before you go, David -- the bathroom..."

"The BATHROOM, Mrs. Martin?" He tried to sound sceptical and exasperated, but doubted whether he had managed.

"Yes. The en-suite -- I need to wash my face and freshen up before I go back down to my reception. But there... there's a spider in the washbasin. I... I hate the things. Please -- please can you... deal with it?"

"I see. A spider, hmmm?" He raised his eyebrows sceptically. "Yes, alright then, Mrs. Martin. I'll deal with it, and then I really MUST be going..."

He went into the bathroom and after a moment or two flushed the toilet. He returned to the bedroom. She was standing up now, and had dabbed off most of her runny mascara.

"It's gone, Madam," he announced formally.

"Thanks, darlin'. For everything..."

She smiled. He went to the bedroom door that led back to the corridor. He turned the door handle. His palm was sweating. The door handle did not budge. He turned to face her. She had the room key and its fob in her hand. She waved it teasingly at him, then, to his surprise she tucked it down her neckline.

"Now's the time to show me whether it was just words about finding me sexy, darlin'. If you want to leave you'll have to get the key first!"

"Please, Mrs. Martin! I... I could lose my job and get a terrible reference for any others! Please give me the key. PLEASE!"

The sound of the disco filtering into the rooms made it easy to raise his voice a little without fear of being overheard.

"Don't be shy, darlin'. Joan isn't! Look, I'll make it easier for you... to retrieve. Look..."

He did indeed look. She sat on the end of the bed facing him and placed her hands behind her back. He heard the sound of her zip sliding down and saw her dress become looser. She slid the bust of her wedding dress down.

Sticking out from between her breasts was the key and its fob. Enshrining her mature, ample breasts was a white corset. Most of it was still hidden by her dress, but he could see some of the criss-crossed laces and Joan's soft-looking skin between. He had only ever seen such garments before in mail order catalogues and in porn magazines. His mouth opened and though he could only see a part of it he simply stared, his mouth still gaping a little.

He looked into her face. She raised her eyebrows and ran her tongue slowly and provocatively over her pink-glossed lips.

Then she flopped backwards and at the same time wantonly lifted her long, white, layered dress. The outer layer veiled her face thinly. But his eye was not drawn to her face.

She was wearing flimsy-looking, white, lacy panties. Through them he could see a small patch of dark hair that he realised she must have trimmed. Her legs were not slender but not fat either. As he gazed she parted them. They were gorgeously fleshy and her stockings were white and shiny. Above her stockingtops her plump thighs were very enticing.

"David, darlin', you said you found me sexy. Prove it. I can see that cock bulging big and hard inside your trousers. There's only one way to relieve it. Come to Mrs. Martin and give her a good seeing to. I'm not a virgin, though I've kept myself unsullied for quite a while, even from my bridegroom, especially for tonight. Bastard! He doesn't deserve my near-chastity -- or my bloody fidelity..."

He gazed at her face, half-hidden by the outer, fine-lace layer of her dress. Her bridal veil was spread on each side of her head on the pillow.

He felt a surge of desire, yet he also felt a bit awkward; although this was role-play and the details did not correspond, he sensed some genuine vitriol in her outburst.

"Come and take Joan, darlin'. My husband will no doubt have me later on my wedding night -- if he's sober enough to manage it. But I want you inside me first! Come and spoil me for him, darlin'! Come and sully me! Now, David... come and fuck me. Right here and now! I want it -- and so do you!"

He laughed softly and shook his head in disbelief. Until recently he had hardly ever heard her use strong language, and her crude words stirred him powerfully. Her behaviour was also shockingly lewd but highly arousing: Joan the cheated-on bride, awaiting her groom's attentions yet begging to be despoiled first by a stranger...

"Well, Mrs. Martin -- JOAN -- if you put it like that, it would be rude not to! And I DO want to prove that I think you're sexy! Here's the proof, you sexy, naughty bride!"

His words sounded corny and clumsy, but the whole role-play thing was only for fun, not like acting out for entire realism. 

As he said "here's the proof" he showed her. He unfastened his trousers and boxers and eased out his solid erection. He took it in his hand and brandished it at her.

"Oooh, darlin'!" she crooned.

"Come and kneel by my face," she said enticingly. "It's very hard already -- and very big, too -- but let Mrs. Martin see if she can make it even bigger, even harder -- though we'll have to be fairly quick..."

He slid the white cotton gloves off. He was glad to be wearing slip-on shoes; he kicked them off, tugged off his socks, and slid his trousers and boxers off, draping them over the armchair. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and placed it with them and stepped to join her.

He knelt on the bed by her face and pulled the room key from the top of her white corset. He tossed it onto the bedside cabinet. He loosened his tie, swung it to the back of his neck, and hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. 

He ran his hands over the tops of her breasts, thrilling in the way her flesh yielded to his touch. Her hand encircled his throbbing shaft and tugged on it a few times. He groaned. 

He pushed his hand down her stiff corset and eased her breasts free. He squeezed them gently and scooped them from side to side. They were perfect -- squashy enough to surge and sway mesmerisingly, yet firm enough not to sag entirely. He stared at the rude sight of her, her wedding dress bunched around her waist to show her white corset, breasts and her panty-clad crotch. Her exposed thighs looked inviting in the white, shiny stockings and suspenders. 

He stared at her hand, and at her wedding ring -- newly polished and shining almost as if new -- as she pulled his hardness to her mouth. The first time he had sex with her she had not worn it, though she had subsequently. She told him that although divorced she wore it to discourage male atttention. To see it now, and so well polished and new-looking was another luscious detail she had added to the scenario. He groaned.

Joan gazed at his wonderstruck expression. She had not yet given David oral sex, determined to build up their sexual relationship slowly to maximise its intensity and to prolong his interest. And she was not going to do so right now, either. Instead she watched his eager, almost pained expression as she rubbed his glistening top against her cheek and under her chin. 

"We haven't got long, darlin'. Play with my pussy -- my mature-bride pussy -- and get her ready for your big, hard, YOUNG cock..."

He fondled her mound and her slit through her flimsy white panties. He could feel her wiry, short-cropped hair. He was slightly disappointed; his girlfriend (their relationship was new and as yet fairly casual) was completely shaved, and he had enjoyed the novelty of Joan's fairly verdant growth, even though she kept it trimmed away from her pussy lips. Joan read his expression and smiled to herself at the surprise that awaited him down there.

He stared at the sensual movement of her ample breasts as they swayed and rocked in harmony with the movement of her hand on his erection. Again he gazed at the illicit sight of her wedding ring as she played with him. He stared, entranced, as she rubbed it slowly across her lips and parted them. 

She turned her face towards him. Her short dark hair was framed by her bridal veil. She poked out her tongue. She slapped his chubby manhood against her tongue, and he saw his pre-cum ooze out and onto it. She licked her lips and swallowed. Then she slapped his erection against her cheek. Her skin glistened rudely with her saliva and his man-juice. He let out a soft moan.

As if the sensation and the sight were not enough, to cap it all, this was none other than his former neighbour, for whom he had lusted over several years. He had masturbated to visual images of her times without number. And here she was, dressed like a mature bride yet acting like a porn star. It was unbelievable. He knew the images would stay with him for the rest of his life.

She was thrusting against his hand as he stroked and rubbed her pussy and clit through her panties, which were now moist with her juices. Her breathing was becoming shallower.

"Do it, darlin'. Take that big, young, bloody cock and screw me. Shoot it all inside me and sully me for him..."

David needed no further encouragement. He fondled her thighs, playing with her suspenders and bare skin.

"Hurry, darlin'! We haven't got long, I'm afraid," she muttered.

He grabbed her flimsy white panties and tugged them down. Again he gasped at the sight that met his eyes. Her lips were puffy and swollen, and her folds were very alluring. But instead of being offset by dark, silky hair she was almost shaven. All that remained was a patch of very short-cropped wiry stubble above her hood. She had trimmed and shaved it into the shape of a heart.

"Bloody hell, Joan, bloody hell!" he said in delight, the role-play temporarily set aside as they both laughed. He stroked the coarse stubbly hair and the turgid flesh below. 

"Hurry, darlin'!" she groaned. Do it! Fuck Mrs. Martin. Hard and fast. Before we get caught. Fuck me... NOW!"

He dragged her panties down to her parted knees but left them there, strung rudely between them. Joan gave a sharp intake of breath as he entered her, enjoying this moment as much as the thrusts inside her. 

She drew his face to her breasts and he nuzzled and sucked on her tender breasts. She slid her hands inside his open shirt and stroked his back and clasped him to her. Almost immediately his thrusts quickened and deepened, and although he was capable of holding on for a fair time, she liked the idea of a more frantic pace right now -- and so did he. There would be time for relaxed and tender sex later. 

They were both grunting gutturally. He managed to get his hand between his groin and hers and rubbed her swollen clit as he slammed into her. Her breasts surged against his face, and the fabric of her dress and corset rubbed against his chest.

"Shoot it, big man! Shoot it all inside me! Ohhh yes, go on, take this naughty bride before he gets to, go on.... ohhhh..."

He was impelled by her words and by his pent-up excitement. Her vitriolic outburst and the secret revenge element drove him, too. He vaguely remembered her ex-husband Paul, and felt something of Joan's hurt at his cheating behaviour. 

He upped his pace and, to his surprise, found himself thinking as he did so, "Shame on you, Mr. Martin, cheating on her like that! This is for you, you cheating bastard of a husband - I'm getting what you once had - all thanks to you - and serves you bloody right, too!" 

He came very quickly but remained inside her as, a few moments later, she came against him, her body grinding up against his, her pussy mashing, tugging and squeezing his slowly-dwindling subsiding erection, and her hands clasping him tightly.

He rolled off her, his heartbeat slowing very gradually. They kissed and cuddled, and laughed softly at the naughty scenario they had enacted and delighted in. He ran his hand over the stiff fabric of her corset and stroked the bare skin of her midriff between the criss-crossed laces. She brushed a tear from her eye as she felt the elation of her secret payback on her ex-husband Paul. Then she pushed David away gently. 

She smiled a wicked smile.

"Oh David, that was so damn good! But Laurence will be here soon," she said. "His turn for naughty role-play. The door is still locked, so he'll have to knock. I'll stall for a few moments -- I told him to expect that."

She stroked David's chest and teased his nipple with her fingernail.

"While I stall letting him I want you to hide in the wardrobe, with the door slightly ajar," she added softly. "You can watch us for a few minutes. Then when he goes into the bathroom you must get dressed quickly and return to your room -- for a while. Get a bit of sleep if you can - you'll need it, darlin'! I'll come and see you later -- pretending to sneak out of my bridal bed while my husband is out for the count, and I'll slip into your bed for an hour or so. Then I'll return to him - or maybe even bring you back with me! We'll have to see!"

David shook his head and blushed at the delicious, shocking incredulity of it all.

"I'd better go and have a wash for now though," Joan added. "You've had your turn for now -- soon it will be Laurence's!"

David stared as she stepped out of the wedding gown and stepped to the bathroom, thrilled by the sight of her mature, curvy figure in her white corset, stockings, suspenders and heeled sandals. Her well-rounded bum cheeks were framed by the inverted U shape of her corset, and wobbled slightly as she walked. The flesh of her thighs -- framed by her white suspenders -- rippled subtly as she stepped into the bathroom.

He felt ashamed of his behaviour. It seemed especially sordid to be taking turns with Laurence for Joan's sexual favours. But he knew full well that the tawdry nature of it all was a large part of its intense delight - for her as much as for him and Laurence. He smiled as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

TO BE CONTINUED...



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 07



As I mentioned in Ch 6, these final chapters depict the characters in a series of role-plays, rather than one extended scenario. This allows them – and the writer! – a bit more scope than feeling unduly constrained by a set of "ground rules".

Early on in this chapter I have flagged up the role-play by using inverted commas or a word like "supposed" when referring to "bride", "bridegroom" or such like. I soon desist from doing so to avoid it becoming tedious. Do remember though that it is all intended to depict the characters role-playing a scenario, and please make allowance for any lack of realism or inconsistencies.

If you haven't read any previous chapters in this series, reading chapter 6 at least would help to set the scene. Basically the plot is that Joan, recently divorced due to her husband's cheating has placed a personal ad in the local press and, having had liaisons with two respondents (the younger of whom turned out to be a former neighbour) she has now arranged a night in a posh hotel for the three of them with a twist of which they are unaware.



ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL

____________________

Although she had intended to fake tear-streaks in her mascara, Joan had in fact shed a few genuine tears as she got into her wedding dress while awaiting David's delivery of champagne. It brought the memories of her actual wedding day flooding back, and the bitterness of Paul's cheating on her.

She had soon regained her composure, however, and in fact the bitter memories made the rushed sex she had just had with David, supposedly having him sully her before the arrival of her bridegroom, the more intense. Now, in the en-suite bathroom of the hotel room, she looked into the long mirror and felt a sense of shock at her provocative lingerie, and as in her mind she went over what she had just done. She had a quick sponge bath. The distorted sound and thumping bass from the disco downstairs could still be heard. 

Joan looked at her watch. She had miscalculated the timings and it dawned on her that she and David could have taken their time a little more. It didn't really matter, though. As she had said to him, the whole night lay ahead yet, and the rushed pace had made it seem particularly sordid and illicit. There was an added excitement, too, in having arranged the whole thing, and in having let slip certain details to David and Laurence. Not that they were both privy to exactly the same detail, though.

David buttoned his shirt again. He pulled on his boxers, quickly followed by his trousers, then tucked his shirt back into his waistband. He straightened his tie as he waited for her to come back into the room, and slid his waistcoat back on.

She rejoined him and reclined on the bed, still in her stunningly provocative white lingerie, and still wearing her bridal headdress with the veil folded over the back of her head.

David took a few steps towards her. His eyes were fixed on her fabulous white corset with its lace-up front and the nicely up-curved bottom edge where it rose in the middle, baring her navel. He gazed longingly at the way it pushed up the tops of her breasts. He ran his hands over the fabric, and traced his hand along its top. Joan took in his fixated expression and watched his hand trace down one white suspender and along the top of her white, shiny stocking. She saw his gaze rest on her scanty, flimsy white panties and on the heart-shaped patch of closely cropped hair, half-discernible, through them.

He sat on the bed beside her and kissed her, lightly, then more purposefully. He put his hand to the back of her head and caressed her hair through her wedding veil. Joan returned his kisses. He fondled the tops of her up-thrust orbs above her corset, thrilling in the softness of her skin and the way her flesh gave way to his touch. She parted her pink-glossed lips and their tongues met and danced.

Then the door handle rattled. 

Although they were both half expecting it, and although it was in fact pre-planned, it genuinely startled them and they broke off their embrace. They giggled.

"Er... just a minute..." Joan called out.

Joan signalled David to get into position behind the armchair over which her wedding dress was draped. He grabbed his shoes and socks and ducked behind the dress-covered chair. He knelt upright. Her dress was close to his face and he inhaled the traces of her scent.

The door handle rattled again.

"Won't be a second!" Joan shouted as she adjusted the dress so that David was almost completely hidden from view. He finely adjusted it so that he could partly see past it as Joan opened the door.

Laurence was standing there in his well-tailored suit. From behind the chair David saw his jaw drop at the sight that met him. Laurence's eyes took in her white-heeled sandals, her white stockings, suspenders and panties, and her corset. Any doubt he might possibly have had of the significance of it must have been dispelled immediately by the white headdress and veil that adorned her short raven hair. Then Laurence glanced at the wedding dress over the back of the chair.

Joan pushed the door closed behind him. Laurence stood sheepishly before her. Joan put her hands on her hips.

She had already decided to change tack slightly from her encounter with David. It would be unfair to incorporate the cheating theme with Laurence. After all, he was married and his conscience troubled him deeply. His wife was disabled and although Laurence had a modest sex drive it was entirely unfulfilled with his wife, which was the only reason he strayed. Instead she would berate him for drinking when he should have retired for the night with her. She had sounded him about in advance, and, as he had no issues in that department (so it would not touch a sore spot) she had decided to taunt him in the fantasy about his supposed difficulty to maintain an erection and to satisfy her.

"Where the hell have you been? I suppose you've been cramming in a few more drinks and dancing with your old flame Brenda – and trying to bump against her, have you?" she snarled.

"I... ah... I'm sorry, my sweet. I was only finishing my, ah... drink and being sociable with some of our guests."

From behind the armchair David followed Laurence's spellbound stare at her fleshy, white-stockinged legs, her corset-clad midriff and breasts, and at the tops of her orbs above her corset. 

Laurence was almost speechless. Joan had explained the rough outline of the scenario she had in mind, but had not mentioned the wedding-night detail, simply that it was intended to be a fantasy special occasion from which she had retired before him.

"And no, I did dance with her, but I wasn't, ah, trying to bump against her. But after I'd finished the dance I was rather, ah, hot, and needed another drink," he explained, latching on quickly.

Laurence – and David, hidden from sight – gazed at Joan's hands on her hips. The shape of her bent arms emphasised her mature, womanly curves. David stared at the shining whiteness of her stockings and at Joan's smooth-looking skin below her corset and between its frontal laces.

"I HOPE you're not too drunk," she said in an exasperated tone. "Bloody hell, Laurence, I can't believe you've done this to me! I just hope you're not too drunk to get your end up and keep it up. It's our damn wedding night after all!"

"I... ah... I'm sorry, Bren... Joan," he faltered. 

He felt aroused already. He had a thing about mild domination and being scolded delighted him. He was also confident enough of his sexual ability not to feel intimidated by having it questioned in this role-play.

Joan's eyes flashed. He had inadvertently reverted to the name by which she had introduced herself to him, and he had become used to calling her "Brenda". His genuine slip of the tongue now could hardly have been better as far as she was concerned. She latched onto it immediately.

"BRENDA? I think you mean JOAN. Bloody hell, Laurence, it's bad enough your flirting with your old flame at our reception without confusing my name with hers!"

Joan was feeling almost intoxicated with excitement and arousal. Although she had planned this role-play as a kind of secret, inward revenge on her ex-husband Paul and his cheating, it had gone beyond that. She was pushing the boundaries; she and her companions were indulging in a fantasy that was outrageous. Granted, it was unrealistic to the point of incredulity. But that did not matter to her – or to David or Laurence for that matter. In their minds they were feeling it, living it, savouring every thrilling and sordid moment.

She strode to the bedside cabinet and picked something out of her handbag. She turned round and brandished it at her husband. It was a thick, pink dildo.

"I've never been so humiliated! I thought tonight was going to be special! Instead I've had to bring this along and it looks as though I'm going to have to use it on myself! In fact I was part way through pleasuring myself, too, just as Room Service knocked on the door with the champagne," she chided.

From behind the chair David saw Laurence's brow begin to bead with perspiration at the thought of her pleasuring herself. He felt the same excitement himself. He briefly wondered whether Joan had told Laurence of the hidden visitor's presence, whether Laurence had figured it out for himself or whether he was even unaware as yet – not that it particularly mattered, though. Beside that there was the tantalising thought of Joan pleasuring herself with a toy. David gave his erection a rub through his trousers.

"I just hope I'm not going to need it now you're here – you'd better not disappoint me tonight of all bloody nights!" Joan continued

The music from the disco was still permeating the room. It detracted somewhat from the realism of the role-play, of course, as it would be unthinkable for the wedding hosts to retire from their own reception part way through. On the other hand it provided privacy and prevented voices raised a little in mock anger from being overheard.

"Because if you don't manage it... you know what I will do, don't you?" she hissed vitriolically.

"N-no, I don't, my sweet..." Laurence stuttered.

"Yes you do! You know full well!" she ranted.

"N-not on our wedding night, Joan? Sh-surely not on our wedding night?" He pleaded.

Still – apparently – hidden from Laurence's view, David's ears pricked up at this point. He had no idea where the conversation was heading.

"Yes. Laurence. Even on our wedding night. If you can't manage it I will find someone who can. Maybe one of the guests at our reception – maybe one of my nephews or my brother. Or maybe even a stranger – like the young man who brought the champagne to our room as I was waiting for you."

"Please, Joan – don't do that to me!" he pleaded.

David's heart was racing at the unfolding conversation.

"I already have, Laurence – in case you couldn't manage. And if you can't – as I suspect will be the case – I will track him down and let him fuck me again! He was good at it, too, if you must know. And you – you will be my cuckolded husband, even on his wedding night!"

"I... I'll try, Joan. I always try. It... it isn't my fault! It... it's an age thing!" Laurence whined, entering into the play-acting.

Although David suspected that Laurence's "problem" was entirely fictional and that his pathetic tone was all just an act, it made him feel good to be, the young man, the stranger, the answer to the mature bride's frustrations on her wedding night! 

"I agree it's an age thing, Laurence. And I have some sympathy. But drinking too damn much always makes your problem worse! You know that as well as I do, but you still couldn't stop yourself, could you – not even tonight – of all bloody nights!" Joan glared as best she could as she spat out the words.

Laurence's gaze fell once more on the wedding dress that screened David. Laurence had the same incredulous and lust-filled look that David knew he himself must have shown earlier when he saw Joan masquerading as a bride. Laurence was amazed at the degree of Joan's role-play. He knew, too, that David was hiding behind the chair. He was nervous about having another bloke present, and in fact felt slightly threatened by the prospect, especially given that David was about thirty years his junior. But for now his mind was taken up with Joan, and the way she was dressed – and the fact that, just minutes earlier she had been having sex with this younger man. 

Even though it was just a fantasy, it both revolted and aroused Laurence to know that he would be having sex with her soon after another man had despoiled her. That it had been a young man, supposedly a stranger, and in this very room – the alleged honeymoon suite – and as she awaited him, her "bridegroom" – was shocking but at the same time delicious. He looked at Joan and smiled, and shook his head in near disbelief at the boundaries she had pushed things to.

Laurence felt his erection build and swell. He gazed on his sultry bride as she reproached him self-righteously as though he was the offending party, when in fact the opposite was the case. She in fact, just half an hour or so ago had given herself to the young man who had delivered the honeymoon champagne to the room. Laurence looked over at the bottle in its bucket of ice.

Joan strode over to the chair and stood near David as if to prevent him from being discovered. The backs of her calves were painfully close to David as she addressed her newlywed husband.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Laurence," she continued. Then she paused and gave a little shudder of pleasure as David's fingertip stroked the back of her stocking-clad knee, inching higher to the back of her thigh, gently scratching the bare sensitive skin above her stockingtop. She was shocked and delighted. This was a gorgeously squishy piece of initiative on David's part as she railed at her bridegroom.

She gave a little cough as if to clear her throat and to explain her momentary pause. Laurence could not resist glancing down. Although for the sake of the role-play he pretended not to see it, he watched the intruder's hand touching her leg – the leg of his bride! He blushed and felt hot.

Joan regained her composure and looked at Laurence, recommencing her tirade.

"I'll get into my dress again for you. I know how unwrapping me a little bit at a time helps you get your end up. I just hope the booze doesn't bloody stop you doing so tonight..."

She placed her hand behind her back and tapped David's wrist reproachfully as she spoke. David stifled a gasp. Even though it was only a fantasy, it felt delightfully illicit to be secretly stroking Joan's leg even as she stood facing and addressing her husband on their wedding night.

Laurence licked his lips.

"I... as I say, I'm so sorry, my sweet... I meant no harm in having an extra dance and drink..."

Joan watched his roving gaze and saw it rest on the dildo that she had tossed onto the bed. She made a mental note to allow him to watch her use it later. She still had her back to David, who stared at the curve of her ample bum, so close to him. Her scant panties nestled between her buttocks, just inches from his face. He leaned forward and kissed each, then licked the fleshy cheeks. Again he felt her flinch, and again he too felt a strong wave of excitement at the illicitness of his actions.

"You're, right though, Joan, dear – yes, I will go to the bathroom and freshen up and sober up," Laurence replied timidly. "And, yes, my sweet – I would love you to change back into your dress... you would look – I mean you DID look so beautiful in it..."

David felt a twinge of embarrassment mingled with excitement as Laurence stepped to face Joan. He watched Laurence's large hand sweep behind her corseted back and pull her to him, and watched Laurence's hand groping her bum cheeks – still beaded by David's trail of saliva from a moment ago. David knew that Joan must have planned his hiding behind the chair and had let Laurence in on the secret in advance. Laurence was too close to be truly unaware.

Joan hugged Laurence and kissed him. She made several low, brief little grunting noises.

"Oh Laurence, what am I going to do with you, hmmm? Mmmmmhhh..."

Hidden behind Joan, David inched his hand up and down the inside of her leg, relishing the sight and the feel of her white, sheer stocking and of her fleshy leg though it. He teased her bare inner thigh and for a brief moment slid the edge of his hand up between her thighs until it met her crotch in her flimsy, moist white panties and sawed against her. Joan flinched and whimpered. At the same time he watched Laurence's hand kneading and squeezing her ample bum cheeks.

Laurence took a step back from her and stooped to kiss and brush is mouth across the tops of her upward-thrust breasts above her corset. Her flesh was firm yet yielded alluringly. Laurence glanced down furtively at the hand of his naughty bride's lover. It was gliding up and down her inner thigh and now... now it was sawing up... up between her white-stockinged thighs and... and against her white-panty clad pussy. Laurence felt a twinge of revulsion at the knowledge that the supposed stranger who was groping her pussy had only minutes ago fucked it. 

But the brazenness of this lover of his bride, and the even greater brazenness of Joan herself in kissing him while being fingered by her hidden lover dispelled Laurence's revulsion – and fed his desire.

Each of them knew that although Joan was apparently cooing and whimpering with pleasure from Laurence's attentions, it was not entirely so. As well as the stimulating feeling of having her husband kissing her breasts she was thrilling yet more in the deft caresses of her crotch by her hidden lover.

David wormed his finger into her warm, soft panties and stroked her dank, crinkly folds. Joan quivered at the sensation. Laurence saw it happen through his half-closed eyes. He kissed the tops of his bride's breasts more urgently and pressed his mouth against them through the front of her corset.

"Go on, then Laurence," his bride murmured as she drew his face to hers and kissed him passionately. "Go and freshen up for a few minutes. Take your time. Turn the temperature of the shower down low and get sobered up. And while you're getting ready for me... I'll be getting ready for you!"

Laurence broke away and headed for the en-suite bathroom. Joan swivelled round, as if to keep David hidden from his view should he look back. It was a lovely detail, Laurence thought.

____________________

David heard the door of the en-suite bathroom close and, soon after, the sound of the running shower mingled with the music drifting up from the disco. David got to his knees and rubbed them to free up the circulation again. He gave a low laugh, and Joan flashed her eyebrows and gave a cheeky grin in return as he tugged on his socks and stepped into his slip-on shoes.

"Bloody hell, Joan! Bloody hell! That was..."

She raised her finger to her mouth and placed it over her lips as a sign to be quiet. David nodded and turned to go to the door to leave her and Laurence to their nuptials. To his surprise, however, Joan grabbed his arm and led him to the king-size bed. He gazed again at her sexy corset, stockings and suspenders, and at the flimsy white panties that just moments ago his fingers had slipped inside as she embraced her husband.

He watched her stoop and lift the frilled pink valance that reached from the mattress to the floor. She gestured for him to hide under the bed and remain concealed there.

It was too much for David. He frowned and shook his head in disbelief.

"No, Joan. I can't. It... sorry..." He was torn between acute embarrassment at the prospect and a desire to go along with her plan. But Joan smiled back provocatively and nodded her head vigorously.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 07



"Oh yes, darlin! I think so! I think so!"

Half-reluctantly David slid onto his back and shuffled under the bed. He lifted the valance and peeped at Joan. He watched the backs of her fleshy legs in her shiny stockings. He saw her wedding dress slide down to cover them. He could feel the beat of the bass from the music downstairs. 

She walked back towards the bed, now fully dressed, and stood still. David could hear her hand brushing the bedcovers to freshen and straighten them. He reached out and caressed her ankle through her sheer, white stockings. Then the bathroom door opened and he saw Laurence's legs below the hem of a brown towelling dressing robe.

David withdrew his hand and let the valance fall back into place. He wondered whether Laurence knew that he was hiding there as he prepared to consummate his marriage with his now-despoiled bride and to meet the challenge she had set him. David guessed, correctly, that Joan would have told Laurence. She was pushing the boundaries well and truly into the outrageous, but David sensed that nevertheless she would be concerned not to push either him or Laurence into things they would find too uncomfortable. He also guessed, again correctly, that Laurence had no erectile problem and that Joan's reproaches had just been part of the play-acting.

___________________

As the newly-weds sat on the bed David half wished he could see them, though deep down he was glad not to be able to. It would be simply too embarrassing and undignified. It was only just bearable to hear rustles of clothing, murmurs and grunts, and gentle squeaking of the bed above his face as they indulged in their foreplay.

Laurence was determined to say as little as he could out of embarrassment. Nevertheless he had been anxious to try out this aspect of the role-play that Joan had planned on condition that if he became uncomfortable he would break off and say that he needed the bathroom. If he did that, he had said the previous week when she had sounded him out, it would be a sign that, while he was in the bathroom David should depart, leaving the two of them alone. But, he stressed, he was eager – in fact very eager – to try having sex with her while David lay hidden under the bed. 

Laurence looked into her dark eyes and gazed at her pink, glossed lips. He ran his eyes over her wedding gown. Its prettiness and its association with purity and innocence were at complete odds with her behaviour.

He kissed her on the mouth, conscious that he was the second man to do so in an hour. Joan whimpered and slid her hands inside his towelling dressing robe. Laurence gazed at her lithe fingers as they fondled his flabby chest. It looked as though she had had her wedding ring professionally polished to make it appear new – yet another nice detail she had added.

Joan moulded her lips against his and they kissed slowly, sensually. Laurence felt another involuntary shudder of combined revulsion and arousal as he wondered whether the lips he was kissing and the tongue that was licking his teeth had been pleasuring her lover's penis.

He knelt on the bed behind her, conscious of the creaking of the mattress. He wondered what David was making of it as he lay beneath them. He kissed Joan's soft hair and brushed his mouth across the fine mesh of her veil that covered it. He swept his lips to the smooth skin of the nape of her neck and then along to each shoulder that the strapless bridal gown bared.

Joan sighed with genuine delight at the tenderness yet ardour of his kisses. She reached her hand behind her, confidently seeking his erection. She found it and slid her hand inside the flap of his towelling robe. He groaned as her hand encircled it and squeezed it.

"Mmmm, darlin', that's big and hard. You concentrate and keep it like that for your bride, hmmm?" she crooned. "I need a big hard one – and I'd rather it be yours than a stranger's, darlin'!"

Laurence ran his hand up and down the back of her dress, enjoying the feel of the lace under his fingers, and the stiffness of her corset beneath. He moved round and rested his head on her lap, gazing up at her breasts, largely enclosed by her dress but with their tops thrust upward above her neckline by her corset. 

Joan smiled at his enthralled expression. Laurence turned his face and brushed his mouth against her fleshy thigh, the lace of her dress feeling warm and slightly scratchy to his lips. He looked up at her again.

She was tracing her hands along the tops of her breasts above her neckline. Then, to his delight, Laurence saw her dig her hand down inside and ease each of her C-cup breasts free. They were firm enough yet soft enough to be perfect for him, and they swayed and rippled enticingly. Her nipples were hard and jutted out. Around the rubbery tips her areolae had several small round bumps. They looked very enticing.

Laurence licked his lips, propped himself up, and pushed his mouth up against the undercurve of one orb. He savoured its yieldingness and its weight as he pushed it up and released it again. He took her nipple between his finger and thumb and gently pinched it and tugged on it, thrilling in its feel.

He traced his fingers around it, spiralling towards its firm tip then away again before scratching it gently with his fingernail. He watched her hand slip open the hem of his dressing robe and wrap around his pulsing erection. She shafted it slowly and firmly. It looked deliciously obscene to see a woman's hand doing what he had often done himself.

Joan nudged him.

"Stand up and take my dress off," she said softly.

Under the bed David heard the mattress squeak as Joan and Laurence stood up. He gingerly lifted the valance as Laurence stood behind her and unzipped her dress. David watched it glide down her legs and gather in an enticing heap around her ankles. Between Laurence's legs David could see hers, and he gazed longingly at them in their shiny white covering.

David watched her step out of her dress and saw her stockinged legs better as she walked to the armchair and draped her dress over its back as she had done earlier. He tried to picture her corset and her little white panties.

She gave a little laugh, and David wondered whether it was in response to Laurence's admiration for her lingerie. From under the valance David saw her legs approach the bed again and heard the mattress creak as she got onto it once more.

"Come and kiss my bum cheeks, darlin'," she crooned to Laurence, then added, "see – I'm kneeling on my hands and knees with my bum up in the air for you..."

David suspected that she had said this for his own benefit, to enable him to picture the scene. He did his best to recall her flimsy, scant panties, covering very little of her bum, and envisaged her beautifully rounded buttocks. 

He called to mind, too, the deliciously shaped corset, rising in an inverted U at the front and back, its back adorned with little hooks and eyes and its frontal, criss-crossed laces showing the soft skin of her midriff. He wondered if her breasts were hanging down wantonly over its top, and pictured them swaying alluringly.

The bed creaked again and David knew that Laurence had joined her and was no doubt kissing her bum as she had implored him. He felt embarrassed and ashamed to be in the room as they were having sex. But, of course, the shame and outrage were the whole point of it. David found his hand straying to his erection, rubbing it, then unzipping the fly of his trousers to slide his hand inside.

"Ooh, yes, that's it... squeeze those squashy titties and rub your cock against my bum... ooh yes, Laurence, yesss! You keep it hard now, won't you!" Joan urged Laurence.

David tried to picture himself in Laurence's place, rubbing his cock against her magnificent bum cheeks – and the backs of her thighs, too – and coating them with his sticky pre-cum. With some difficulty he wriggled enough under the bed to slide his trousers part way down, and did the same with his boxers. He took his erection in his hand and, with his eyes closed, rubbed it against his thigh, imagining it was her skin it was touching...

"Harder, Laurence... squeeze those tits harder for Joan, darlin'... oooh yes, that's it, that's it..." she groaned.

Over the muffled sound of the music from downstairs David heard Laurence emit several low grunts of pleasure, and he pictured Joan's mature breasts flopping down to the bed, being compressed and kneaded by her husband. He reminded himself what this part of the role play was about – the consummation of Joan and Laurence's marriage, and less than an hour after she had offered herself to him, David, to sully herself deliberately on that very nuptial bed! And now here he was, listening in to that consummation as it took place just inches above him as he lay concealed under the bed playing with himself.

"Oh Laurence – oh, shit – it... it's started to go soft again! You're not really trying, are you?" she snapped.

"I... oh, Joan, I'm doing my best. I... I'm sorry. P-please be patient..." her newlywed husband pleaded.

"Well, I'LL try if you do, then... Lie down and let me suck it for a few moments – see if that helps..."

More creaks and groans from the mattress ensued. Then, despite the background noise, the unmistakable sounds of sucking could be heard. David felt enormously aroused at this. 

He stroked and rubbed himself a little harder and faster, pausing to ensure he did not ejaculate – yet – then resuming.

"Let me lie down and take my tiny knickers off..." he heard her say softly, her voice slightly husky.

More creaking from the mattress followed. Then there was a pause.

"Oh Joan..." Laurence murmured. "What a sight, Joan! Oh Joan, you sexy lady!"

David imagined Laurence's enthralment with her heart-shaped patch of closely trimmed pubes above her hood.

A few moments later, to David's shock he saw the valance ripple. He froze rigid, his hand still clutching his throbbing erection. Then to his joy the valance was pushed inwards and towards him a little, and he saw her white panties, and a brief glimpse of her hand, as she dropped them half by and half under the pink valance.

He gazed at them. He knew that she had dropped them there especially for him, and a wave of arousal surged through him. He felt very perverted as he reached out and drew them to him. He fondled them with his right hand as he shafted himself slowly with his left hand. 

Encouraged by the squeaking of the mattress he imagined himself atop her, seeking her intimate, dank, clasping, inner warmth. He had never done such a thing before but he found himself raising the front of her panties to his nose, still fondling the warm flimsy fabric and still tugging on his erection. 

He inhaled her musk and felt an organic and lewd bond – surely the scent that filled his nostrils must be a cocktail of hers and his own from his earlier penetration of her! He felt light-headed with excited lust.

"Oh bloody hell, no, Laurence, noooo, don't let it..."

There was a stifled laugh as Laurence played along. His conscience prevented him from having penetrative sex with Joan, and she had of course invented an excuse for him for the occasion. But the hardness of his manhood before his eyes reassured him.

"I... ah... I'm doing my best, Joan, my sweet... please don't be angry..."

"Oh bloody hell, Laurence, it's your bloody fault for having too much to damn well drink! I knew this would damn well happen. It always does when you've been drinking! Let me try..."

Although David was aware that Laurence had no potency problem he still felt embarrassed on his behalf.

"No, it won't bloody well go in – it's not hard enough, is it? Not hard enough to push up my pussy, let alone to make me come! And on our bloody, bloody wedding night!"

David pictured her with a semi-hard penis in her ring-adorned hand, trying to coax it to life and to feed it into her gaping slit, the heart-shaped pubic patch above it. He felt a bead of pre-cum seep from his tip as he pleasured his hard shaft as he called to mind her erotically trimmed pubes.

"You know what this means, don't you?" she said, coldly.

"Ye-yes, Joan. I... I understand. And yes, it's... its my fault. I'm so terribly, terribly sorry, my sweet. I... I'll make it up to you..." 

David had to strain to catch Laurence's words.

"'MAKE IT UP' to me?" she chided, injecting his words with a sarcastic double-entendre. "Don't make me laugh! Right now you're not making it UP at all, are you! I know it's not completely soft..."

At this point David imagined her examining a slightly dwindling erection in her ring-adorned hand. He teased his erection more slowly, pretending it was her hand - complete with her wedding ring - that was doing it.

"It's not completely soft, Laurence, I know, but... no it won't, it's not hard enough! 'Making it up' to me is the one damn thing you aren't doing! I can see that if our marriage is to be consummated it will have to be done by proxy... oh Laurence, how bloody could you?"

Her indignant voice sounded almost convincing as David listened, sniffing and fondling her still-warm panties and pumping himself a little harder, a little faster. He inhaled the aroma of her panties more deeply and fondled them more vigorously.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Laurence," she said, a little more tenderly. "That young man who brought the champagne will still be on duty I expect. But I'm sure he would be more than willing to stand in for you when he finishes for the night. He had no problem getting it up earlier. But he will be on duty for a bit longer yet..."

David's heart began to race as he recalled his brief sexual liaison with her earlier, and thrilled at her boldness in mentioning it so openly. Her flattery of his own potency made him feel good, too. But most of all, of course, he thrilled at the prospect of having her again. He heard Laurence mutter something, but could not make it out. 

He wriggled a little and from his trouser pocket he took one of the cotton gloves Joan had provided for his room service role. He slid it on and began to shaft his erection through the soft fabric.

"All right then," Joan's voice spoke in reply. "You lie on your back and I'll lie on top of you. I'll press myself against you and we'll see if you can come against my tummy even though you're not completely hard... but don't bloody stain my corset!"

David pictured her, her breasts swaying in front of Laurence's face, or maybe with the tip of one in his mouth, riding him, pressing herself against him, grinding against him until he spurted over her soft skin. David thought, too of the white, bridal but provocative lingerie she was wearing. As he rocked his hand up and down more firmly the thought of her skin being defiled in such a way, and on her wedding night, was deliciously shocking. 

He heard several creaks and groans of the mattress and then a slow but unmistakably steady rhythmic squeaking began. The sound was very erotic, as it was obvious that it was the prelude to Laurence's grinding against her - rather than inside her. orgasm and to him emptying himself over her body.

David imagined himself in Laurence's place. He pictured himself rolling her over onto her back, entering her and driving into her slowly and deeply, sucking her breasts and fondling her clit until she came. 

He was now shafting himself hard and fast to the images that flooded his mind.

The squeaking of the mattress sounded louder and faster in his ears. David imagined himself kneeling beside her, and her hand wrapping round his nearly-erupting erection, shafting him and begging, "Now YOU come, darlin'! Come over me! Come all over Joan's tits! Oooh yessss" 

David thought of the way that without realising it she rather over-used the word, and in his imagination he heard her chanting it repeatedly in her rich provincial accent as she jacked him off.

"Oooh darlin'! That's it, darlin', come over my mature married tits!"

The words filled his head, her imagined voice chanting almost as a mantra, "Oooh, darlin', darlin', DARLINNN'!" He rubbed her soft, dank panties roughly against his face as he jerked his throbbing manhood. 

As the squeaks of the mattress intensified, David felt his orgasm build up until it gripped him and he felt himself shake and quiver. His stifled gasps were masked by the sound of the music percolating through the floor. David gazed down and watched the rude creamy jet spurt out over his gloved hand.

For a few brief moments David lay still, allowing his pleasure to subside. He laughed silently and with shame at the obscene thing he had done. 

Then, as the creaking of the mattress rose to a crescendo above him, he pushed the warm, flimsy white panties back out under the valance ready for Joan to retrieve. His breathing was still laboured as he turned the glove inside out to contain his spent seed. Then he cleaned himself as best he could given that he was lying on his back under a squeaking mattress on which Laurence was reaching his orgasm and on the point of lathering his bride's stomach.

David wriggled his boxers and trousers back up and fastened his trousers. He listened to Laurence's soft grunts and gasps accompanying the now-rapid creaking of the mattress and the muffled music.

He lay still, his mind racing to his own impending next turn with Joan the naughty, cuckolding bride. As yet he was unsure quite how, when, or even whether it would be in this bridal suite on the king sized bed or in his own more cramped room with its single bed.

But he knew that Joan would give him his cue and that, so soon after having sex with her "bridegroom" – albeit not full, penetrative sex – she would be having sex with David the "hotel staff", the apparently total stranger.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 08



Another role-play by Joan on her "wedding night". It would be best to read chapter 6 and/or 7 first if you haven't already done so.

As with the previous 2 chapters, this is one of a theme of bridal/cuckolding role-plays rather than one extended one, and for the reasons already given this should be borne in mind in the event of any lack of realism or inconsistencies. 

____________________

Joan grabbed a tissue from the bedside cabinet and wiped her stomach clean. She and Laurence hugged each other, and a few moments later Laurence, sated and with a deep sense of physical wellbeing, drifted into a light doze.

Joan slid off the bed, bent down, and nudged David with her foot. He wriggled out from under the bed. He glanced at Laurence who was covered lightly by the duvet, and wondered whether he was truly asleep. David looked at Joan; a small telltale spot of creamy moisture just below her navel betrayed what had just taken place on the bed under which he had been hiding.

Joan placed her finger over her lips as a gesture to be quiet and accompanied him to the door. David stared again at her alluring, mature breasts hanging down over the top of her white corset, and at the heart-shaped patch of closely trimmed pubic hair above her slit and her hood.

Joan kissed him, and he reciprocated. He slid his hand to her bum cheek, naked below the bottom of her corset. She hugged him but broke away after a few moments.

"Go now and have a rest, darlin'," she whispered. "You'll need it! Because after I've dozed off for a while...." At this point she paused, cupped his balls through his trousers and gave them a little squeeze before continuing, "I'll creep along to join you -- so don't lock your door!"

He felt himself blush with excitement, and despite his masturbation a few minutes earlier, he felt a twinge of budding arousal in his groin. But he let himself out and headed the few yards along the corridor to his own room.

Joan closed the door as quietly as she could and returned to her dozing "husband". He stirred, however, and watched her as she removed her corset and bridal veil and walked naked to the dressing table. 

She blushed, feeling strangely embarrassed. It was illogical. She felt no embarrassment when having sex with him or even sleeping naked beside him. She just felt awkward to be naked with him other than those times. She felt the same with David. Perhaps she was ashamed of her promiscuous behaviour or she had a subconscious fear about getting emotionally embroiled.

With her back to Laurence -- though she knew he was gazing at her -- she slid her stockings off her legs and pulled on the white, scanty nightdress she had bought especially for this, her supposed wedding night. It was short, only reaching a couple of inches below her crotch, and its short hem was flared. It was very flimsy, too, and semi-transparent. 

In the mirror she could see -- and knew that Laurence could, too -- the pink circles of her nipples, and the dark heart shape into which she had trimmed her pubes. Neither her nipples nor her pubes were clearly visible, but they could nevertheless be discerned without much effort or imagination.

Joan felt a shudder of naughty delight as she looked at her reflection.

She walked softly to the bucket of champagne and the glasses. She smiled saucily to herself at the remembrance of how she had arranged for it to be delivered to David's room and how he, masquerading as hotel staff providing room service delivery, had brought it to her room -- and allowed her to act at seducing him. 

She looked at Laurence, smiling again as she thought of the sex she had just had with him, and the intensity of the role-play they had enacted. She switched off the light and drew back the curtains. Their room was not overlooked and it was private enough. Even if anybody was able to see the open curtains from outside, the room was in darkness and they would be unable to see in. The gathering dusk was bright enough to fill the room with a pale, subdued light. It felt very cosy and intimate. The open curtains lent a risqué ambience too, however unlikely it was that anyone would be able to see.

She picked up the bucket containing the champagne bottle -- by now most of the ice had melted -- and the glasses, and smiled at Laurence, feeling more comfortable to be partially covered. His eager stare upon her thrilled her. She went back to the bed -- their "nuptial" bed -- and watched him open the champagne. They sipped it and cuddled against each other, but said little. It was a little awkward knowing just what to say.

Laurence was very conscious that it was only a matter of time before she left and went to her other lover's room. He felt slightly jealous and intimidated, though Joan had assured him that whilst she enjoyed sex with David it was simply different than with Laurence, and not better. 

Laurence also had very mixed feelings about the whole thing. He both disliked and loved the sordid nature of this evening, her alternating between him and David for sex, his own taking of her (though admittedly in a non-penetrative way) so soon after David's.

He placed his empty glass on the bedside cabinet and reclined on the bed again. Joan, his "bride" in her white skimpy nightdress, snuggled up next to him. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her hip, luxuriating in his tender caresses through her thin nightdress until he dozed off contentedly. She found herself drifting off, too -- though not for long.

____________________

She was awakened by the sound of voices on the corridor. She realised that some hotel guests were making their way back to their rooms from the disco. She smiled a secret, saucy smile to herself. It was time.

Laurence half awoke, sensing her sliding from the bed and standing up. In the half-light he saw her pick up the opened champagne bottle and the used glasses. It also looked as though she had picked up her bridal headdress and veil. 

He pretended to be asleep; she in turn pretended to believe that he was, and stooped and kissed him on the cheek. He felt her breast squash sensually against his bare arm, and thrilled briefly in the feel of it through her warm, flimsy nightdress. 

Then she was stepping softly to the door with the champagne and glasses in her hands to abandon him, her "newlywed husband" in favour of her lover. She paused for a few moments by the door. Through the narrow slits of his partially open eyes Laurence saw her standing, as if listening.

He felt a quiver of shock run through him. At the sound of voices on the corridor Joan slipped out of the door. It was obvious that she had been timing her departure not to avoid being seen leaving the room and entering another in her provocative nightdress, but precisely to make sure that she was seen.

Joan tried to remain composed as she stepped out into the corridor, though her heart was pounding. It was too late for a change of mind, though, unless she was to go back immediately to rejoin Laurence. 

She was acutely aware of just how flimsy and thin her nightdress was as the couple approached. She avoided eye contact but she felt both pairs of eyes upon her and sensed that the bloke's were exploring her. She was terribly conscious of the translucence of her nightdress. She felt very wanton. Shame and a sense of guilty pleasure each struggled for mastery in her head. 

As she closed the door Joan half turned towards them to show though her nightdress her partly visible breasts and nipples, and her heart-shaped, trimmed bush through the thin fabric, though she avoided looking at the couple. It was a struggle to close the door because she was holding the champagne bottle and headdress in one hand and the two glasses in the other. She still avoided looking at them as they drew nearer, and, genuinely fumbling and flustered she finally managed to pull the door closed.

Blushing fiercely, she turned her back to them and walked as casually as she could ahead of them and towards David's room, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to leave her room half dressed and go to another. She was glad that his room was only four doors away but it seemed further.

She could hear the couple sniggering behind her back. She smiled to herself as the expression "blushing bride" came to her mind. Surely, she told herself, even though this merely a fantasy she was acting out, no bride ever blushed so brightly or for the same reason as she in her bridal role-play.

She triple-checked she had the correct door, pushed it open and kicked it closed behind her. In the corridor behind her she heard a near explosion of laughter from the couple as soon as she was out of their sight. 

David was lying stretched out on the bed facing the doorway. He was naked except for a pair of striped boxers. Her eyes rested on the lewd bulge inside them. She stood with her hand on her hip and pouted provocatively as she brandished the champagne. 

He laughed and shook his head in amazement. She looked as sexy and provocative as she had earlier, and whilst he had half-hoped that she would still be wearing her white corset and stockings there was no denying that she looked equally stunning now. He watched longingly as she placed the champagne and glasses down on the chest of drawers and pulled onto her head her bridal headdress and veil, pushing the fine mesh behind her head.

Her white, skimpy nightdress was of course pushing it a bit for someone her age, but that added to its erotic appeal. The whole point was that such a garment -- especially in pure white -- suggested youth and, perhaps, innocence and naivety, mixed with enticement. 

And Joan, of course, was neither young nor innocent and naive. She was in her forties and sexually experienced. The translucence of her skimpy nightdress was deliciously appropriate. This very evening she was alternating between two sexual partners, and acting as if one was her bridegroom -- cuckolded on his very wedding night -- and the other her younger lover. Her headdress and veil was a visual reminder of the naughty role-play they were enacting.

"Er... Joan... I, er, think you've got the wrong room!" he faltered, along the lines she had suggested earlier.

"Oh, I don't think so, darlin!" she said seductively, and stepped towards him. The gauzy fabric of her nightdress thinly veiled her breasts, alternately covering and revealing them, hanging loosely then tautening and hugging her as she moved. Her breasts were ample rather than big, and sagged a little, and her flat nipples looked very big and alluring under their semi-opaque covering. Her legs and thighs looked fleshy and inviting below her short hem, and his gaze ran over the dark heart shape below her waist.

"I... surely you should be with..."

"Yes, darlin', I should be making love with my husband. But I'm not. He had his hand down the bridesmaid's dress -- she's my niece, too, and only nineteen but loving his attentions. I saw them in the cloakroom. Lynn was pleading with him to lift her dress and slip her one, the bitch! On our wedding day! And he clearly didn't want to disappoint her! I saw them sink down to the floor and saw him shoving her dress up and baring her skinny young legs..."

She saw David's face blush at the image she was describing, even though it was entirely fictitious.

"So, darlin' -- I thought if he was having it away with my niece -- I'd come along and see if my former next-door neighbour fancied fucking ME on my wedding night. Before I go back to the honeymoon suite, I mean..."

David felt himself flush deeper. The fantasy was coming closer to reality with her description of him in these terms.

"I... er... really, Joan, I don't know what to say...""

"Oh, I think you do. I think you do..." she repeated seductively. "I've seen the way you look at me. I've often seen your eyes roaming over my tits -- my squashy, mature, C-cup tits -- and thinking how nice it would be to fondle them and to bury your face between them. Even tonight at the reception I saw you staring at them, watching the tops of them wobble up and down as I danced. If you're a bit shy about FUCKING me -- especially on my wedding night -- why don't you at least have a play with Joan's tits, hmmm?"

Over the years he had known her David had only heard her use mild expletives. Her explicit language made him quiver with rude pleasure.

He watched passively as her left hand reached out to his. Her ring glinted on her finger. She stroked his hand lightly, enticingly, with her fingertips. He stared at the dark patch of hair showing through her nightdress. She leaned forward and her matronly orbs swayed forward under her flimsy nightdress.

Almost agonisingly slowly he watched her lift his hand in hers and press it against her breast. It yielded to his touch. She led his hand underneath its curve and patted his hand against her soft, surging flesh through the thin fabric of her nightdress. 

"I thought I'd come to your room like this. I know you've been dying to see my tits for years, haven't you? Hmmm?"

"Yes. Yes, Joan."

It felt exciting to be prompted to confess to her how intensely he had desired her. This part was no fantasy, for sure.

"And did you ever dream when you were eyeing them up, darlin'... did you ever think that one day you would be touching them like this?"

"No, Joan. Never in a million years."

"And do they feel as nice as you thought they would be?" she urged.

"No. They're even nicer," he said, his tongue sticking to the inside of his mouth in his excitement.

"And do they LOOK as nice? Here, let me show you better..."

He allowed his hand to fall from her and stared as she tugged the fabric of her nightdress tighter so that it hugged her breasts, their shape showing perfectly, her nipples clearly visible now.

"Oh Joan... Mrs. Martin... they're gorgeous -- YOU'RE gorgeous -- and so, so sexy..."

With a suddenness that startled him, Joan seized his hand and plunged it down inside her neckline. Her skin was smooth and her breasts ripe and halfway between firm and soft. He stared through the thin fabric, watching his hand as it kneaded her orb, seeking her rising nipple.

Joan whimpered and cooed softly. She felt highly aroused by David. He had an intensity about him that was even greater than Laurence's. She knew -- and could sense -- that it was because of his fixation on her over years, a desire that he had been forced to suppress and repress. 

It was a lust that he had secretly fed and nurtured over several years with furtive glances at her. It was a lust that he had fuelled further in the privacy of his bedroom with closed eyes, fantasising as he masturbated -- on his admission, most days for a prolonged period of time, in fact -- to the thought of her. And in moments such as this, that desire for her -- that he had always assumed must remain mere fantasy and never fulfilled -- in reality spilled over with an ardour that she had never known.

It excited and aroused her more than she would ever have imagined.

"Let's have some champagne, darlin'," she said softly. She sat beside him on the bed. She saw his gaze on her swaying breasts and on the short hem of her nightdress as she did so. Her pulse quickened. She draped one leg over his, and rubbed his leg with hers as she poured some champagne. She passed him a glass and poured some into the other one. 

"May... may I...?" he enquired, pretending it was his first time with her, and placing his hand on her knee.

"Of course you may!" she assured him. His hand was trembling with excitement as he stroked her knee. The gentleness of it, combined with the ardent and very evident desire he felt for her made her shudder with delight. 

"Yes, of course you may, darlin'!" she repeated. "But only if you run your hand higher..."

"I... we don't have to go all the way, though, Joan?" he asked, feigning reluctance.

"Not if you don't want to, no," she replied. "But it wouldn't hurt you just to have a little look -- and a little feel, would it, now? Hmmm?"

He made himself hold back for a moment more, prolonging the exquisite anticipation for just a little longer.

She took his hand in hers, again noting the way his gaze fell on her wedding ring, the symbol of her secret payback on her cheating ex-husband. She gazed down -- as did David -- at his hand's deliciously slow journey up her inner thigh, then back to her knee, then up again, and back to her knee. Each time she guided it a little higher before withdrawing it to a less intimate place...

Joan realised that her breathing was becoming shallower.

"Can you see it? Can you see my pussy lips through my nightie? Can you see my special hairstyle down there?"

"Yes... oh, yes!" he said, rather huskily. "B-but, Mrs. Martin, this is so wrong! Y-your husband will be looking for you! And not only are you married, it... it's your wedding night!"

"I know, darlin'! And it's because it's my wedding night that I'm behaving like this! You must think I'm a real slut behaving like this, but what's a bride to do on her wedding night when she's feeling randy and her newlywed husband is shagging her bridesmaid-niece in the cloakroom? I know it's wrong, Joan doesn't need you to tell her that! But if her husband's prick is poking and prodding elsewhere..."

At this point David watched helplessly as she cupped his bulging erection through his boxers and squeezed it. He felt a little seep of pre-cum and knew she had felt it, too.

"...I'd love to have someone else's prodding me!"

Her coarseness and pretended cuckolding sent the blood coursing through his veins and made his erection tighten.

"Yes -- and I can't think of a better prick to play with than the one that has saluted me so often and so devotedly over the years, David!"

He gasped as her fingers slid inside his boxers. He watched her hand moving erotically under the cotton.

"B-but only if that someone really wanted to, right?" he protested.

"Yes. Only if YOU wanted to, darlin'" she said.

He made himself pull his hand away from her leg and rested it on the bed.

"I... I don't think I DO want to -- you know what, Joan?"

She smiled tenderly. "'YOU KNOW WHAT'? You mean by that you don't want to fuck me?"

"Yes. Yes, that... that's what I mean."

They sipped their champagne, though each of them was too aroused to make small talk. Joan continued to rub her bare leg against his. He blushed with excitement and embarrassment as he saw her place the bottle between her thighs, with the neck angled slightly towards her slightly plump belly. It looked very suggestive, and it was clearly intended to. 

She placed her hand around the narrow neck of the bottle and, as they drank, she caressed it in an apparently innocent manner, but her movements resembled a slow, gentle shafting. From time to time she gripped it tighter and, with rocked her tensed hand tensed firmly and quickly up and down a few times. 

He gazed at her breasts and pussy lightly veiled by the flimsy fabric of her nightdress. She followed his gaze and smiled, thrilling in his desire for her. She in turn focussed on the ballooning of his boxers.

She placed her empty glass on the bedside cabinet at her side of the bed. Then she raised the bottle and caressed her neck and cheeks with it. He watched her trace the open tip across her lips and watched, spellbound, as she poked out her tongue and licked it. To his shock he saw her lean forward and slide her lips down the neck of bottle and rock slowly and suggestively up and down. He was now completely hard and his erection was tenting his boxers rudely.

She saw his gaze latch onto her crotch through her white nightdress.

"Do you like my hairstyle, darlin'?" she crooned.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on it.

"You know why I trimmed it like that?"

He shook his head, pretending to be shy. Joan found it very squishy to be playing the seductress, teasing and coaxing her former neighbour out of his reluctance.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 08



"Do you think maybe I did it as a romantic gesture?"

He nodded again, gazing at her pouting lips and dark, stubbly heart-shaped bush through the gauzy white fabric.

"Yes, you're right there of course, but there's another reason your newly-wed neighbour has a new hairstyle down there..."

Although he guessed quite clearly what it was, David said nothing, desperately wanting to hear it form her mouth.

"It's so that when I'm kissed down there he can taste my sweet moist lips -- and my hard little 'tongue' just above them -- without getting little hairs in his mouth!"

Even though he had anticipated the answer, David's stomach turned over as she spoke it.

She began to caress the neck of the wine bottle again, and she rubbed her leg against his once more.

"Is it just me or is it warm in here?" she asked casually.

Her complete change of tack caught him by surprise.

"I, er... I suppose it is quite warm, now you mention it," he replied.

"Yes. I think I'll take a shower and freshen up a bit. In here, I mean," she added.

She leaned across and placed the bottle of champagne on the bedside cabinet. Under her flimsy nightdress her breasts surged forward, almost touching his face.

She swung away from him and stepped around the foot of the bed. Under her nightdress her breasts quivered and shook, and her nipples were half-hard.

She stood by the door to the en-suite.

"I think you need to come, too, darlin'," she purred. "I can't reach my back, you know..."

Her eyes rested on the dressing table. He had brought along a bottle of wine -- red wine -- at her request.

"And I think you should open that bottle of wine and bring it with you..." she added.

He slid off the bed and opened the bottle, then padded behind her to the bathroom.

She stood to face him and smiled cheekily. Then she lifted her nightdress and slid it up and over her head.

He had seen her naked several times by now, of course. But here, in the role-play scenario they were enacting, with its element of taboo, it seemed almost unbearably erotic. She dropped it to the floor and it lay in an enticing heap.

Nor was she quite naked. Although her nightdress had dragged it off, she retrieved her bridal headdress and veil and perched it on her head once more.

The veil fell over her face. It was the rudest and most arousing sight of her he had yet seen: Joan, his former neighbour who was twice his age, acting at seducing him, stark naked before him in all her seductive powers, wearing a virginal white bridal veil over her face yet baring all else.

He felt light-headed.

He stared at her fleshy legs and thighs, and at the little creases across her stomach. He gazed at the curves of her hips and waist, and at her slightly pendulous, C-cup breasts. Her nipples were now hard and firm, and he gazed at the rubbery points and at the enthralling little bumps that adorned her areaolae. 

His gaze was drawn down, down, over her navel to that alluring patch of heart-shaped stubble above her hood. It struck him as extremely erotic, and, like her white nightdress it smacked both of sweet romantic gesture and of wantonness at one and the same time. He presumed she had done it herself and tried to picture her doing so, the effort and care into getting it just right, all that care and attention being lavished on making her crotch look especially appealing.

The shower was installed over a bathtub. The bath taps and showerhead were against the wall, but there was a small space between the foot of the bath and the other wall. It had been panelled over in stained and highly varnished wood, forming a shelf or seat.

Joan stepped to the showerhead and switched it on.

"I think you'd get a better view if you sat there, David. You would see me better..."

He obeyed silently, placing his feet in the bathtub, and placed the opened bottle of wine beside him.

She put some shower gel onto her hands and worked it into a lather, and for a few minutes he watched, spellbound, as she washed herself. Again her movements were both innocent and seductive as she rubbed her hands over her flaccid breasts, over her belly and down over her crotch. 

She turned around with her back to him and he watched the rivulets of water as they coursed down her curvy, mature body. He saw her hand rub between her plump bum cheeks, then over the appealing mounds. She did her best to keep her head and face away from the shower.

She turned to face him once more. Water streamed and snaked down her curvy, mature body, nestling briefly in her short, wiry pubes briefly before resuming their journey down her thighs and legs. The sight was almost mesmerising. Although part of him wanted to get into the shower and take her to sate himself -- and her -- he was too spellbound for now to make any move.

Then she stepped toward him and took the bottle from beside him.

"Fancy a drink, darlin?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

Although it was a cliche in soft porn films, to see it for real was different again. She stood quite close to him, facing him, with her back to the shower. She leaned forward, bringing her breasts to his face. Then she dribbled a splash of red wine down her soft orb.

He was too enthralled to act on it, and the wine ran down and off her breasts and joined the shower water down to the plughole.

The second time he was ready, with his head tipped back and his mouth poised, open, against her breast. He caught the warm, smooth liquid and swept it with his lips and relished it with his tongue.

"Ooooh, darlin'... is that nice?"

He grunted in response. She took a step back and gestured to him to stand up and to remove his boxers.

He stared at her mature, naked body -- and glanced at her polished wedding ring -- as he tugged down his boxers and dropped them to the floor. She poured a little wine down his chest and gobbled it up greedily, almost roughly, dragging her mouth across his skin and grazing his nipples with her teeth.

They alternated sipping wine from each other's chests, then she signalled him to kneel before her. His heart was pounding as he took his position. After gazing at the glistening skin of her thighs and crinkly but swollen pussy lips he angled his head upwards, waiting for the gentle cascade of wine, resting his chin just below her pussy. She teased him, making several feint tips of the bottle without allowing any to spill out, then she dribbled some down her deep cleavage. 

He watched the red liquid course down towards him and took it into his mouth from her stomach. Then he sank slightly lower and poised his mouth just below her pussy. He caught the next little stream and savoured it as it dribbled off her puffy lips.

She laughed softly.

"You might be shy about fucking your randy neighbour on her wedding night but you're not THAT shy, are you -- you bad lad!"

She sat on the shelf at the foot of the bath and he positioned his head between her thighs. They were warm and moist, still beaded by water and glistening. His eyes were focussed on her slit right before him, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her raise the bottle and trickle more wine slowly down over her plumpish stomach to dribble between her thighs.

He lapped the sweet liquid off her tender, raw skin and sucked on her wine-sweetened pussy lips. His gaze rested on her heart-pruned bush, and he stroked the coarse, stubbly hair, dampened and slightly sticky form the wine. 

Slowly still she trickled more wine down herself and he drew the soft spongy flesh into his mouth. He found her hard, wine-flavoured clit and sucked it and frigged it with his tongue.

He heard the now-familiar sighs and gasps, and she led one of his hands to her breasts, whimpering and cooing softly as he kneaded and scooped them. He pinched and tugged her sensitive nipples. With his other hand he stroked, fondled and squeezed her gorgeous thigh. 

Through her veil she gazed at his eager expression as she felt her climax approaching. She braced herself against the cool wood panel and gave a few deliberate thrusts against his face, followed by several involuntary twitches, and a few moments later her climax gripped and shook her.

David rubbed his erection against her leg as he brought her off. He stood up and lifted her veil to kiss her, caressing the soft, moist skin of her back as he did so. 

She laughed contentedly and pushed herself forward against him.

"Ooooh, darlin! Whew, David!" she sighed.

She took the bottle of wine and tipped some over her ample breasts. Then she nested her stained and lubricated orbs around his throbbing erection, cradled them with one arm and hand, and began to rock up and down.

"If you're too shy to put that big hard dick in Joan's pussy, stick it up her cleavage, darlin'! Give Joan a naughty titty-fuck. Oooh yes, like that! Ohh yes, you bad lad, yesss!" she hissed.

He groaned as he watched his purple tip emerge and sink out of sight again between her soft, cushioning orbs.

"That's it, yes, that's it!" she groaned encouragingly.

Then, as she sensed his approaching orgasm approaching, she stooped lower, bringing her face down. She took his wine-coated hardness in her hand and shafted him hard and slowly, then quicker.

He gasped in delight and shock as her veiled face came closer still to his tip. She angled her head back and through the veil he saw her close her eyes and jerk her fist harder and faster. His gaze fixed on the rude jerking of her hand, and on her polished ring. 

He braced himself as he felt himself spasm and watched the his creamy spunk spurt obscenely onto the white mesh of her veil, causing it to stick to her face, followed by several more, slower spurts from his pulsing tip. 

He wished he had not masturbated earlier so that he would have had more to shoot, but it was a minor detail in truth, and for delicious moments longer he stood and gazed at the lewd spectacle. Here was Joan, his former neighbour, for whom he had often lusted. Joan the apparently unattainable and apparently respectable milf of his many fantasies, now playing at cuckolding her husband on their wedding night and freely offering herself to him, David, as his cum slut. 

It was beyond his wildest dream of her - and he had entertained some pretty wild ones over the years, and even if she never did so again it was a delightful shock to see her with her soiled veil clinging to her face right now.

Then, as they both laughed in naughty delight he stepped back, and watched her wipe her face with a clean part of the veil. She passed it to him to wash in the wash basin and stepped under the still-running shower to wash her face and to rinse the wine form her curvy body.

He watched her towel herself off, slip her flimsy nightdress back on and step back into the bedroom with the bottle of wine. He took a brief shower himself, then dried himself and went, naked, into the bedroom, wondering how long she would remain with him before rejoining Laurence.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 09



In case you have not read any of the previous chapters in this series - and because this is in the "Toys.." rather than "Mature" category, though one is in "Exhibitionist.." - here is a brief resume. 

Joan, a mature divorcee has placed a personal newspaper ad for "no strings adult fun". As a result she has now in fact taken up with two lovers. To her initial shock, David turned out to be the now-grown son of her former neighbours. He is half her age.

Laurence is a professional gent slightly older than her who "likes to be dominated a little".

In the final few chapters Joan and her two lovers spend the night in a hotel. Joan surprises them by wearing bridal attire for a series of role-play scenarios. 

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Despite her determination to keep the arrangement "no strings", Joan always enjoyed the cosy intimacy after sex as much as the foreplay and the sex act itself, when the ardour and passion gave way to tender, lingering kisses and slow, light caresses. She also relished falling asleep in each other's arms.

She knew, too, that both David and Laurence had the same liking. And right now she felt that she owed it to David to spend some relaxed time with him. After all, her first liaison with him that evening had been -- albeit by choice -- a hurried business, supposedly a quick and torrid seduction of him as she awaited the arrival at the honeymoon suite of her bridegroom.

So now she and David cuddled and kissed, tasting the wine on each other's lips and tongues. Then her young lover slipped into a light sleep, sated, and Joan cradled his head to her breasts. She smiled to herself, thinking of Laurence her "bridegroom", alone in the king-sized bed awaiting her while she lay, cramped, on the single bed next to David, her lover and former neighbour who was half her age.

Joan thought of her philandering ex-husband, Paul. Although they were now divorced, and although he was oblivious to what she was up to, it felt good to be striking a secret blow of revenge on him with her wanton behaviour and fantasy of bridal unfaithfulness. She surrendered to the sleepiness that shrouded her.

She stirred some time later and allowed herself to awaken slowly and gradually, casting her mind back over the naughty events of that evening. She gazed with satisfaction at David's young skin and body. He was no muscle-bound bodybuilder or sportsman, but he was well toned and carried no excess fat. She smiled again as, in her mind, she contrasted him with Laurence's older, portlier figure.

Instinctively she found her hand gliding down under the bedclothes to seek David's wilted manhood. She took it in her palm and gently tugged on it a few times. She swept the bedcovers back and leaned over. She planted a few light, lingering kisses on his musky tip.

David gave a low sigh and began to stir. Joan kissed him tenderly on the mouth and slid off the bed. As with Laurence she felt oddly embarrassed as she walked, naked, to the en-suite bathroom, but made no attempt to cover her nudity from him.

She pushed the door closed as she took a pee and washed her face. Then she picked up her flimsy white nightdress from the floor where she had discarded it and slid it over her head. She also picked up her bridal headdress and veil from the towel rail where David had placed it after washing it clean of his seed.

David propped himself up on his elbows and looked longingly towards the bathroom door that was slightly ajar. Part of him wished her to stay, but he had to admit that there was something dirty and alluring about sharing her with her older lover, about her coming to his bed soon after having sex with Laurence, and rejoining Laurence once more after having sex with him, David. 

It was an act, a role, a fantasy that she was acting out, and David still had enormous respect and affection for her. But tonight in particular she was combining her ladylike true self with the behaviour of a slut. He had never felt so aroused.

The bathroom door swung open and for a moment she stood in the doorway smiling coyly at him. He felt his groin tighten and felt a little surging salute of approval as he gazed at her. Where the thin fabric hung away from her body her skin was barely visible, but it hugged her ripe, C-cup breasts, displaying their shape and her muted skin tone. 

Her nipples were flat, round and showed as large circles through the gauzy material. And although her nightdress did not cling to her crotch there was no mistaking the dark patch of her bush that she had trimmed into a heart shape especially for that evening.

Joan walked softly to his bed and kissed him on the mouth. Her lips tasted sweet and he could still detect the wine. David cupped her soft breast through the warm, flimsy fabric. Joan sighed with delight at his gentle kneading, then she pulled away.

"I have to go now, darlin'. My husband will be wondering where I am. And he'll be wanting HIS prick sucked, too..."

David felt a wave of revulsion and naughty satisfaction at the reminder of her alternating between partners. He saw her eyes alight on his rising erection.

"But while I'm sucking his older, slower-rising dick, darlin'..."

To his delight she licked her finger and stroked his tender tip. 

"I'll close my eyes and imaging it's YOUR younger, quicker-to-rise one going hard in my mouth and YOUR seeping salty man-juice into my mouth and coating my tongue! And as I swallow those first dribbles I'll pretend they're yours, darlin'!"

He groaned at her coarseness and at the sensation and sight of her hand shafting him slowly and teasingly gently.

"And when he comes -- maybe in my pussy or perhaps over my ripe, squashy, mature tits -- I'll close my eyes and imagine it's YOUR hot sticky spunk shooting up inside me or spattering my skin! Hmmm, darlin'?"

David groaned in response, unable to think of an adequate reply. Joan stood upright, turned her back, and walked slowly and slightly mincingly to the door.

Joan was glad that the hotel was now fairly quiet and the corridor was deserted. Having flaunted herself in her thin nightdress to a couple earlier she had no wish to do so again. She walked quickly and softly the few yards back to the room that she and Laurence had booked into. She opened the door and slid inside.

Faint light from the window still bathed the room. She had opened the curtains earlier, and, satisfied that nobody would be able to see inside, had left them open. Either Laurence was asleep or else pretending to be. She gazed at his chubby chest and at his plump but kindly face. 

Joan padded to the bathroom and re-applied her make-up subtly. She slipped out of her nightdress and went back into the bedroom. She left the bathroom door slightly open, wanting a little more light in the room but wanting to preserve the effect of light and shade.

She gazed in the large mirror at herself. A sense of shame flooded her as she saw her reflection and considered her actions so far that evening. There had been the deliberately hurried liaison in her wedding gown when she had played at seducing David while supposedly awaiting the arrival of her drunken husband. Besides the illicitness of the role-play, its swiftness and intensity had made it one of her most enjoyable sexual experiences to date. 

Then David had hidden as, dressed in a white corset, she and Laurence enjoyed foreplay. David's fingers had even secretly stroked her as Laurence also caressed her. It had ended with Laurence ejaculating over her breasts as David lay concealed under the bed, fingering her panties and shafting himself to the accompanying sound of the creaking bedsprings.

And she had just returned from David's room where they had had sex in the shower, culminating in his ejaculating over her veil-covered face. And now, here she was again with her "newly wed husband".

She took a deep breath and stepped into her tiny white panties and tugged them up. She slid her feet into her white stockings and eased them up her fleshy legs. They were not hold-ups, but they would be okay for her purposes without suspenders. Then she pulled on her wedding gown.

She stepped over to the bedside cabinet and from the drawer she retrieved one of two dildos she had brought. It was big, certainly considerably larger than any real penis she had ever encountered, though shaped like one and complete with veins, and made of flesh coloured latex. 

Her heart was pounding. She was about to embark on a fantasy she had often entertained but never indulged in. And, as was happening with increasing regularity, her embarrassment and shame fuelled her excitement.

She heard Laurence stir and looked across at the bed. His eyes were hooded, but she knew that he was only pretending to sleep.

Joan walked across to the armchair. She smirked to herself as she recollected how David had hidden behind it earlier in the evening as, in her white corset and bridal headdress she welcomed her supposed bridegroom Laurence. She sat down, placed the dildo on the floor, and hitched up her dress.

Laurence was half-hard already and the soft rustle of her gown aroused him further. Still keeping his eyes half closed he looked across at her. The lighting added to the sensual effect; the curtains were still open, allowing faint, soft light to creep into the room, and the shaft of light from the half-open bathroom door part-illumined her garishly by contrast.

Laurence watched as she ran her fingertips up and down her white-stockinged thigh. In the quietness he heard the soft scratching sound of her fingers on the nylon. Above her white stockingtops her thigh was plump and inviting, and her tiny white panties nestled against her crotch. Above them he could see her pubes that she had cropped into a heart-shape for the occasion.

He heard her sigh and he watched as, with her eyes closed, she traced her other hand over her breasts, lightly stroking them through the white satin and lace of her wedding dress. Her expression was serene.

Joan opened her eyes enough to see her "husband's" eyes upon her. She felt herself blush and closed her eyes again, but it aroused her greatly to have seen the hunger of his gaze. She cupped each breast in turn and kneaded it gently, then more firmly, still caressing her thigh with her other hand, running it along the lacy stockingtop and over her soft skin above it. 

She swirled her fingertips closer to her rising nipple, then away and closer again, building her own excitement -- and Laurence's, too. She took her nipple between her finger and thumb and pinched it lightly, twisting it and tugging gently on it through her dress. She gave a little gasp of genuine delight and heard Laurence echo it with on of his own as, still feigning sleep, he continued to watch.

Laurence saw her lean forward and put her hands behind her back to unzip her dress. She gazed down tenderly and self-approvingly at her neckline as she slid it slowly down, anticipating Laurence's longing for her breasts to appear.

Under the bedclothes Laurence rubbed himself discreetly, willing her to bare her mature, slightly sagging breasts, but still she teased him, sliding it down just enough to bare the very tops of her orbs. She dug one hand down her neckline and he watched it eagerly as it moved under the fabric. He gazed up at her face. Her eyes still appeared to be closed, and her bridal veil covered the top of her head.

Her left hand circled around the front of her white panties and then began to gently rub up and down it. He gazed as the flimsy fabric moulded against her contours, and watched her ring-adorned finger. She dragged it slowly up and down her slit that was now clearly visible. She did this for several delectable minutes, and with a surge of arousal Laurence saw an unmistakably moist patch appear on the thin fabric. Then, to his further delight, he saw her drag her panties to one side. He stared at her crinkled, pouting folds.

Joan gave a low whimper as she raised her finger to her mouth and licked it, then she returned it to her shaved pussy lips and slowly and tenderly stroked her folds, up and down, and, nestling her finger in her slit, rocked her puffy lips from side to side. Her physical pleasure was heightened by the illicitness of pleasuring herself in the presence of a man - her lover, her "bridegroom" - and to be doing so in her actual wedding dress.

The sight enthralled Laurence. He had never witnessed what he now saw. Her behaviour shocked him yet aroused him intensely.

Joan touched herself there often and knew exactly how to stimulate herself, when to speed up or rub harder, and when to slow down or move her hand away for a while to prolong her pleasure. Out of her slightly closed eyes she glanced at the slow, secret but lewd movement of Laurence's hand under the bedclothes.

Laurence saw her hand ease her neckline down and watched her ripe breasts flop free. They surged deliciously as she adjusted her dress. Her followed her gaze down to her taut nipples. Like her, he watched the pinching and tugging movements of her fingers as she teased and stimulated them. She held a nipple between the finger and thumb of each hand and shook her squashy orbs. The sight of her rhythmically surging, swaying flesh almost mesmerised him.

He heard her give another whimper as she ran one hand slowly down over her bunched-up wedding dress until it met her crotch. With two fingers she held her panties aside and with the others she teased her puffy lips and clit, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firmer rubbing movements.

Joan luxuriated in her self-pleasuring, taking the pace slowly and gently, savouring too her exhibitionism and the fantasy of Laurence playing the part of her husband who was unable to satisfy her. She glanced across at her reflection in the large wall mirror. 

It was hard to make out in detail due to the half-light, but she was shocked by the spectacle of herself; her wedding dress was bunched around her midriff, her breasts hung free, and her panties and stockingtops were exposed. Without suspenders one stocking was starting to slide down her thigh, and her panties were thrust to one side, too. She felt a real slut, despite being decked in her bridal gown and headdress with its veil flicked behind her head. Her slutty appearance fed her sense of naughty pleasure.

She was conscious of Laurence's eyes upon her as she gazed deliberately down at the dildo on the floor. She reached out and picked it up. For his benefit she gazed at it as if it were real and stroked it gently and tenderly, caressing the tip, stroking the length and the artificial bulbous veins.

Laurence was now making no effort to keep his eyes even partially closed. He tugged on his erection beneath the bed sheet, conscious that his tip was dribbling pre-cum. He stared as, with her eyes closed, his supposed bride began to drag the obscenely large artificial dick up and down each of her inner thighs. He watched, spellbound, as she trapped it between her thighs and squeezed them together, rocking slightly from side to side as she held it tight. 

She teased it over her tender skin above her stockingtops and guided it around the gusset of her tiny white panties. She rubbed it, agonisingly slowly along her slit that was clearly visible through her panties, and slapped it gently against herself. Her flesh yielded erotically. The sight and sound were almost a torment to Laurence as he lay on the bed.

Joan tugged her thin white panties aside once more and rubbed the artificial dick against her swollen lips. She sighed with genuine pleasure. She gazed down and watched the flesh-coloured latex as it teased and pleased her. Then she placed her other hand on her mound and pressed down, easing her slit open. She smiled as she heard Laurence gasp at the sight, but did not acknowledge him.

Joan spent a few moments pressing the firm end against herself. The dildo's size was a little uncomfortable at first, but it did not matter. There was no rush and it gave her opportunity to play with it longer and prepare herself for it. 

Laurence stared at her slow, tentative guiding of the rude object -- big, though lifelike, heavily veined yet unattached to a human body -- into her turgid flesh. Her plump, shaved mound seemed to tense as she guided the tip inside. Her hairless flaps clamped around it. 

Joan moaned softly as she felt the tip of the big, unyielding object enter her. She enjoyed this moment of penetration as much as the thrusting sensation. She let it slide back out and guided it inside her again. She did this several times and, after the third, she gently slapped it against her lips as she had done before.

Laurence gasped involuntarily again. The sight of the artificial bell end going in and then slipping out again was deliciously lewd, and the sight and sound of her slapping her spongy flesh was unbelievably arousing.

To his shock she raised the dildo slowly to her mouth and slid it between her lips. He knew that she must be able to taste her own juice on the latex. He heard her suck it and saw her cheeks pucker as she did so. He gazed hungrily as she withdrew it, glistening and lubricated with her saliva, and brought it - in her left hand that was adorned with her newly polished wedding ring - to her shaved pussy again.

This time as she pushed it, it slid slowly and gradually inside her. Joan gazed down as it part-disappeared and then re-emerged again from her aroused hole. She kneaded her breast and tugged on her nipple with her other hand, then, to Laurence's delight, she scooped her orb to her mouth and licked her nipple. Her mouth closed over it and she tugged and chewed on it with her pink-glossed lips.

Laurence stared as she leaned her head back and thrust the dildo slowly but firmly in and out of herself. She whimpered and crooned, relishing the full feeling that the big object gave her. With her other hand she stroked her hood and gently rubbed her clit with little circular movements of her finger.

The rude sight of the big, veined and flesh-coloured dildo entering and leaving her slit was now too much for Laurence. He slid the covers off and slid to his feet. He looked down at his erection. It was nowhere near the size of the dildo, of course, but Laurence doubted that it had ever been quite as big as it was now. 

He grabbed the packet of condoms and, fumbling, fitted one over his throbbing end. He knew that Joan was fully conscious of what he was doing, but she gave no sign. He was glad -- it would have made him self-conscious and he would have struggled even more to put it on.

He crept towards her. Her head was still angled back, her eyes were still closed, and her pussy was matching the thrusts of the dildo as she rocked it in and out. Much as he respected her, there was no denying that now she looked truly wanton and slutty, still half dressed, her panties pressing against the big dildo as it pleasured her.

Laurence realised that he was shaking a little with indecision. A wave of guilt and self-recrimination washed over him, but his mind was made up.

He grabbed the dildo and wrenched it from her hand. Although she had been half-expecting it, the vigour of it took Joan by surprise.

"Laurence, darlin..." she said, tentatively

Although he usually took a passive role with her, Laurence was reaching fever pitch.

He rubbed the sticky dildo across her lips and stared as her lips parted. He watched her tongie poke out and glide over its sticky end, drawing her own juices from it. His erection was almost painful. He made no attempt to push the dildo, but she leaned forward a little and took the end of it into her mouth. She sucked it noisily, and the sound was lewdly arousing. He watched the rude movement of her cheeks, too, as she sucked on the big, artificial dick.

He pulled it gently from her and dropped it onto the floor. He glanced down at it as it lay, looking obscene and redundant now.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 09



"Here, Joan... take this instead..." he said, huskily, as he stooped over her and guided himself into her.

They both stared as his manhood entered her. Joan was shocked and thrilled. He had always shied away from penetrative sex with her, and when he put on the condom she had assumed it was for oral sex. Guilt had always held him back from entering her. But she knew he had reached the point of no return in his mind now. She looked him in the face and smiled encouragingly. She crooned with pleasure at the feel of him pressing gently but firmly into her already-aroused, wet pussy.

"Are you sure, darlin?" she asked, genuinely reluctant to appear to be pushing him in an unwanted direction.

"Oh yes, Joan. I want to... ah... I want to fuck you. And I'm going to..."

"Oooh yes, darlin! Yessss!" she hissed. Until now he had always spoken politely and his explicit language surprised and thrilled her. 

He covered her mouth with his. They kissed fervently and sloppily as Laurence increased his pace. He reached one hand down and kneaded and pawed her breast, bracing his other hand against the back of the armchair.

No words passed between them, each preoccupied with the intensity of the moment; the only sounds were the sounds of their bodies against each other, the sensual rustling of her dress and their guttural grunts of near-primordial lust and pleasure. Laurence was slightly embarrassed at the passion and slobbering nature of their kisses, but Joan was clearly as swept along as he was. He was not squeezing her breasts hard enough to hurt her, but the sensation and the his slight loss of restraint sent a surge of juicy arousal through her.

She raised her hips and clasped his chubby waist with her thighs. She clung to him with her hands as he shifted angle slightly to increase his friction inside her. 

He slowed down and built up the pace again. He even withdrew and, taking inspiration from what he had just seen, held his condom-covered erection in his hand and slapped it against her yielding mound, loving the feel and the sight as he watched his hardness tapping against her yielding softness. Joan was impressed at his staying power given his age and the high pitch of his pent-up arousal.

She, too, gazed at the rude sight of his erection, its condom-covered tip glistening with her juices, as it slapped against her. She gave a low moan.

"Put it in, Laurence. Put it back in and make me come! Fuck me, Laurence! Fuck me! Do it! Do it!" she urged. 

For a moment he stared into her face. Her pupils were dilated, and her expression was slightly contorted with desire. He had not seen her so driven before.

He pushed himself back inside her welcoming, clasping flesh and stooped over her, kissing and sucking her soft breasts greedily as he pounded into her. He felt her pushing up against him as he pumped inside her. Still bracing himself against the chair with one hand, he sought her pussy with his other. 

The fabric of her panties pressed against his fingers. It was a little annoying, but it was a naughty, arousing annoyance all the same. It spoke of her wantonness, as if her drive to be sated was so strong that to undress would be an unnecessary intrusion. So, with her panties pressing against his hand, Laurence began to frig her hard, slimy clit.

His breathing became shallow as he thrust faster, and after a few minutes he gritted his teeth and drove hard and deep into her. He held himself steady as he felt himself spurting and pumping inside her. Then, though spent, he resumed his thrusts and his fingering of her until she, too, came, grinding up against him as her pleasure gripped and shook her.

It was a powerful orgasm, one of the strongest she had known. The strong emotional aspect had made it so. She had seen his eager gaze upon her before he had come to join her, and her desirability to him made her feel good. Then there had been the lewdness of masturbating before him. And her deft self-pleasuring had meant that she was already nearing the brink when he had entered her.

Besides that she almost felt as if he had abandoned his virginity to her, having refrained from penetrative sex on their previous liaisons. It was deliciously appropriate given that she was wearing her wedding dress and headdress and veil. And the strength of his desire and ardour had aroused her enormously, and fuelled her own. She grinned as she looked into his red, chubby, kindly, perspiring face.

They both gave a low, embarrassed chuckle as he eased himself from her and led her to the bed. He looked at his watch, sensing that in just a few hours' time their night of "unbridalled" lust -- he smiled at the pun -- would be over.



Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 10



This is the final episode. Hope you like it. I wanted to portray Joan acting just to a limited extent like a slut without really being or becoming one, and to leave the series with her determination not to push the boundaries quite so far again.

And, given that, I think any further chapters would be something of an anticlimax...

If you haven't read the other chapters and wish to, most are in Mature though one is in Voyeur and one in Toys/Masturbation. 

_________________________

Laurence awoke to the feel of Joan's hand stroking his shaft and squeezing it gently. He sighed and opened his eyes, letting them rove over her naked, mature, but sexy body. Her slightly saggy breasts rocked arousingly with the movement of her hands.

He rolled onto his side and they embraced, their mouths seeking each other. Joan swung one leg over his thigh and hip and led his hand to her fleshy bum cheek. They kissed slowly and sensually, then she drew his face to her breasts. She crooned as he tugged on her nipples with his lips and pressed his face against her deliciously yielding orbs. At the same time he squeezed and rolled her buttock.

Joan whimpered with pleasure. She ran her hand over his chubby stomach and over his broad back. She let out a low moan as his tongue circled round her nipple and licked it, alternating between light, teasing moves and harder rasping ones, pressing it flat and then releasing it.

Laurence's heart was beating quicker as the climax of his night -- his "no-strings" night --with Joan drew near. He was genuinely nervous, yet the prospect of pushing the boundaries further -- and of witnessing her doing the same -- was extremely exciting.

Joan pulled gently away. It was the sign that the time had now come.

Laurence stepped to the window and closed the curtains. Joan had left them open all night, partly to allow the room to be lit with a low and subtle light, and partly for the fun, however unlikely, and however faintly, of being seen from outside in the dim light.

He walked to the wardrobe and took his clean clothes to the bathroom. Like Joan, he felt ill at ease to be naked in her presence after sex. He stepped coyly to the en-suite bathroom. There was little time for a shower but he washed thoroughly in the washbasin and brushed his teeth, then dressed.

They exchanged places. Laurence sat on the armchair and pretended to browse through the previous day's newspaper while Joan stole into the bathroom. She did not let on, but she, too, was feeling nervous about the grand finale that she had planned and suggested in advance to her two lovers.

Laurence heard the shower running and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine the water streaming down her slightly plump body, and he conjured up an image of her rubbing the shower gel over herself -- with soft, self-indulgent movements, perhaps, lingering longer on her fabulous breasts than was necessary -- and stroking her puffy labia as the hot water lubricated them.

The shower stopped. Laurence's blood was pounding in his ears. It was time.

He walked to the bedroom door and made sure that the latch was off so that he could get back in again. He forced himself to walk slowly and casually along the corridor to David's room and checked the room number three times before knocking twice. He waited for a few moments and was about to knock again when he heard a low voice from right behind the door call "Okay. Thanks".

Laurence retreated to the double room and found Joan sitting with a towel tucked around her at the dressing table, drying and brushing her hair. She smiled reassuringly. He tried to smile back confidently as he went back into the bathroom. He kicked off his shoes, tugged off his socks and stood with the door partly open.

It was to be his vantage point from where he would watch. He had witnessed sex on porn movies of course. But this was different. He was soon to watch Joan having sex with her other (and younger) lover. The scenario to be acted out was that Laurence was to watch his wife -- in fact, his bride -- being taken by another young man, a near-stranger. He felt curious, excited, embarrassed, dirty -- and nervous.

The alleged reason was that Laurence could not manage to keep his end up. Although he in fact had no such problem, he hoped that his growing nervousness did not cause that to happen in reality.

There was a get-out clause that Joan had put to him when explaining her idea. If he wanted, she stressed, Laurence could remain watching throughout the entire procedure. If he did, she promised, she would attend to him privately after David had left. He had agreed to give it a try.

He now watched Joan's reflection in the mirror in anticipation as she applied her make-up well but subtly. He felt a shudder run down his spine as he thought of her behaviour, so at odds with her pleasant, otherwise ladylike and respectable manner. He felt a twinge of sadness that her ex-husband's cheating had driven her to all this, but he caught her saucy smile at him in the mirror. As she smiled she tugged down the top of the bath towel that covered her breasts, and flashed them at him in the mirror.

He grinned back. He also gave his rising erection a very overt rub through his trousers. She grinned back at him.

Joan walked over to the wardrobe. Laurence stared longingly at the backs of her thighs and bum cheeks, and watched as she put on the white corset. Her bum cheeks quivered alluringly as she fastened and adjusted it. She stooped forward to pick up her discarded white stockings and bridal headdress and veil, and walked to the bed.

She shot a brief, coquettish smile to him, and he returned it. Now that she was getting back into a sexual mode her coyness about being exposed to him had dissipated again. Fleetingly it occurred strange to her again that they both felt so self-conscious about being naked apart from when having sex.

He was aware that he was supposedly in hiding and stifled a gasp. Her breasts hung over the top of her corset, and swayed deliciously as she moved. Her nipples were flat, big and round. She was wearing no panties and the inverted U-shape of the bottom of her corset drew his eye to her dark, close-trimmed pubes that she had cropped into a heart shape especially for the occasion. His gaze rested fleetingly on her crinkled pussy lips before she sat down on the edge of the bed with her back to him.

Laurence gazed at her back, the white fabric of the corset contrasting appealingly with her skin, and his gaze followed the curves of her body that her corset accentuated.

Joan was facing the mirror, however, and although their eyes briefly met in the reflection, neither acknowledged the other, going along with the scenario of Laurence watching her undetected. He saw her blush, though, and noted the smile on her face that evidenced her naughty enjoyment.

She took one shiny white stocking and gently rolled it so that she could slide it over her foot. Laurence had to stifle another gasp, thrilled to be the voyeur, allegedly unnoticed. He stared as she stretched out her left leg. To Laurence it was neither skinny nor fat, just perfectly fleshy. 

Joan pointed her toes and slid her foot into her stocking. Her naked C-cup breasts surged a little as she leaned forward to ease her stocking slowly -- and erotically -- up her leg. He gazed, spellbound, watching the thin filmy nylon slide slowly up her calf then to her knee, watching her slightly swarthy skin being covered by the sheer, shiny whiteness as she slid it up. She wiggled her foot a little. He stared as she did so. He did not consider himself to have a "thing" about feet, but the movement she gave seemed strangely erotic. So did the way she ran her hand up and down her white-stockinged leg, as if checking that the nylon was properly in place and appropriately smoothed out.

Through his trousers Laurence tugged on his erection slowly but firmly as she adjusted the top of her white stocking and clipped the suspenders of her corset to it.

It was almost an agony to remain where he was as she repeated the whole process with her other stocking. Then, to his delight, she stood up and turned slowly round to examine her reflection. His eager gaze ran over every inch of her, taking in her soft looking skin, the white satin of her corset, her white suspenders, and the white shiny nylon of her stockings. Again his gaze was drawn to her heart-shaped bush, the bottom tip of it pointing to her hood.

She turned around once more, and again he watched her breasts quiver enticingly over the top of her corset. She picked up the bridal headdress from the bed and placed it on her head. Its white band and the thin, gauzy mesh of the veil were in stark contrast to her short, dark hair.

She adjusted it slightly in the mirror, smiled approvingly to herself, and stepped to the telephone for room service. Again she had her back to Laurence and it was obvious that her finger was pressed down over the receiver as she lifted the handset, but pretending to ring for room service was a juicy detail that had occurred to her. She had planned out many of the details that she had included in the several role plays that she and her two lovers had indulged in, and she savoured the realism that they added. Laurence feasted his eyes on the soft skin of her back and shoulders and on her bum cheeks and stockinged legs.

"Hello. Room Service?" she asked softly, then paused as if a reply was being given.

"Yes," she continued, as if in a real conversation. "Yes that's my room number. I... I wonder... my husband has gone out for a stroll and to collect a newspaper from the lounge, and I've just been in the bathroom and..."

Laurence thrilled in the sound of her voice, which now became a little strained.

"There's a spider," she continued in her imaginary conversation. "In the shower tray. I... I know it's stupid, but I have a phobia about them. Could... could you send someone along to... oh thank you so much, as I say, I feel really stupid... You sure? Would... would that young man David be able to do it, if he's still on duty? It's just that he moved a spider last night and he was so kind, he didn't smirk or make me feel pathetic.... he is? Yes, if he didn't mind... thanks ever so much -- and sorry to make such a fuss, again... bye then..."

Laurence smiled at the performance she had given. He saw her glance at her watch. An approximate time delay had already been fixed between Laurence knocking on David's door and his arrival. It was a nice touch that he was to play at attending in a room service capacity.

Laurence watched Joan recline on the bed with her back against the headboard. To his absolute delight -- and his erection gave a slow salute of approval -- she reached up and pulled her bridal veil down to cover her face.

Laurence had never seen a sight so erotically charged and so anomalous. The woman he was peeping at, both around the door and in the large mirror of the dressing table was well in her forties, mature and sexually experienced, yet dressed in white. The vestal whiteness of her clothing, though, was at complete odds with its provocative nature -- nothing but a white corset with suspenders and stockings. Her bush had been trimmed into a romantic heart shape yet, despite pretending to be Laurence's bride, she was playing at cuckolding him as she awaited a lover.

The most delicious touch of all, though, was the veiling of her face. Her slightly pendulous breasts were bared and hung down over the top of the corset. She was wearing no panties and her crotch was completely bared, with her trimmed bush and puffy lips exposed. Yet her face was veiled, a total sham of modesty, decency and virtue. It was outrageously wanton -- and outrageously delicious.

Joan, of course, likewise basked in the delight that her reflection in the mirror gave her. She felt a little surge between her thighs. She glanced at her watch. About four and a half minutes remained before that half-longed for yet half-dreaded knock would come on the door to her room to signal David's arrival.

A twinge of apprehension and self-doubt came over her as she questioned whether she was pushing the boundaries too far. She wondered whether she would shock David or Laurence to the point of alienation and loss of all respect for her, or whether this -- which she intended to be a self-liberating, hedonistic one-off -- would whet their appetite for more of the same. She could not decide which would be the worse outcome, but hoped that in fact they would simply accept it and enjoy the moment for what it was.

She tried to push her doubts to the back of her mind and to focus instead on the time that lay ahead. She smiled to herself and tried to reassure herself. She knew deep down, too, that this heady cocktail of excitement, shame, nervousness and guilt were an integral part of the intensity of her pleasure.

She bent one knee, drawing it up toward her chin. She slowly stretched her leg and tucked it up again. Laurence heard the soft sound of her stockinged leg against the bedcover and watched the sensual movement of her leg on its teasing, repeated journey. His eyes were inexorably drawn to her breasts once more, and he noted that her nipples were firmer and tauter now. Then she began to move her pelvis in subtle, inviting, circular movements.

It was indeed subtle rather than wanton, but it was nevertheless very suggestive and arousing.

Joan began to trace her fingers slowly up and down the cleft of her breasts. At first she did it purely subconsciously out of nerves, then realised that to Laurence it probably seemed deliberate and arousing, and recalled his earlier thrill in her self-pleasuring. She touched herself more deliberately for his benefit. She thought too of the imminent arrival of David, and decided to greet him with the sight of her touching her breasts, too. She fixed her gaze on the door. Her heart was beginning to race as the moments went by.

_________________________

After Laurence had knocked on his door, David, too, had looked nervously at his watch. He took a quick shower and dressed in smart casuals. He was anxious not to arrive at his companions' room too early and spoil things, and in the event he forced himself to arrive a few minutes after the time they had arranged. Apart form anything else, he told himself, a slight delay would build the anticipation and sexual tension -- for all three of them.

He dismissed any slight feelings of jealousy, reminding himself that Joan had shared her time with both him and Laurence pretty evenly. Besides, the three of them could hardly have shared one room (nor would they have wanted to!), and for discretion it made obvious sense for Joan and Laurence to share one, and for him, David, to have a single room. To all intents and purposes they appeared to be a family -- mother, father and son. The contrast between the sordid reality and the acted pretence was very appealing.

David smiled as in his mind he dwelt on the reality -- a woman who had placed a personal ad for "no strings adult fun" and ended up with two lovers, one a little older than she was and the other turning out to be himself -- half her age and, as it had transpired, her former neighbour. That very night she had flitted between the two bedrooms and shared her favours with each of them. And now the grand finale was approaching. He smiled to himself at the imagery -- he certainly hoped that there would be at least one encore.

It was still about half an hour before breakfast would be served and there was nobody about as he left his room and headed the few yards to the room that Joan and Laurence were sharing.

He knocked on the door and went straight in. He had been in the room already, but he was as shocked now as he had been the previous evening when, completely unanticipated by him, he had found Joan wearing a wedding gown -- and had taken her while still wearing it.

He was aware of Laurence, half-hidden behind the en-suite door, but he fixed his gaze instead on his former neighbour. His stomach churned with desire for her. He had now had sex with her several times, but to see her dressed like this was almost unbelievable.

He could just make out her intense expression through the veil that covered her face. He ran his eyes over her slightly lined throat then down to her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. He stared from one bared orb to the other, then allowed his gaze to rest on the criss-crossed laces of the corset over her belly, and on the soft looking skin between them. His gaze returned to her face and breasts, then down over her midriff to her thighs. His gaze shifted to her short, wiry pubes, trimmed into a heart shape, then latched onto her crinkled, pouting pussy lips. The subtle but provocative movements of her pelvis held his gaze. So did the subtle but obvious movements of her fingers on her breasts -- her mature, C-cup breasts that he had longed to see, feel and kiss for so long. He had already done so several times recently, but now they were bared for him, silently beckoning him...

Joan felt almost intoxicated by his blatant and powerful desire for her. To be wanted so badly made her feel strong, and combated her loss of self esteem that her ex-husband's cheating had produced. For now neither she nor David spoke, each relishing the intensity of the moment. As David stepped closer, though, she rotated her pelvis and thrust it back and forth a little more obviously and lewdly than before.

"Hello again, darlin'," Joan crooned. David was so enraptured that the sudden sound of her voice startled him.

"Oh er, hi, Mrs. Martin. I er... you rang for assistance... er... room service."

She smiled through her veil.

"I knew when I was passed the message that it was YOU that wanted servicing, not the room..." he added.

"I knew you'd understand," Joan replied. "I need another good hard fuck, darlin'. Like the one you gave me last night as I waited for my husband."

David blushed, still unaccustomed to hearing the woman of his fantasies over several years using such language.

Joan glanced in the mirror to check out Laurence. She avoided making eye contact but the tawdriness of being watched as she and David prepared to have sex was outrageously appealing. She felt another squishy surge between her legs.

_________________________

Laurence was acutely conscious that Joan and David both knew that he was watching. He felt embarrassed and ashamed, but excited to be the supposedly undetected voyeur. The tawdriness of the role-play fed his already bulging erection. He was the cuckolded bridegroom watching his bride as she lured a younger man to their bed in their honeymoon suite. He reminded himself that it was not entirely unrealistic -- after all, men of his own age did still get married to women of Joan's age.

The sordid nature of the scenario they were acting out was in fact even starker. Joan had already allowed David, as if one of the hotel staff to sully her on her wedding night as she waited for Laurence, her bridegroom, to arrive. It was only role-play, but it was delightfully outrageous.

Laurence watched her younger lover's hand drop to her heart-shaped bush and play with the dark, close-trimmed wiry pubes. Laurence was unable to decide whether the fantasy or the reality was the more sordid.

Again he went through the detail in his mind. Joan had advertised in a local newspaper for sexual companions. Granted, it had been under the euphemism of "no strings adult fun", but it didn't take a genius to work out what she intended by it. And he had responded. He felt a twinge of guilt that, he had done so as a married man (though admittedly in a celibate relationship due to his wife's disability).

But he had not been the only respondent whom Joan had offered herself to.

Right before his eyes was the other. He did not consider David his rival for her attentions, but for Joan to be sharing her favours between the two of them was pretty raunchy to say the least.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 10



As he watched David stroking her stubbly pubes, Laurence could well imagine the effect upon a lad in his late teens that a neighbour like Joan would have. To see flashes of breast or thigh -- or hope to see them -- would be a powerful thing. And to be given an occasional ride to college or work by her and to have the body for which one lusted every day just inches away would be almost a torment for an eighteen or nineteen year old.

Then suddenly to find oneself on a blind sexual date with that very woman, and to find the long pent-up desire consummated beyond the wildest of dreams... Laurence fully understood David's enraptured gaze as he watched the young man cup her bared breast and rock it up and down, savouring its size, its weight, its half-firm and half-soft consistency.

_________________________

"It would be my pleasure to fuck you, Mrs. Martin. Or may I call you Joan this time?"

"Call me whatever you like," she murmured. "As long as you satisfy me with your big, hard young cock!"

Laurence gazed on as David stepped closer to her and kissed her on the mouth. He stared fixedly as their lips moulded together. David flicked his fingertip across her nipple several times, and Laurence watched it stiffen and swell.

Joan was still sitting but reclining a little against the headboard of the bed. David knelt on all fours and kissed the soft, sweetly scented skin of her neck and moved his face to her throat and down her slightly lined skin and to the top of her cleft. He poked out his tongue and licked her soft orbs then rolled her breasts outwards and pressed his face against her sternum, letting them come back to cradle his face. He gave a low grunt of pleasure as he kissed and sucked on her skin and her semi-firm breasts.

Despite having had sex with her several times since their first blind date, the novelty was still strong -- Mrs. Martin his sexy, former, seemingly unattainable neighbour, half naked on the bed welcoming his attentions. Mrs. Martin -- the mere thought of her had been the fuel for countless jackings off over the years. Mrs. Martin -- the slightest flash of thigh or breast had excited him for weeks on end. Every moment with her was now laden with delightful fulfilment and exceeded his wildest imaginings. Added to this was her genuine niceness -- he could think of no better term -- and, generally speaking, her respectability (despite slightly teasing clothing) in stark contrast to her shameless behaviour right now. He guessed it was most men's dream to have a true lady who at times acted like a slut without actually becoming one.

David swept his mouth over each breast, pressing against her squashy flesh and releasing it, then brushed his mouth over the fabric of her corset. He had never encountered such a garment for real, though he had often seen them in softcore porn and fantasised about women he knew wearing such things. And -- at this point he glanced up at her veiled, smiling face -- he had, of course, often tried to imagine this very lady in stockings and suspenders with a basque or corset. Now he needed to imagine no more.

The fabric was smooth and warm against his lips, yet firm and stiff. He ran his hands over it and tickled the skin of her belly between the criss-crossed laces. He swept his mouth back and forth over the corset and licked the strips of exposed skin where the laces crossed over her belly and midriff. His hand cupped her breast and pawed it, not roughly, but not tenderly either. He was highly aroused.

Both from the crack in the open door and in their reflections in the mirror Laurence watched their passionate foreplay, reminding himself that the woman before him was supposedly his wife, the room was supposedly his honeymoon suite, and that the bed where this foreplay was being indulged in was the very bed where, the previous evening, he himself had had sex with her. After she had been sullied by the young man before him.

He found it distasteful, but of course the shamefulness of it added to its thrill. And her younger companion was certainly enjoying himself, he thought wryly...

David was kneeling over Joan at ninety degrees to her. He slowly kissed and nuzzled every inch of the white corset and ran his lips along its bottom edge. A shudder of pleasure shot through him as he felt Joan tug his shirt free of his trousers and run her fingers inside to caress his back. He dragged his tongue along the bare skin below her corset, from her hip to the rounded, cutaway edge along her belly and down again to her other hip. He poked his tongue under the hard fabric. It was not an erotic spot of her body but it felt naughtily nice to be exploring inside her corset.

Laurence saw Joan's hand emerge from inside her young lover's shirt, and her highly polished wedding ring drew his gaze. He watched her hand glide over David's bum cheek, lingering there a few moments and squeezing it through his trousers, then sliding down to cup and knead his balls. He heard David groan and Laurence closed his eyes and squeezed his own balls, imagining his hand to be Joan's...

David brushed his lips over Joan's stockingtops, gazing at the sexy lace trim between her bare skin and the shiny white nylon of her stockings proper. He planted kisses against the lace, his ears homing in on the scratchy sound and his mouth savouring the slight roughness. He turned his face sideways, looking up her corset-clad body to her veiled face. He kissed and licked her soft, smooth skin above her stockingtop then turned his face the other way and kissed the sheer, warm nylon of her stocking. He caressed her other thigh. Joan gave little whimpers and murmurs of delight and encouragement.

Laurence could not see everything in detail. He was glad. Besides, it was arousing to have to use his imagination to a certain extent. In the mirror he saw David take her suspender between his lips and chew and tug gently on it. Laurence felt a bit less ashamed now. David clearly had fetishes of his own, which made Laurence's seem less sordid.

Joan's hand was working rhythmically between David's parted thighs, and David groaned at the sensation. She alternated between gentle strokes and caresses, and firmer squeezes. He unfastened his trousers, carefully lifted his knee and shuffled astride her, but facing her legs and feet, in a near sixty-nine position over her. 

Laurence watched, intrigued, as Joan eased David's trousers and boxers down part way. She stared at his well toned thighs and at his bum cheeks. She kneaded them and leaned forward to kiss and lick them, planting slow kisses and flicking her tongue over them.

Laurence avoided giving David's erection more than a passing glance, but Joan slid her hand over David's balls and Laurence watched as she played with them. Her veil still covered her face -- but most of her body was exposed!

David rocked back and forth and in little circles to enhance Joan's caresses, and lowered himself over her fleshy legs. He kissed each in turn through the warm, slippery nylon of her stockings. He dragged his lips from just below her knee and down to her calf and ankle, then back. At the same time he took her stockinged feet in his hands and massaged them through their sheer covering.

Joan was glad that she had alternated between penetrative sex, oral sex and hand relief, wanting to avoid getting sore. But David's eagerness transmitted itself to her, and she longed to have him inside her once more.

Laurence watched as David gingerly clambered to one side and knelt close to her. Laurence watched them kiss ardently, watched each mouth in its sensuous move against its counterpart, watched each pair of lips move and each tongue flicker and push its companion. Between them they managed to shove his trousers and boxers off with hardly an interruption to their smooching.

Laurence's stomach was churning with anticipation and indecision. It had been left to him to decide whether to join them -- as the cuckolded husband -- or not. It was one thing to imagine such a scene, but quite another to take part in it for real.

David rolled and caressed her breasts and played with her hard nipples as they kissed. He was aware that he was being watched by Laurence but blocked it out, concentrating his energy and all his senses on his sexy, mature, long-lusted for lover.

He was self conscious about speaking to her with Laurence listening in, so he kissed her neck, whispering softly.

"Oh Joan. You're so, so sexy. I adore your tits, your legs, your... everything. I swear you're the sexiest woman I've ever known and I never thought in a million years I'd have the chance to... to screw you..."

Joan watched as he ran his hand over her corset-clad midriff, again teasing her skin between its laces before running over her dark heart shaped bush and down to her hood and crinkled lips.

Laurence watched, too as David's fingers stroked her pouting labia then eased one finger inside. Joan gave a little croon of delight and moved her pelvis in response. With a wave of arousal Laurence reminded himself that it was supposedly his own wife he was watching being fingered and shafting a young penis with her hand, it was his wife's breasts that were being played with by her illicit, half-her-age lover...

"Give me three fingers, darlin'. But not for long. I want to feel your big, hard, young prick inside me..." she said huskily.

Laurence blushed at her crude talk, and watched as Joan wrapped her ring-adorned hand around David's shaft and pumped slowly up and down. He saw a bead of pre-cum appear and dribble onto her thumb.

David thrilled in the feel of her warm, slick clasping tightness as he slid his fingers in and out of her. Although he could not see in full, Laurence gazed at the movement of David's hand thrusting between her plump thighs. He looked, too, at the sensuous swaying of her breasts as she gently pumped David's length.

She swung to one side and from the bedside cabinet she took a condom that she had already unwrapped. Laurence followed her gaze to the young man's throbbing erection as she slid it on.

"Fuck me, David. Fuck me. I want it, darlin'! I need it. Fuck me now!"

Laurence almost gasped at the sight and at her words -- the words of his own alleged wife. He dismissed the last remnants of indecision and simply decided to hold off for another moment or two.

David stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, his condom-covered erection standing completely upright. Laurence switched his gaze to Joan. Her face was still veiled in a parody of modesty and virtue. He saw David's gaze rove all over her. He was hardly surprised at the young lad's burning desire for her. Despite being twice his age she was attractive -- both bodily and facially -- and somehow oozed sex appeal even when modestly dressed.

But of course she was anything but modestly dressed now.

David made himself delay just a little longer, keen to build her anticipation and his. He ran his eyes all over her breasts hanging down somewhat over the top of her corset. Her nipples now stood out boldly. Her slightly fleshy legs were bent at the knee, and he followed each up from her foot and ankle up and to the top of the stocking. Her stockings shone alluringly. The lacy tops looked gorgeous, and he looked at her slack, white suspenders. 

Her thighs were parted and his gaze rested on her shaved pussy, the pouting, crinkled lips glistening with the moisture of her excitement -- the excitement that he had generated. He followed the line of her wiry, stubbly pubes from the tail of the heart to which she had cropped them up along and round the double curve and down to its base again. The base seemed like an arrow pointing down to her hood and her slit. At one and the same time it spoke of romantic love and sexual invitation. An invitation to him to enter the moist, hairless flaps into the warm, clasping tunnel inside...

David ran his eyes again over the white corset and the strips of belly skin it revealed, then over her fabulous breasts and nipples and up to her veiled face. 

He felt a powerful surge of lust as he saw her left hand slide sensually down over her corset and trace around her heart-shaped bush. Then, to his amazement she placed her fingers astride her puffy, pouting lips and eased them open. Never, he thought, had a true bride looked so wanton in lingerie so seemingly virginal yet provocative, and with her face still veiled in mock modesty. He grinned as it occurred to him that she was parting her pussy lips while still veiling her facial lips.

David could hold back no more.

With a suddenness (though without roughness) that took her by surprise and elicited a gasp from her (and almost from Laurence as he watched), David grabbed her ankles and pulled her towards where he stood at the foot of the bed. Joan gave a low laugh and shuffled into position at the end of the bed so that he could enter her. She lay back but slid her parted thighs outside his as he stood, and planted her feet on the floor.

Joan's heart was hammering with desire, a desire fuelled by the evident fixation on her that her young lover felt and that he was almost overwhelmed to be fulfilling again. She glanced into the mirror and saw the same longing in Laurence's face as he watched, rubbing his obvious bulge through his trousers. She wondered if he would remain there or join in.

She gazed up at David's eager expression, then down as, holding his hard manhood in his hand, he slid it into her.

He began to thrust slowly and deeply. Joan braced her feet firmly against the floor. She alternately pushed her pussy against his probing shaft and pulled slightly away, at the same time gyrating her hips slowly, drawing him deeper and gently tugging his manhood from side to side. 

Her whole body was rocking with the sensual movement, and her breasts rippled and surged deliciously. David pressed one hand gently down on her corset-covered belly and with the other hand he mauled her breast a little roughly, but not enough to hurt her.

Joan whimpered with delight, and David began to let out guttural grunts as he drove into her with slow, deep strokes.

It was the moment that Laurence had been longing for and dreading at the same time.

He swung the bathroom door open and walked into the bedroom. To see his "bride" welcoming the gropes and penetrative thrusts of a supposed stranger at close quarters was shocking, embarrassing, yet deliciously arousing.

Joan's head turned, and for the first time she lifted her veil.

"Lau... Laurence?" she asked. Her voice showed no evidence of shock or shame, simply surprise that he had returned to the room -- though, of course, in reality she had been expecting it.

"Joan? What... what are you doing, my dear? And who the hell is this?"

David withdrew his erection and stood looking genuinely embarrassed.

"Who's this, you say? Oh, this is David, darlin'. He's from room service. And as for what we're doing -- well, it should be obvious. We're fucking, darlin'. As you can't fully satisfy me I thought I'd screw someone else." 

Her words and her tone of voice were deliciously matter-of-fact, as if it was normal for a bride to seek satisfaction with another man in her honeymoon suite.

"B... but we're married, Joan!" Laurence stuttered. He ran his eyes over David and noted the condom-coated erection, dwindling just slightly, glistening with moisture -- the very pussy juice that had coated his own condom-coated erection not much earlier.

"Yes, Laurence, I know. But I have needs, darlin'. And right now I'm as randy as hell and nearly coming. You can stay and watch what it is I really need, if you like, darlin' -- maybe it will help you to satisfy me without me needing to cuckold you. Or if you prefer, you can leave us to it for the next few minutes -- David and I won't last much longer. But as I say, if you want to know what we're doing, it's... this..."

Again her blasé tone aroused him.

Laurence's eyes bulged as he watched her half-sit and, with her ring-adorned hand, guide David's erection back into her. He stared, entranced, at the rhythmical sliding back and forth of her body as David resumed his thrusts. Laurence gazed down -- as did David -- at the obscene sight of man-flesh sliding in and out of her shaved pussy, burying itself deep and part- withdrawing again. A soft, rude squishing sound accompanied the thrusts. And again her breasts began to surge and sway in time. He saw David cup her ripe left breast and knead it. Laurence gazed at her right breast as he reached his own hand down to it. He pinched and tweaked her hard nipple and stooped to chew it and tug it with his lips. He glanced at David's hand squeezing her yielding orb next to his face, and glanced down at his quicker thrusts into Joan's pussy, pointed to by the tip of her heart-shaped bush.

"Take your trousers down if you want, Laurence, darlin'. I know I'm a slut, but if you like I could take your big thick cock in my mouth-lips while my pussy lips are closed around David's..." she gasped as her body rocked back and forth against the bedcovers.

Both Laurence and David were taken aback at her explicit language.

"Do it, Laurence! Get your bloody prick out and let me suck it. And if you want you can shoot your load over my tits -- or even my face if you like. Do it, darlin'! Do it!" she urged.

Laurence unfastened his trousers and pushed them down his chubby legs. He shoved his underpants down, too. Then he knelt on the bed close to Joan's face. She reached across and guided his throbbing end to her mouth. He looked at her glistening wedding ring as she squeezed his length with her hand and licked and sucked it. Her mouth looked very rude clamped around it as she rocked along it. He groaned.

He admired David's staying power, but it was obvious that he was close to the edge now -- and that Joan was, too. Laurence saw her right hand stray to her hood and begin to rub. He nudged her hand away and replaced it with his own.

He felt horribly conscious that his finger was almost against David's thrusting penis, but he was anxious to contribute to Joan's orgasm, and carried on. He felt his own climax begin to loom and withdrew his erection from Joan's mouth. He gazed down at it, glistening and shining with her saliva. He began to rub it, pointing towards her swaying breast and staring at it and at her pussy with David's condom-covered penis driving in and out.

Then her plea of a few moments earlier flooded back to him.

"DO IT, LAURENCE! GET YOUR PRICK OUT AND LET ME SUCK IT. AND IF YOU WANT YOU CAN SHOOT YOUR LOAD OVER MY TITS -- OR EVEN MY FACE IF YOU LIKE. DO IT, DARLIN'! DO IT!"

Blushing hotly with excitement and shame, Laurence jerked his hand faster and harder. It was shocking to be doing such a thing so near a woman's face, let alone with another bloke watching. But the close-up sight and the rutting sounds of her being taken by her other lover drove Laurence on. He swung round to her now unveiled face that, like the rest of her was rocking in time with David's deep, hard thrusts. She smiled at Laurence and raised her eyebrows saucily. Then she closed her eyes, quite tightly, to shield them as he neared his ejaculation.

"Go on, Laurence darlin'! Shoot it over your cheating wife-slut's face! Give me your hot, full sticky load! Spurt your spunk over your nasty wife! Do it! Do it!" she commanded.

Laurence groaned with arousal at her lewd plea. He rocked his hand firmer and faster, watching her pace increase. 

David gazed on, too. Like Laurence he found it all a heady mix of shame embarrassment, shock and intense arousal. He thrust faster into her, watching her face and Laurence's rapid jerking movements just inches from it. He watched the kneading movements of her breasts under his own and Laurence's hands, and the rude frigging movement of Laurence's chubby finger on her hood and clit.




Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 10



Laurence saw the telltale few irregular, involuntary jerks of her body. He stared at the rude, rhythmical disappearing and part emerging of David's cock. He watched Joan begin to spasm and heard her breathing turn to little gasps. Even as she did so he gave a long low gasp himself as he reached the edge himself. He stared at his purple tip, shocked but enthralled, as a long streak of creamy goo erupted and shot over the smooth skin of her cheek. Several smaller blobs followed, and one dropped onto her chin. It began to dribble off and hung rudely from it. Her whole body was now jerking, and her face contorted as the wave of her orgasm shook her.

David, too, gave a low gasp and, as Joan's climax waned, he drove hard into her and spent himself, clutching her fleshy thigh with one hand and still groping her breast with his other.

Silence ensued for a few moments. David withdrew from her and turned round shyly, seeking some tissues in which to wrap the condom in and with which to clean himself. Laurence also stood and turned away bashfully, and took some from the bedside cabinet. Then Joan gave a low laugh. The tension was largely broken, and Laurence and David also gave an embarrassed chuckle each. 

"Bloody hell, boys! Bloody hell!" She sat up and glanced across at her reflection in the mirror. "Look at the state of me!" She laughed and smiled gratefully at Laurence as he held out the box of tissues for her to wipe her face with.

She stood up and hugged and kissed each of them in turn. "Bloody hell, boys!" she repeated. "That was unbelievable!" Then, laughing softly, she said that she needed to go to the en-suite bathroom to get cleaned up. David hurriedly pulled on his clothes and mumbled that he needed to do the same, and headed back to his room.

Laurence also got dressed, though more ponderously now that he was on his own. He looked about the room, as if to reassure himself that it had all really happened and was not a dream.

When Joan returned he went to the bathroom himself. He heard her making two cups of coffee from the courtesy tray. The difficult part was yet to come, he told himself. To have breakfast as if they were truly a married couple with their son David in tow, and to act that way and in denial of the outrageous acts of the previous twelve hours or so.

He was unsure whether he would be comfortable with the prospect of a threesome again, but he knew he would never forget having done so. And although he felt ashamed of himself, feeling that his act had defiled her, he reminded himself that he had done so at her urgent bidding.

Although Laurence was unaware of his feelings, David felt the same way, too. It had been fun -- dirty fun, and a wild dream fulfilled. But he genuinely respected Joan, and what had happened seemed to have pushed the boundaries a bit too far. He hoped that she would still want to see him again, but also hoped that she had now laid her demons to rest and would not feel the need to demean herself quite so much.

As for Joan, she shook a little as she poured the hot water from the kettle into her cup and Laurence's. She was shocked at her own behaviour. But she smiled to herself, too. She felt a feeling of elation as well as shame. Her ex-husband Paul had cheated on her for a younger woman. Yet she herself now had a lover half her age who was fixated on her. Paul had had sex behind her back. She had now reciprocated. With a vengeance. She had gone further. She had found herself not just one lover, but two. Two men who found her attractive, sexy -- and good company as well. And she had had sex with them alternately several times that night, and with the pair of them -- at the same time -- just moments ago. She felt a sweet, slight ache between her thighs.

She sipped her coffee and muttered under her breath, "Here's thinking of you, Paul, you bastard!"

She was fairly sure, though, that she would continue to have separate liaisons with David and Laurence. As well as the sex, she found them both quite sweet in their own different ways. And for now she would be able to enjoy the sex more; she no longer had a point to prove, no secret revenge to gain on Paul. The thought of finding someone with whom she could have a meaningful relationship still seemed a bit beyond her, but not entirely unattainable. She smiled and shook her head incredulously as the faces of her two lovers came to her mind; she dismissed the very idea of either of them being such a partner.

She finished her coffee and looked at her watch as Laurence came back into the room. He drank about half his coffee. Then Joan took his arm and, after knocking on David's door and being assured that he would soon join them, the two of them headed downstairs for breakfast and for the charade of being, in the dining room at least, husband and wife -- and son. Nor would anybody have cause to suspect that they were otherwise, far less that they were emerging for breakfast having just indulged in threesome sex.