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Author’s note: Thanks to kenjisato as always. Wouldn’t be here without him. Welcome all constructive comments. If they’re just pointless, unfriendly nonsense, keep them to yourself, please!
You need to have read the previous three chapters to understand this story.
We lay exactly as we were, for a long time. If we were breathing, I could not hear us. Eventually, I spoke very quietly, “Oh I’m so sorry, cariad.”
Jane just lay there. I decided not to say anything else, but be led by her.
“I need to go!” she finally breathed. She kissed me briefly on the mouth. There was not much passion there. “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t say anything,” I said. “You’ve got more important things to worry about!”
I meant that, but that still didn’t stop me feeling like rubbish. Something inside me went very low. “She’ll go back to him,” came clearly to my mind and stomach.
We got out of bed and got dressed. Jane moved around the room, I guessed filling a case. “Okay, let’s go downstairs,” she said.
We went into the kitchen without speaking. The room still smelt vaguely of sex.
“Do your children know?” I asked, tentatively.
“Oh, shit no,” she said, desperately. “I better ring them before I go.”
“Do you want me to go first?” I asked, feeling very much like a spare part.
“No,” she said, quietly. Then her arms were round my neck, and she kissed me fully this time, very sensitively and still passionately.
“I’m sorry, my lover. I might not be in touch for a while and…” She left the sentence hanging. “And we don’t know what will happen then.”
I let the silence drag, as we looked at each other.
“Don’t worry,” I said, hugging her and kissing her. “I’m here, if you need me.”
She hugged me back. “Thanks.”
She made her telephone calls. They were short. “Anyone would think it was my fucking fault!” she said angrily, finishing the second call. Then she took a deep breath. “I can’t drive because of the wine. I’ll get a taxi. I’ll order you one at the same time.”
We sat on the couch waiting for the taxi. I found her hand and she didn’t move it away. When the horn went, we moved out. Just before she opened the door, she hugged me again, and kissed me hard. “I love you — whatever happens!”
The last two words told me what would happen, but I smiled back, “Love you, too.”
I did not hear from her for two weeks. The logical part of my brain told me not to worry. She would have no chance to ring me if in the hospital, or surrounded by her family. The emotional part wished he would snuff it, and the other emotional part told me she would stay with him.
On the Monday two weeks after the Sunday, there was a cassette in the post when I got home. Remember this was 1990. No internet or email. I put the cassette in my machine and heard this.
“Hello David. Sorry it’s been a while.”
Her voice was husky, as if she had been crying. She was definitely emotional.
“Robert is still alive, just. They think he will survive, but not certain. If he does, he will take months to recover.”
There was a break then, of at least a minute, where all I could hear was her breathing, and a sob, I think.
“I’ve got to stay with him, David. He needs me. He needs me to look after him. I married him in sickness and in health.”
She was definitely crying now, as was I.
“I know this would be the time to leave him for you, but I would not feel right, doing it. And asking you to stay around is not right, either. So I won’t see you again. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, will always love you, and am in love with you! Goodbye, sweetheart.”
She was in floods of tears when she finished. I was crying, too.
I sat there, for no idea how long. Deep down, I had known this would be the situation if he lived. I genuinely believed she loved me. I did not blame her for what she was doing. Did I feel the unhappiest I have ever felt in my life? Abso—bloody—lutely!
I made a decision to get another job almost immediately. I couldn’t stay in the town, even if she came back. I had to start again.
Amazingly, the very next day, I saw a job I wanted. It was in Wales running an organisation working on disability issues. This had become my main interest and it looked right. Managing a small team, pushing disabled people issues across the country. The office was in Cardiff. It would also give me the incentive to learn Welsh again.
So I stuck an application in, and on December 1st, started working there. I had been interviewed by a panel, chaired by the chair of the management committee, who would be my line manager. Her name was Mrs. Llywellyn. I guessed she was in her mid-fifties. She was a definite character. Very touchy-feely, even when she met me for the first time. She clearly ran the organisation, and everyone seemed a bit scared of her.
She was fine with me, but from our first one-on-one almanbahis the day I started, I suspected something was going on. She asked me to come to her house, and when we sat down, she sat next to me on the sofa. And as the meeting went on, she inched closer; so by the time we had finished, our bodies were definitely touching. Nothing else happened, but I felt nervous. Having your manager come on to you, could be a problem. Also, given the state of my emotions after Jane, I didn’t want a relationship.
Mrs. Llywellyn asked me what I was doing for Christmas. I was going home to stay with my family. She seemed disappointed, but said nothing. She did offer to introduce me to people who would be helpful to me, and also to take me to some social events, as she soon established I knew no one locally. She gave the impression she would not take no for an answer.
So in the new year, I got invitations to various things—concerts, plays, and social gatherings. At all of them, she introduced me to her friends, and she clearly knew a lot of important people. I also enjoyed myself getting to know people and the concerts and plays were all good.
At the end of January, we were at another concert. Just after the interval, I felt Mrs. Llywellyn’s hand on my thigh. I didn’t react, interested to see what would happen. For a good few minutes, nothing at all. Then, it began to move very slowly up and down my inner thigh. For minutes I didn’t react, then opened my legs a couple of inches. She didn’t do anything at first, and then very slowly, moved her fingers a bit further up on each stroke. Finally, her fingertip made contact with the head of my hard cock. Then her hand moved away.
Neither of us said anything. When she dropped me off at the end of the evening, she gave me the usual hug. Her left hand gave my cock the briefest of squeezes, then I was out of the car.
In February, there were more of these moments. All of them in a public place. A play or concert, or while hidden at a social gathering. Neither of us ever said anything. The hugs stayed the same, and always ended with a touching of my cock.
At the beginning of March, I decided to see how far this was going to go. We were at another play. Just after the interval, before her hand started to move, I put my hand on her thigh. There was no reaction. After a few minutes, I moved my hand up, deliberately pulling her skirt up at the same time. Again, no reaction. Over the next few minutes, I edged her skirt up, until it was over half-way up her thigh. When I slipped my hand down, her thighs opened.
Again, I paused. I did nothing for minutes, then started making slow circles with my fingers. Slowly, I moved the circling movement up. Her legs spread gradually, as my fingers moved.
And then I felt it. Strands of damp hair against my fingers. She had no knickers on. A couple of minutes later, I cupped her hairiness in my palm and caressed her lips. She let out the tiniest of gasps, then firmly moved my hand away.
At the end of the night, she hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Naughty boys who put their hands in naughty places get punished, not pleasured.”
There was no stroke of my cock that night. Wanking later in bed, I began to think I knew what was happening. She liked being in control—that was definite. She was playing with me, definitely. Did I want to be played with? Jane never did. I felt a huge pang of sadness, but when I erupted minutes later, it was Mrs. Llywellyn who was in my thoughts.
Interestingly, there were no other invitations in March. I suspected I had pushed it too far. She was perfectly okay with me when we met. In our one-on-one at the middle of the month, she was decorum itself.
She had her hand on the door knob to let me out of the front door when, without looking at me, she said, “I am having friends for dinner next Saturday. I’ll expect you at seven PM.”
I looked in her direction, and just said, “Yes, thanks.”
“Be smartly dressed, please,” she said, looking at me.
So a week on Saturday, my taxi dropped me off at Mrs. Llywellyn’s. I had a shirt and tie on under my jumper. When she opened the door she looked at me for a long moment.
“Very nice,” she said.
The dinner party was three other couples plus us. They were all important people, including the leader of the Cardiff city council. He was a bit of an egotistical prat, but I worked my charm on him.
The food was great and there was a lot of wine. Everyone finally left just before midnight. There were only me and Mrs. Llywellyn. She left me drinking brandy, while she sorted out the kitchen. When she came back, she sat down next to me, very close on the couch. Her hand rested on my cock almost straightaway.
“I have a spare bedroom you can stay in tonight.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“Okay, thank you.” As I spoke, my arm went round her and took a gentle hold of her right breast. No reaction.
We sat there like that, until we both finished our drinks.
“I am going upstairs. almanbahis giriş I will see you in the morning.”
I sat there thinking, then went out for a cigarette. She didn’t mind me smoking, but not in the house. I knew where the bathroom was upstairs, but suddenly realised, not the bedroom.
I went upstairs and softly asked, “Which room is mine, please?”
Her voice came back from the end of the corridor, “To the right of the bathroom.”
I found the bathroom and there were two toothbrushes in the pot. I took the one that was not damp and cleaned my teeth, and had a wee.
The bedroom smelt nice, although there was a hint of an odour I couldn’t quite recognise. The smell got distinctly stronger when I got into bed and put my head on the pillow.
With a start, I recognised it. It was the scent of a wet pussy, and was very close to my head. I reached out with my hand, and felt something silky on the pillow. Exploring with both hands, it was a pair of silky knickers. The crotch was very wet. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply. There was a worn-knickers smell, but mainly the bouquet of a very turned on pussy.
I didn’t hesitate. I was fed up of with messing around. Time to find out what was going on. I found my way to her bedroom.
“Mrs. Llywellyn,” I asked, standing in her doorway.
“Yes,” she said, in a surprisingly high voice I had not heard before.
“These are yours,” I said, superfluously. Her answer stunned me.
“I’m sorry, sir. That was very naughty. You must punish me.”
The voice was even higher pitched and a little girlie. So a control freak and someone who wanted to be controlled. Bugger me! But I’m game for anything.
Actually, that wasn’t totally true. I knew instinctively I wouldn’t like pain on me, or doing it on someone else. I also was not much into controlling, or being controlled. And I certainly wasn’t keen on bottom play.
So with those reservations I spoke again, “Yes, you do. What would you like me to do to you?”
“Come here and I will show you?” she said, still in that girly voice.
I walked forward carefully, ’til my shins hit the bed. She immediately took my hand. She was on my left, probably sitting on the bed.
“Put these on my nipples.”
She gave me a thing that felt a bit like a clip you have on top of a clipboard to hold the papers down, but smaller. I opened and closed it, then with my other hand, found a big soft tit and erect nipple. When I gently closed it, she gasped; she reacted the same, when I did the other tit.
“Now, I need to be spanked, sir. Six spanks on each cheek, over your lap.”
I sat down on the bed. She moved over my lap. Her tits were against my legs and her bush on the other side. I smoothed her arse for a few seconds, then began. I didn’t smack hard. She asked me to go harder, but I didn’t. As I smacked, I felt her pussy get wetter.
When I finished, she was breathing hard and moaning.
“Thank you, sir. Please, sir, can you check how wet I am? If I’m very wet, you’ll need to fuck me, to punish me more.”
She was totally soaked. My fingers squelched inside.
“I need you to fuck me, sir.” She got up and got on to onto the bed. “Fuck me now, please.”
I got up and reached out. She was side on to me, on her hands and knees. My hands found her tits and pussy. I played with each for a minute, making her gasp and groan. When I entered her, it was almost frictionless, she was so wet. I gripped her hips and began a slow steady movement.
“Oh yes, fuck me. I’m such a girl! Fuck me hard!”
I resisted for a while, but she got so insistent, I went for it. She came almost straightaway. She came a second time, and then a third. I came with her, the third time.
I pulled out gently and went to lie down beside her.
“You can go now, David.” Her ordinary voice was back, as firm as she could manage it, between deep breaths.
I hesitated, but accepted what was happening. she had wanted to be punished, and now wanted to be in charge again. I left, without a word. I didn’t bother thinking about it, when I got to my bed. I fell asleep straightaway.
When I woke up, it was gone 8:00am. I remembered where I was, and what had happened. Bloody weird, but I felt okay about it. The most she could do was sack me, and I was young enough not to worry so much about that.
I went for a wee. I was outside my door, when she called me. I went in and stood there.
“What you did last night David was totally unacceptable.”
I stood there, thinking, ‘Oh well, here it comes. Not even finished my probation review.’
“Come here, and lie face down on the bed. Spread your arms and legs out. You need to be punished.”
‘Here we go again,’ I thought, as I moved to the bed and did what I was told.
She moved around for a couple of minutes. Then I felt the mattress dip between my legs. The first blow on my bum was a little painful, but not hard. Five others followed. Then there was nothing for a few moments.
I almanbahis yeni giriş gasped, as something cold was poured into my bum. Then a finger slowly started working on my bum hole. It was uncomfortable at first, and then I felt the beginnings of pleasure. Like I said, I would do nothing to anyone else’s bum hole, but I seemed to like someone doing it to me.
“Oh!” I groaned, as a long finger wormed its way in and began to wiggle around. After a while, it went and was replaced by something cold and harder. It was pushed to its limit and then began to make a buzzing sound—she had put a vibrator in my arse.
“Oh shit, that’s nice!” I groaned, feeling my already-hardening cock stiffen appreciably.
“Turn over,” in still the same commanding tone.
I did, and nipple clamps were attached, and a cock-ring was put on me. It went down to the base of my erection. My wrists and ankles were tied to each end of the bed, with gentle soft ropes.
Then she moved again, and I smelt and felt her pussy above my face.
“Eat me, you naughty boy!” she demanded, huskily.
I did, and gave it my all. She was very hairy and very wet. Her lips were fat and very long; they seemed longer than they should be. I found out why. There were two rings in each lip, and hanging from each labium, a little weight dangled, stretching her lips down. When I gently pulled on them, she almost screamed.
Her clit, too, had the same adornment. That was why it was the biggest clit I had come across so far. I didn’t pull on this, but just bit it. She screamed again, and came hard, shooting cum on my face.
When she calmed down a bit, she moved backwards. I felt her thighs around me and her hairy clam on my mouth. She rode me hard until she came. The cock-ring meant I could not respond.
And this was my punishment. Another two times, she rode my face to climax and another two, she rode my cock. I was shouting my desire to cum at the end of the third fuck.
Without a word, she took the cock-ring off, and sat down on me again hard. I exploded jets and jets and jets of my cum into her, swearing like a trooper.
I was still trembling and breathing hard when her pussy was back on my face.
“Clean up your mess!” she demanded. I did, and she came again.
She untied me and guided me to the shower. She made me wash her, including fingering her to another cum. She told me to wash myself and went out.
I joined her downstairs for breakfast. She asked me what I wanted. We ate breakfast in silence. Once she had cleaned up, she asked me to join her in the lounge.
I sat down on the couch and she joined me. She put both arms round me and kissed me gently on the lips. This was our first kiss ever.
“How are you?”
“Knackered, sexually educated, and wondering what the fuck is going on.”
She kissed me again quickly then moved away. “I like young men. I like to control and be told what to do. I want us to keep doing this until I stop it. I will fuck other people. If you do, I’ll bite your fucking balls off. You mention this not to anyone at work.”
All this was said in her usual voice.
“Sounds pretty one way to me,” I said, getting fed up…a little.
“You get fed up, you can find another job.”
“What’s in it for me, then?” I said, facing her.
“Sex, social activity, sex, anything you want in the job…sex!”
I sat there, facing her.
“Okay,” I said, quietly. “But, if leave, you give me a brilliant reference whatever happens, and six months’ pay.”
“Okay,” she said, without hesitation. “Is there anything in the bedroom you don’t like?” she asked, as if it followed on naturally from conversation about work.
“No more pain than we did last night. I’ll do nothing with your bottom.”
“Will you let me piss on you?”
“Will you piss on me?”
I paused. “Might do!”
“Will you eat my creampie from someone else?”
There was silence for a long time. I sensed her standing up. I heard the rustle of clothes. She moved across the room.
“Take your clothes off, please.” It wasn’t demanding this time, it was her nice voice. Still, not her ordinary voice, which was the demanding one, but nicer.
I did, and went towards her voice. I banged into another couch with my shins.
“I’m here,” she said, quietly.
Reaching out, my fingers came in contact with her bush. I got on top. Her legs closed round me. We fucked slow and steady for a long time, before speeding up just before we both came.
“That’s probably the only ordinary fuck you’ll get!” she said, not so quietly.
“I don’t think either of us are in this for the love, are we?” I said, lifting off her. She said nothing.
And that was pretty much what happened for the next six months. We met up for events which always ended up with sex, or for just sex, once or twice a week. She never came to my place. She never said why, but I guessed because she felt more in control at hers. We never slept together at night, after sex. I always slept in her spare room. She always dictated what and when, although never cruelly or in a dictatorial way.
She introduced me to weeing on her about four weeks after our first fuck. I had stayed overnight. I got up to go to the loo. I had opened the door when she called.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32