Loading...Chapter 1
Brad McGibbon was not coping well following his wife’s decision to leave him to live in a warmer climate because her joints were playing up. Brad’s were too, a bit. He thought Heather should have hips, knees and anywhere else that was painful replaced instead of sloping off to a warm climate where one sweated all day and perhaps half-froze at night.
She chose Hawaii while he stayed put in Twin Forks on the John Dee River.
They exchanged letters weekly for almost two months and then stopped, probably because they’d run out of fresh things to say of mutual interest. Brad wouldn’t acknowledge to himself who stopped writing first because he’s not a vindictive person; his habit on receiving a letter from family or friends was to reply that same day. When he realized the letters had stopped he stopped thinking he’d been abandoned; he knew this because a smile was back on his weathered face and his sixty-four year old digestive system was ticking over quite well again. It’s easier to smile when one doesn’t have a sour belly.
Brad sold the house for a top price that made his eyes water; the property was in his name and partly financed from a before-marriage inheritance. He instructed his lawyer to send 40% of the net proceeds to Heather on the theory that she’d contributed 40% to their marriage, though he had no idea how that could be computed; it was just a figure that came to mind. As well he was a little miffed with her as in her last letter she’d stated she’d never divorce because her late mom would not have approved. So, the day he signed the authority for his solicitor to remit the money to Heather was a day of significance: Heather had been ‘terminated’; he could get on with life.
How to celebrate? Brad decided to take two of his friends for a drink that evening — he’d been pals with Nicholas and David since first grade and they needed time away from their complaining wives; he thought about that, called them back and advised them to come dressed for dinner at the New Grand Hotel — well, new almost eighty years ago but it was where they’d always gone for the occasional meal as three married couples.
Brad went down to the Riverside Coffee Shop, operated by 40-something Martha Stokes; rumor was her womanizing husband Ben had bought the establishment with his redundancy money when W. K. Olsen Furniture and Woodturning Co. Ltd was purchased by an out-of-town company and semi-automated. Olsen’s retained its name but changed from a producer of fine quantity furniture to a producer of cheap crap that people these days chose so they could afford a second car and the latest in gas-fired cookers than could roast a whole pig or a quarter side of beef at cook-outs.
From the cabinet Brad chose a chunk of fruit cake and Martha handed him his coffee but refused money. “Old Mrs York has indicated she will pay as she needs to consult with you.” Brad looked as Martha’s impressive chest that tended to send a shiver up his spine. Catching his focus she placed a hand protectively over her exposed cleavage.
“For goodness sake Martha I’m sixty-four; give an old guy a break.”
Martha hesitated, withdrew her hand and actually pushed her chest forward slightly.
Brad retrieved his long disused wolfish smile – he had visions of Martha grabbing the counter to support her collapsing knees.
“Go to Mrs York you old flirt — she appears to be worried.”
“Thank you Mrs Stokes; never in my life have I held such as magnificent piece of fruit cake that I imagine is the produce of those beautifully maintained fingers.”
Martha turned up her fingers and looked at them as if astonished that someone had noticed. “Your flattery is appreciated Brad,” she said. “We must have a drink sometime.”
Brad took a final look at her superstructure and her lovely smile and walked to Mrs York’s table feeling very upbeat.
“Good morning Annie.”
She was in her eighties and husband Fred had been a mate of Brad’s late father. When Fred suffered a stroke Brad fell into the habit of calling once a fortnight to ask if there was any maintenance or heavy lifting he would do for them. Annie had been so grateful that Brad was invited to present the eulogy at Fred’s funeral. Brad had quite a bit of Irish in him from his mother’s side so his delivery had been both soft and comforting. Thanks to background from his own father who was then still alive, Brad with humor related things about Fred’s life that even Annie and her family of six hadn’t known about.
“Hello lovely boy — give this old girl a kiss.”
They chatted for more than thirty minutes. Brad waited patiently and at last out it came: “Brad, I want you to find me a wee own-your-own unit at one of the three retirement villages located near here and to sell my house.”
“But you have family…”
“They are already squabbling — the girls want me to stay put and get home help and the boys want me to sell up everything and rent a room in a home for the elderly.”
“But Annie, you are still mobile and love walking through town to buy bread or flowers and talking to people you know; you’re not cot-case.”
“Exactly and I knew you of all people would understand.”
It was agreed. Brad would inspect the three facilities and compare the financial commitments expected of residents and report back to Annie by the end of the week.
“As for your house, I have sold my house and am still looking for a smaller replacement property. Your home would suit me perfectly — being able to fish the river from the lower balcony has always appealed to me.”
“Then name your offer and the house is yours.”
Brad was tempted but he possessed some scruples; not over abundantly but sufficiently to justify Annie’s trust in him. He insisted she ask her solicitor to commission two professional appraisals and he’d offer to split the difference between the two valuations they produced and pay that, subject to her family’s approval. He didn’t want Annie involved in a family dispute over the sale. He was aware that the property was overdue for expensive exterior maintenance and many people feared the possible arrival of a 100-year peak flood; on the other hand it was a two-bedroom compact home superbly located in the heart of town and looking across the constant river activity to the woodlands of Jonathan T. Maples Memorial Park.
“I’ll walk you home Annie,” he said.
She offered her arm on her good side and as they reached the counter she smiled and said to Martha, “A most successful business meeting.”
“Oh, he’s such a nice man Mrs York.”
“If you think that then you two should get together.”
“Tut-tut Mrs York,” Martha said, still smiling. “I’m a married woman.”
“Huh,” Annie snorted, thumping her walking stick on the floorboards, an action that turned Martha’s face crimson; Brad looked away to hide his grin.
As they walked away Annie said loud enough for Martha to hear, “That damn husband of hers — his conduct is disgraceful; he should be neutered as he acts like a tom cat.”
Brad changed the subject. “Martha is quite an old name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Biblical I think. Her mother thought it would be nice to bring it back into popularity but regrettably a comeback surge didn’t eventuate. You know she would benefit by your kindness.”
“Ah, your home looks very lovely from this angle. Are those primroses?” Brad said in an audacious attempt to bend the conversation away from Martha.
“They’re roses you fool — don’t you know anything?”
On Sunday Brad walked over the B.J. McRae Bridge and entered Memorial Park, to use its shortened name. The sun warmed his back, his head was light, the birds were singing and he saw Martha Stokes on a seat reading.
“Good morning ma’am,” he said, touching his forehead with a finger and walking on. He was halted by her call, “Come back here you fool.”
She closed her book, not bothering to mark the page, and patted the seat for him to sit close beside her.
Brad sat and to hide his confusion managed, “Lovely morning.”
“Yes, and it’s gotten better.”
Brad wondered if he’d heard that correctly.
“What’s a beautiful young lady like you doing buried away in a park on a perfect Sunday like this?”
“It’s not cricket to ask such a distressing question like that.”
Distressing? Brad didn’t like the sound of that so asked, “Cricket — that’s a game played in England isn’t it?”
“Yes, and elsewhere particularly in former British colonies and dependencies. I saw a game in the West Indies a few years back when we were on a cruise — the way the West Indian women jumped up and down rhythmically, their big breasts going up and down hopelessly mistiming was a sight I’ll never forget; it looked so funny and not at all cricket.”
“Big, you mean bigger than yours?”
Martha looked down and said, “In the main yes. You seem to have a preoccupation with women’s breasts.”
“Yours in particular — sorry, I do try to hide it.”
“Why the fetish?”
“I could say it’s unavoidable; after all I was very attached to a pair when I was a baby.”
Martha laughed and said he was so funny and interesting. “I’ve been wondering what it would be like being with you.”
Brad almost fell off the seat and pondered what she’d meant by that comment.
“They say your wife walked out on you. I am so sorry. Oh you poor man.”
“I better go,” Brad said, rising but before walking off summarize the background to the matrimonial separation.
“Perhaps Heather never was suited for you as she is rather underdeveloped on the chest.”
Brad sat down, laughing. She had said that so seriously but she had a point.
Still serious, she patted the seat closer to her and said it was lovely to have him back. He wondered if she was well but decided to let that thought go; he knew people often behaved a little eccentrically when emotionally distressed.
Ah yes, that word distressed. “You mentioned earlier you are a little distressed.”
She looked at him, pulling her dropped brown fringe back over her forehead, her amber eyes momentarily looking startled. “Ah yes — I did mention the word distressed. Are you interested in knowing why?”
“Only if you really would like to share.”
“Share? Don’t you mean if I want you to know?”
“It’s the same difference to me — sharing is the better choice of word if the topic concerns personal disclosure of an emotional kind.”
“How eloquently expressed.”
“I probably read it somewhere,” he replied. For a moment he’d thought Martha was moving to take his hand.
“My husband Ben came home after midnight smelling of liquor and sex. He’d promised to be home early to take me to a movie but said time just got away on him. He said I would have his company all day today but at 7:00 his mate Arnold called and invited him to go out fishing. Ben accepted without consulting me and when Arnold arrived to pick him up I noticed through the kitchen window Arnold’s wife and her younger divorced sister were in the back of the SUV, both scantily dressed.”
“I don’t know what to say except damn.”
“That is some comfort. Please stay talking to me for a while. Do you mind if I hold your hand?”
“Under the circumstances I think you should: you must feel lonely and hurt.”
“Oh, you’re such a lovely man Brad.”
An hour later Brad began walking home thinking of Martha inviting him to bare her tits. Yeah in your dreams old man, he grinned. Ben would arrive home with a big fish and would shower so she couldn’t smell any remnants of sex; he’d apologize and all would be forgiven and Martha would bare those tits for him after his post-dinner nap.
When Brad was some distance away she’d called, “Same place, same time, same day?”
“What?”
“I’ll be here next Sunday.”
“Oh right.”
What the hell did she want from him? Couldn’t her action-dick husband maintain a conversation?”
That afternoon Annie called to advise her family was unanimous she should accept his offer for her property (there had been only $700 between the two appraisals). Annie said she’d call back tomorrow with a time to meet him at her lawyer’s office later that day. “The girl’s all agreed the unit at Chalmers Village you found for me is lovely, but the men thought the buy-in price was too high and the company’s buy-back price was too low; the women told them to get lost. You have been a real darling to me Brad.”
Brad swaggered off to the fish market to buy something for his dinner thinking it was lovely to have been of service to Annie. For some time he’d been thinking of her as his adopted mother as when started doing jobs for her and her ailing husband she’d more or less adopted the motherly role. It was lovely to feel wanted which made him think that was Martha’s need. That husband of hers deserved a boot up the ass.
* * *
It was raining persistently on Sunday and Brad found himself in an ambivalent mood — a liaison with a married woman even on a park bench was a bit below the belt but he also felt disappointment thinking she’d not turn out in the rain.
As he approached the park entrance the lights of a parked car flickered. Was it her? He didn’t know anything about her and it was crazy of her to think he of all people could satisfy her emotional cravings. As he approached the car he saw the face and then the wave — it was her. His heart flipped. The trunk opened so he took off his nylon coat with hood, shook it and tossed it in and closed the lid.
“Hi,” she said, a picture of health and beauty as he slid into his seat in her sporty car. “I was hoping you would come.”
“I didn’t want to risk disappointing you — you seemed so determined that we should sit together again.” He went to kiss her on the cheek but she was too fast for him, turning to take his lips on hers. He pulled away abruptly but she appeared not to mind. A smile curled her lips and she whispered conspiratorially — “Our first kiss.” Her lips opened slightly and the tip of her tongue appeared.
A whoosh sounded between Brad’s ears, propelling him into reality at last: she was not merely requiring warm comfort in return for flashing her tits. Oh no, she was leading him along to eventually have him deliver the full works.
He cupped his hands in his lap so she couldn’t see his dick hardening; good gracious man he thought, this kind of thing was beyond his wildest dreams. Brad worked desperately to prevent his misbehaving dick from driving carnal thoughts through his brain.
Miraculously, Martha appeared to have no idea of the turmoil she’d unleashed. As she started the car and began driving off she said, “I’m taking you to a quiet country inn for lunch where we should be unlucky to be seen be anyone we know.”
He croaked, “Why wouldn’t we want to be seen?”
She just smiled and rammed down the gas pedal, well exceeding the speed limit.
“There’s fixed radar at the crossroads immediately over this bridge.”
“I know,” she said, already braking and enquiring, “Would you like to drive?”
“Sorry,” he said and she replied she was just teasing. She turned right and headed out of the city and eventually turned on to a secondary highway that Brad couldn’t remember ever traveling on. He and Heather had sold their vehicle just before she left to boost her private savings to assisted her to establish in Hawaii. His share of the proceeds was a short-term no interest loan to her,” she’d said. Perhaps. He’d decided he didn’t require a vehicle in the meantime.
They drove for almost 20 miles, chatting amicably, almost like a long married couple. The inn was on the edge of a small village and Brad felt the remoteness. Had she been here before and that was soon answered. As they began walking in she said, “Ben used to bring me here when we were courting — he appears to be an expert on sly maneuvers and finding discreet hideaways.”
Well, that’s enough of that low-life guy for today thank you, Brad decided and almost said that to her.
The receptionist bounced out behind the counter to welcome them and her smile broadened as she looked at them both more closely after Martha announced, “Mr and Mrs Stokes for lunch — we’ve booked but would like a couple of drinks first.”
“Certainly ma’am, please follow me to the bar.”
Martha chose sparkling wine and Brad ordered a larger beer. They had the bar to themselves — very discreet. Brad knew what was coming next: ‘I’d like to take a room…that’s if you are in full working order?’
To his relief Martha said, “Please excuse me for giving you a temporary surname — when I booked on the phone they asked me for a name and I gave Mr and Mrs Stokes out of habit.”
“No, I don’t mind just this once but Martha, please remember you have a husband.”
“Half a husband — he rarely touches me these days.”
“Martha, really, I’m surely not the person you should be talking to so intimately.”
“Who else is there I can trust?”
“Everyone, surely.”
“You have to be joking. Most of our friends are Ben’s friends. He’s scared most of my women friends away by propositioning them and those who have stayed I assume have been fucked by him.”
“Oh Martha — you can’t mean that.”
“Please yourself. Tell me this, are you still sexually active — fully active?”
There it was, laid out on the bar though Brad — the preamble to an invitation to fuck her and probably to do so regularly.
He scratched his thinning graying hair and locked his watery light blue eyes on to her amber sexy eyes that were still young and strong and thought how could she do to this to him? If he turned away from her she’d find some useless jerk who’d exploit her and possibly leave her diseased. That sounded grim but hey, he almost smiled, he was attempting to justify staying on her case.
She cupped her breasts and lifting them towards him and said, “Wouldn’t you like to get to know these more intimately?”
Brad nodded and went to rub a finger inside his shirt collar but there was no tie and choking collar — he was without a tie and wearing an expensive soft collar polo he’d picked up in last winter’s sales. He knew he was out of his depth and appealed to her with his eyes.
“Am I pushing too fast for you?”
Brad nodded gratefully.
She purred, “Kiss me” and they leaned forward. Their lips touched only this time he didn’t pull away. It was a longish, sweet kiss and something clicked between them — the sound of a lock clicking shut. It was Brad’s guess they now accepted they were tracking relentlessly towards adultery.
“Brad, I love having sex.”
This woman was unstoppable, unless…Brad looked at her and attempted to soften the verbal backhander: “Martha, listen to me; I’m an old guy stickered with a ‘use by’ date. My body tone is falling away, my joints are tightening and it’s been some time since I’ve seen pronounced muscle on my frame. My skin has become dry like fine sandpaper and wrinkles are appearing, I pass wind more regularly and can no longer eat chilies. I sit longer on the toilet than I used to and some days I go twenty-four hours without an erection whereas I once had several full or partly-erect ones a day and it acted as if it were a heat-seeking missile. These days when I manage to throw one up I look at it in surprise and say, “You are no longer relevant in my life.”
“Wow,” Martha said. “What a litany of woes. “I can fix most of that by boosting your flow of testosterone but in all probability once you are active again you’ll be sprouting erections like spring bulbs.”
“I working to put you off me.”
“Well it’s a flaccid attempt, isn’t it?” she grinned. “Is you penis wrinkled when you have one of these rare erections?”
“This is the most fascinating conversation I’ve ever heard in my bar,” said the female bar tender.
“Oh God,” Brad choked.
The bar tender said he shouldn’t mind her.
Brad manfully stuck to the conversation. “As a matter of fact it doesn’t — as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
“I thought as much,” Martha said, “which fulfils my needs because my anticipated continuing liaison with you concerns a package: your intellect, ability to converse, depth of sympathy and a robust plunging penis.”
“Oh God, how romantic,” cried the bar tender, her eyes dialating.
“Another wine and beer — could we have it on the other side of the room,” Brad said stiffly and led Martha away by the hand.
She wanted to sit on his knees, but he refused and reminded her hadn’t she agreed not to push so hard. She fluttered her fake eyelashes in a faked act of contrition and he drew a smile from her by saying, “That’s better.”
“Your embarrassing comment at the bar,” Brad began. “A robust plunging penis — are you and I on the same planet?”
“It’s what guys do, isn’t it?” There were those eyelashes over-working again.
“You are missing the point,” Brad said sternly. “I’m going on sixty-five — not a guy only just beginning shaving with rocket propellant mixed with his sperm.”
“God, you are so graphically stark,” she said. “But rather than search for a guy like that and train him to get his premature ejaculation under control, I already have you.”
Martha was in danger of driving Brad up the wall in frustration; she had a counter for his every utterance – not necessarily a credible one but nevertheless it took his focus off the ball. He accepted her goal was to erode his resistance.
The strained looked on Brad’s face was showing so Martha decided to deliver the coup de grace: “Answer this — do you want to fuck me?”
Standing, Brad said with utmost dignity, “Excuse me, I must visit the men’s room.”
* * *
Watching him go and looking worried, Martha called, “I’m sorry Brad.” She wondered if he would be making a permanent escape. He waved which she interpreted as being definitely more friendly than dismissive. She accepted she’d been overplaying her hand, push-push-pushing until the poor guy was acting as if he were being stalked; he’d twice warned her but she’d stupidly failed to throttle back. Her problem was she hadn’t had to press for a date — to use an euphuism — since college days when she rumbled one night with a car salesman called Ben Stokes and from then is was all on — as much as she could handled with no end in sight until in recent months when it seemed Ben’s interest in other women had become almost an addiction.
She had decided to focus on Brad to satisfy her emotional and sexual needs as he was perfectly placed — recently retired, personable and twice had noticed a likely looking bulge. But he had much more to offer — kindness, understanding and a willingness to offer a helping hand. It seemed to her all that was required to secure the whole package was to satisfy his need for pussy. But he’d started playing hard to get and talking about being beyond his use-by date that she had to convince him was untrue. She wished she hadn’t grabbed that term out of the air — ‘a robust thrusting penis’. It appeared to have terrified the poor guy. Martha knew she had to convince him she wasn’t thinking of him doing her on the hour, every hour — just occasionally. And should he have difficulty in keeping it up she’d be more than satisfied with him using his tongue and fingers — so long as he did bring her to her climax.
Is that too much to ask of a guy? she wondered. Probably not but she really needed to slow down. Martha felt like kicking herself for having neither the experience nor the technique to woo Brad between her thighs.
People were arriving in the bar so as soon as Brad reappeared Martha led him into the dinning room. She tried the soft, ladylike approach: “Brad, myt question did you wish to have sexual connection with me — I don’t mind you taking your time to answer. Take a couple of weeks if you wish; I have no-one else lined up as a back-stop.”
They ordered a dry white wine and began looking at the menu.
“Of course I don’t. Thinking about it I realize I’m flattered.”
Martha looked up in surprise and then twigged. She grinned and said “Thank you Brad, now just relax and enjoy your lunch.” From there the conversation was on an even keel.
On the way back to Twin Forks Martha took the initiative. “When and where would you like to do it?”
“On your kitchen table and soon.”
Martha clasped her breast, genuinely shocked. She’d thought he would have nominated a cheap motel with cardboard walls where rooms were available by the hour. Her blood pressure soared as she thought of the novelty of their proposed first fuck — er, their first venture into sexual connection. Her cheeks deepened another couple shades in color as she wondered which side of her would be up when Brad set about their journey of discovery. She hadn’t been this sexually fired up in years.
* * *
The next day Brad signed the contract for the purchase of Annie’s house and that same afternoon Annie signed for the purchase of her retirement village unit. Annie had arranged to move out of her house the next weekend so settlement date with Brad on Friday afternoon and he would be given possession at 8:00 on Monday morning. Brad still had a fortnight remaining before handing over his own house so the purchasers agreed to changing settlement and possession for noon on Monday, giving Brad time to move his possessions to his new home.. Everything had worked out brilliantly for him.
Sitting with Brad while he was having coffee before the midday rush Martha was excited for him and yet without making any sexual advance except to whisper, “Perhaps I could visit some afternoons leaving my staff to clean up here — wink, wink.”
He smiled, looked pleased and winked, making her blush.
That evening Brad had drinks and dinner at his new home with Annie and had a good look at his purchase. He knew the home inside out but as the new owner found he viewed it differently. The interior was very satisfactory except he decided he would have the sewing room beyond the main bedroom converted into an en suite and have the old glass sliding doors of the bedroom and the living room below it replaced with smarter looking and superior functioning doors.
He returned home very pleased and within minutes took a call from Martha.
“Would you like to come for dinner this Friday night? A certain party whom I won’t name leaves town on business on Friday and returns Saturday night.”
“That’s very nice of you — and the kitchen table?”
“Yes, it will be available; we’ll eat in the dining room.”
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
“Yes, I bought a new set of underwear today. What are your thoughts?”
“Nervous because I haven’t committed adultery before and nervous that you might be too much of a handful for me.”
“We’ll had a couple of drinks and some heavy petting and you will be pumping all night.”
He laughed and said wouldn’t they have dinner; she said he would be pumping all night with a break for dinner.
“Actually I will be leaving by 10:00 — I don’t wish to ruin your reputation.”
“That’s fine and actually I’m not a gal who can go all night — I tend to become exhausted rather early.”
“Aren’t I a lucky guy.”
Brad arrived at the sprawling, expensive looking home with flowers and a bottle of French champagne.
“Oooh, aren’t I a lucky girl,” Martha smiled, kissing him lightly. She wore a white gardenia in her combed up hair and a dress in Chinese silk with spaghetti straps; its tightness and the fitting of her bra presented the outline of her breasts to perfection.
“My gift to you is on the kitchen table — but not yet,” she giggled, managing the flowers and bottle in one hand to lead her visitor to the kitchen where she let the hand go and pulled out two flutes from an overhead cupboard. She asked Brad to open and pour the wine and watched, biting her bottom lip lightly as he looked at the solid old table.
“Take the glasses and bottle into the sun porch — I’ll follow with nibbles,” she said, pointing to the direction of that room.
“My, you are looking handsome in that lovely shirt.” It was the latest style with a rounded tail but was worn fashionably outside trousers and without a tie. His charcoal slacks had knife-edge creases and his patent leather shoes could easily have been used for shaving mirrors.
“I’ll wear this same outfit to our wedding,” he joked only she didn’t laugh and unnerved him by staring at him thoughtfully. Finally he relaxed again when she pointed to one plate and said the white bread rolls were filled with salmon and lemon flavored dressing and the pastries were port-soaked mushroom and a special cheese mix.
“That sounds tasty.”
“You are so kind — cheers.”
Sitting down they clinked glasses and stared at each other while they sipped, He thought she looked so lovely — a woman in her prime — and here he was preparing to despoil her, launching her into a sordid adulterous liaison. Without thinking he stroked the outline of his half-aroused cock; she caught the movement and smiled, saying softly, “Let’s finish our drink.”
Brad had no plan. They chatted and he decided it was her home so he should let her make the move. She jumped up and poured more wine into his glass and then hers. Brad regarded that as her beginning the first move so didn’t apologize for failing to replenish her glass. She put down her glass, held out her hand and took him into the kitchen. A great move, Brad thought.
Martha turned out the main lights, just leaving on the semi-concealed tube lighting under the upper cupboards. That light softened everything and yet provided enough illumination for them to follow visually their imminent indecorous activity.
Brad held out his arms and she came soundlessly like a wind gust and their lips sealed. He stroked the side of her face with one hand, the other around her thickening waist — well, he thought, she was forty-three. This was it; no more moral wrestling or being defensive over age differences: they were here to screw each other legless or as near as they could to achieve that ultimate state. He was anxious not to fail her — or himself — and to do his bit to ensure there would be no legacy of hurt or recriminations after this evening.
She pulled away and giggled: “Would you like to deflower me?” and bent her head down and to one side. This close up Brad could see two hair clips held the lovely gardenia. With that little task done he placed hands over her breasts — big, firm breasts — and whispered, “Ohmigod — at last.”
“I’m ready for the unveiling if you are,” she smiled, stroking a hand down from his belt and casually slid it slowly over his rising erection. “Oh yes,” she sighed.
The dress was too fragile for Brad so he asked for its removal. She stared as him as she undid a button at the top of her neck, holding both hands behind her, an act that pushed forward her breasts. She undid the zip and worked the garment over her belly and hips and stepped out of it when at knee level.
The underwear set was an unusual color combination, at least in Brad’s experience — a light coffee with some inserts in a tone he’d call mocha and oodles of cream lace. He thought the stockings with their fancy lace tops would be called ‘sheer white’; well, whatever.
“All this for me?” he asked, looking at her underwear in admiration.
She nodded, tongue parting her lips.
Chapter 2
Well, that point was the climax for Brad. His senses and expectancy were drawn as tight as guitar strings and the helmet of his penis was pulsating slightly. His loins felt so full and powerful he imagined years of age had tumbled from him which, of course, was the type of short-term illusions created by arousal that makes sex so great: the system was devised to encourage return visits.
It wasn’t all quite downhill from then but he became aware momentum was being lost. The first evidence of that began with the bra — the women in Brad’s past were used to waiting on males so inevitably undid the bra for him. Martha raised her arms slightly, looking at him with smoldering eyes. Smoldering? Well, perhaps dark and deep he thought later. This was an invitation to disrobe her. He reached around awkwardly and fiddled awkwardly; she giggled slightly and did it for him, unleashing the twin mounds that had taken his fancy since he’d first cast a sneaky look some mouths ago when she and her husband took over the coffee shop.
He was disappointed. He’d been expecting…he wasn’t at all certain what he’d been expecting because the images in his mind had never been converted into descriptive prose. He licked and fingered them and lifted one and was astonished how heavy it felt, thinking hell, fancy walking around all day with that load and the risk of bending over on extra high heels and toppling. Licking white or pink and nipping nipples was no different than even the sorry offering of tiny tits he’d been favored with in days long gone.
“I’m too old for this carry on,” he grumbled over a mouthful of tit and heard Martha croon, “Oh darling, I knew you’d love getting back into the saddle and taking what I have to offer.”
Darling? She must have been drinking before she started on the champagne.
Martha sighed with delight and pulled his face into the canyon between them, their volume cutting his air supply so he moved frantically to pull from her grip but all she did was to scream in orgasmic excitement but freed when she leaned back against the table, panting.
“God you’re good,” she said. Brad looked at her blankly.
There was some bulge around the belly and spilling out of the panties but that didn’t turn him off. She was a fit and apparentl healthy mother of two adults living overseas and was forty-three — in excellent condition and prime for fucking, he mused.
He eased down the extremely tight panties and when she moved to step out of them he sniffed in the odor of raw pussy.
Beautiful.
He sniffed again, a little too loudly because she heard it, giggled and almost lifted his scalp, the pain of that making him come to the verge of howling like a wolf.
Without being prompted she lay back on the table and stared at him, taking a nipple of a heavy hanger between her lips without having to lift her head. That really impressed him.
He’d seen the bulges over the stocking tops when removing the panties so went on to his knees to investigate — her legs were already apart; good girl.
This is why Brad liked stockings — the spilling of flesh above the tops simply begged to be kissed, licked and sucked so he went to work. By the time he moved up to Mrs Pussy Martha was already heated up and he detected repeating slight thrusting of her pelvis. He could see he didn’t have to lick it wet so turned up his middle finger, dug it just through the plump and almost hairless lips and slid it up and over the final piece of skin flap or whatever it was called to give one light rub to the clit which already was out of its hood.
To display some affection rather than indicating he’d run out of ideas he gently patted the pad over her pubic bone three or four times and then signaled he’d finished with this stage by giving her a sharp slap on her flank. Martha’s reaction surprised him: she gurgled and swore and her groin rocked heavily. Brad then realized she’d ejaculated.
“Lick me!” she urged so Brad answered the call.
* * *
Martha had expected it to be a less than perfect seduction. Gawd, he’d be sixty-five early next year. He’d be used to the old-style of fucking where women lay pretty submissive on their backs, often remaining partly clothed, and their eyes opening in astonishment if an orgasm occurred because they’d done little to promote it.
This was confirmed with the bra fumbling — the seducer was off to a bad start — all thumbs. But then he catapulted back into favor with an expert Titman performance of waggling his face between her breasts that left her gasping. She loved him to bits over that animalistic behavior of sheer frenzy.
She’d been a bit embarrassed about her bulges because he was so lean but he’d been a gentleman and made no comment; he’d made no comment about her breasts either when he first saw them unleashed. Perhaps instead of continuing to regard them in awe he now thought they were more like udders? Oh, men could be so cruel!
Then it practically turned to custard. He didn’t want to be sucked off, muttering about being worried of perhaps not having enough in the tank — she assumed that meant for multiple ejaculations. But she insisted on a brief suck of introduction and he was correct with his earlier comment — enlarged like that there were no sign of age wrinkles. She loved the velvety feel.
He called that was enough, the meanie, and then went to lift her across the table but staggered under her weight. Well, she was taller and her shoulders were broader than his and well, she was carrying extra weight. So she turned around and clambered up, managing to kick him in the face with a flying leg and she imagined he’d spit out teeth and that would be the end of it. But no — with her on her knees he wiped a bit of blood from his nose with his handkerchief and that done rammed two fingers up her dribbling pussy and ordered her to roll over.
Time for a lesson. “No, I want it doggie. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You think so?” she said, jerking as his fingers hit a nerve hot patch just inside the inner lips.
“Yeah, it would have been twenty to thirty years ago — probably a former school friend of your mother’s.”
They both laughed.
He pushed her across the table and climbed up behind her. Then they were away but soon she found it was a little boring — his hands remained on the small of her back and he plunged in and drew back robotically with no variation. Also the pace was too slow to offer her internals much excitement through stimulation; she reached back and slapped at his ass to urge him on. All that accomplished was to send him into a plunging frenzy and thirty seconds later he’d delivered his load.
Oh dear.
She’d collapsed on to the table in frustration and he remained on top, puffing on her nape which heightened her interest in having him go again. She hinted only to find he was practically asleep!”
Martha remained calm, understanding his situation. In later years the poor boy had probably been offered only a very passive cunt as a wifely duty; she had to remember he probably had never chased around after other women. Some wives, of course, would have been the exact opposite to his wife and offered sex and passionate connection to any guy interested — well, almost any guy. Still, she was confident she was in control of ‘the comeback kid’ and in coming months would have him performing wondrous feats with no shortage of cum. That was the plan.
In coming months? Martha smiled. Well that was confirmation now that she had him he was to become a fixture in her life. The most satisfying finding was his erection had not betrayed him and in fact she could still feel it hard against her right thigh. Martha licked her lips in satisfaction.
Chapter 3
Within two months Martha and Brad truly were lovers. The morning after their first sexual connection he’d re-joined the fitness center and swam every morning for an hour and soon increased it to two.
Brad had gone to the daughter of one of his wife’s friends who operated the largest health and vitality shop in the town. He told her straight out what he wanted to achieve and why.
“Is it Mrs Stokes? I’ve seen you two walking around.”
“Yes.”
“Oooh, you lucky man,” Angela said. “Come through for a free consultation.”
From the answers she received she determined Brad didn’t need anything beyond a good diet and a few health supplements at this stage to try to boost sperm and energy levels. She confirmed swimming was one of the best exercises for people with ageing joints.
“The fitter you become the better will be your sex life. Ensure you have a good intake of iron through red meat and the other sources I have listed here. I am most impressed you are meeting this challenge Brad.”
So Angela had seen Martha and him together. Well, so what? They had not actually made a decision to ease back from clandestine meetings — it was just occurring. Going almost 30 miles to have an intimate lunch seemed a bit excessive so it was Martha who’d suggested going to a traditional restaurant in the town. When they were seated she’d said casually that Ben and his friends tended to prefer Asian, Italian or Turkish food. To her knowledge Ben had never been in that French restaurant they were in.
Then one evening recently she’d suggested going to the Italian restaurant. Brad had asked what if Ben arrived back in town earlier than expected and walked into that restaurant for a meal after finding no meal or wife were waiting at home for him. She looked him in the eye and had said, “You know, I really wouldn’t mind.” She’d waited for a reply and had looked disappointed when receiving only a grunt.
Martha worked six days a week so Mondays to Saturdays she’d dropped into the habit of leaving the coffee shop for an hour at 2:00 each afternoon. She’d go down to the riverside walk and a little way along would walk up to the basement of Brad’s three-level home and let herself in. She did this to enjoy his company and affection. More often than not they didn’t have full-on sex except almost inevitably towards the end of her stay, mostly spent in his arms on the sofa looking across the river and chatting, he’d bring her to climax at the end of a softly executed fingering.
At times when she eyed him in a certain way as she arrived they’d go straight to bed and bounce around like carefree teenagers. He could now go a couple of times a session and on nights that Ben was out of town liaising with clients and carrying out other liaisons he had in mind, Martha and Brad would be at it again.
Then came the time for Ben’s industry national conference and the venue was a resort in Mexico. Ben was invited to accompany the new chief executive — a divorced woman — and would leave on a Thursday and not return until the next Tuesday morning.
Martha called Brad as soon as she was told; Ben was outside painting a dingy he’d been given.
“He’s off to Mexico for five days to fuck the ass off his new chief executive.”
“Oooh, nasty. He should be taking you my poor darling.”
“I appreciate you sympathy darling. That will give us some rope that long weekend.”
“Why don’t you come and stay the five days with me?”
“Okay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
She could feel his grin. “We spend all five days in bed.”
He whistled and then said he’d greatly improved but would never be good enough to last that distance.
“I’m disappointed.”
“Let’s fly off to the hot springs resort early Saturday and return late Sunday.”
Martha was overcome in excitement; Ben rarely took her anywhere these days.
“Yes, yes, yes” she shouted, aware Ben was looking up at the windows. She was acting as if having an orgasm and admitted to herself later that she had come very close to it.
It was almost dark when Ben came in and growled, “Is my dinner ready?”
What an oaf, Martha thought, looking at her quite handsome husband who had the manners of a pig. Like many good salespersons he was almost totally self-centered and if he oozed charm it was reserved for clients.
“You know I don’t like this green stuff.”
“Broccoli is good for you.”
“Is that what your boyfriend says?”
Martha almost dropped the gravy jug being caught unaware; they had been no suggestion this was coming but actually this was so typical of her husband. But she had long rehearsed for this confrontation she knew would be inevitable.
“So you know?”
“Yes, where’s my wine?”
Martha handed him the red wine already poured. “Do you know who he is?”
“Yeah, a white-headed guy old enough to be your father you dirty bitch.”
“Watch your mouth Ben or I’ll shove the carving knife down it.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled; he wasn’t a big guy. “Is he any good at fucking?”
“He is just someone to talk to — a friend, more like a mentor.”
“I bet he fingers you though; can’t imagine an old guy like that could maintain a boner for more than one minute which is nowhere long enough for you.”
“A mentor I said,” Martha insisted, still standing.
“Well, I guess you know that I’ve had a few girlfriends.”
“Yes, and I know several of them.”
He looked surprised and said she’d never said anything to him about her suspicious.
“Suspicions? I have seen you at it more than once and I quietly retreated.”
“Did the sight of my bare ass pumping up and down over someone else bring you on?”
“Fuck you Benjamin Stokes.”
He scowled and they ate silently.
When Martha came into the TV room with coffee Ben switched off the TV and watched her pour and then taking the coffee said, “Do you want a divorce?”
“I’ve been thinking about leaving you so why not?”
He grinned. “I’m presently whacking into Mrs Curtis our new CEO; I rather think she would like an extended relationship with me. A divorce could be handy. Here are the terms: We sell all our joint effects and divided the net proceeds in half. You keep your car and take twenty-five percent of the net proceeds from the house sale and pay all legal expenses. I retain my share in the coffee shop as an investment. Now isn’t that a fair offer?”
“If you think that’s fair I might just be content to walk — the house is jointly owned and my car was purchased in my name. I agree it is convenient to us both that you retain your financial investment in the coffee shop. My terms are non-negotiable — we split everything down the middle including legal costs otherwise I drag you into court and fight you for everything.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh yeah?”
Ben held out his cup for a refill. They both noticed his hand was shaking slightly.
“The timing is right for me,” he said. “I should move on Irma while she has the hots for me — she came out of her divorce with more than a million bucks and that white mansion at the top of Mason’s hill and…”
“That’s enough Ben, I’m no longer interested in you or any of your plans. I’ll move out next Thursday after you leave for Mexico — I promise to take only my car and my personal possessions; if there is any dispute over what I have taken then come and talk to me amicably at the coffee shop any day after 3:30. You go to Tom tomorrow and begin divorce proceedings. He can call me anytime to sign papers. How does that sound Mr Businessman?”
“Acceptable I suppose so. Does this mean you now sleep in the spare room or do I have to do that?”
“I don’t see why we cannot carry on as two mature and happy adults and sleep together. After all, these days you rarely fuck me.”
“What if I get the urge although that’s not likely tonight? I’m a bit hacked off at you bringing this on so suddenly.”
“Consider yourself to be my husband with full access until 6:00 on Thursday morning. I’ll still take you to the airport as arranged.”
“Gawd you’re a heartless bitch; where has this toughness come from — him?”
“No, chasing bad debtors in catering side of our business and confronting cheating delivery men I guess, plus years of being semi-abandoned by my husband.”
“Christ, I’m relieved I didn’t make the mistake and fight you over this divorce. Does your new bloke know you are doing this to me, ending our marriage?”
“No, it has never been discussed.”
“Then what do you talk about?” Ben leered.
“I’m off to bed,” Martha said. “You clean up for once.”
Chapter 4
Shutting the bedroom door Martha called Brad on her cell phone and informed him she was about to become homeless.
Brad reacted excitedly and said, “You have a home here.”
Martha gave him a quite summary of her discussions with Ben including moving out on Thursday.
“Great, I’ll book a small hire van.”
“Thank you darling, I will have some of mother’s furniture — it can be stored in the basement.”
“Let’s leave those decisions until we are unloading the van here.”
“You are so kind and understanding you lovely man. No wonder I love you.”
“Love me?” Brad’s voice quavered.
“I’ll reveal all when we are at the springs. Come in for late morning tea tomorrow.”
“Oh, are we going to have a fantastic week,” he chortled.
* * *
By 11:00 on Thursday Martha was shifted in and Brad was away returning the hire van. She walked around the house feeling it really felt like home with her great-grandmother’s table and chairs in the dinning room and the heavy dresser in the main bedroom and her mother’s full bedroom suite in the guest room. Brad was dropping his dinning table and chairs and cheap bedroom suite off at the furniture auction house while returning the van. However he arrived back with a sturdier table for the kitchen and took away the existing one that he said was unlikely to bear their combined weight. Martha kissed him passionately for being so thoughtful and his face was aflame in pleasure of being wanted and appreciated plus for his thoughtfulness in thinking about the entrée before dinner.
* * *
Arriving at the Blue Mountain Springs Resort they played the nine-hole par-three golf course dreadfully, being too embarrassed to keep their scores and relieved no-one had been following them. When they arrived back inside their suite Brad who was behind Martha pulled down her shorts and panties.
“Oh darling, I’m all sweaty.”
“So am I,” he grinned, bending her over. “Come along for the ride.”
There was no foreplay — just straight in and away; they were both soon grunting. She undid her shirt and bra and he just held on gently to the nipples as her tits swung wildly.
Martha lasted not quite five minutes when she got away and Brad followed as soon as she tightened her thighs together.
“Wow,” she panted.
He pulled her on to the sofa and licked her into another climax. He came up grinning, his face in a real mess.
“How the fuck old are you?” she giggled. “Twenty-five?”
They showered and she stayed longer to wash her hair and then joined him in their private spa, arriving with a bottle of wine and two unbreakable glasses.
“I want to talk about the future,” Martha said as Brad was licking up some wine she’d poured between her breasts to tease him.
He sat back and removed the stupid look from his face. “Okay, shoot.”
She told him about her briefing with Tom the lawyer about the timetable for the divorce to progress and take effect. Martha cuddled against him. “When my divorce comes through I’d like you to be free to marry me.”
Brad was temporarily overcome. Marriage had not entered his mind. He settled and chose his words carefully. “It’s quite possible Heather will find a guy in Hawaii and may seek to quickly divorce me through no-fault provisions. But until she does I’m remaining out of contact with her on the belief she deserves to be left in peace following our irreconcilable decision to separate. Can you understand?”
“I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Yes, absolutely and I accept your right to make that personal decision.”
Brad said he was happy to hear that. He added that it was also a consideration that in ten years he’d possibly be near the end of ringing the bell on an active sex life and tending to be ‘thinking old’. “You will still be only fifty-three. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Yes,” Martha whispered.
“Good,” he laughed, filling her glass. “Few women of fifty-three would relish the thought of sending pussy into retirement.”
Martha giggled as if sensing something good was coming.
“Would you now like the good news?” he asked, clasping a big breast fondly; he’d become very attached to them. “Heather and I signed a separation agreement as neither of us was of the mind to divorce. This agreement specifies how we’d reached agreement in terms of marital possessions and later a codicil was added regarding her satisfaction with her share of the house sale completed after the separation. That means any wealth possessed from that time or generated afterwards takes the form of assets legally excluded from our respective estates; in other words, what I possess now is mine and not subject to subsequent marital claim by agreement.”
“That seems fair.”
“We thought so too; but I now wish to say this: as soon as your divorce becomes absolute I propose signing over a half-share of my home to you in perpetuity with provision for you to cancel out of the agreement within the first 10 years without any compensation from me; thereafter you will be free to manage your share of that asset as you wish.”
Martha turned his face towards her. “You don’t need to do this Brad.”
“I know but it’s what I want to do. I’ll also change my will, leaving my share of the house to you so that you don’t end up with Heather owning half of your home.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing.”
“I know,” Martha said, flushed faced and climbing on to the edge of the spa. “Come to pussy darling.”
THE END