A Christmas Present for Karen

Chapter 1

The cold front covering New England was so intense that the conditions outside Karen Lincoln's nineteen-twenties farmhouse were Siberian-like and according to the local radio station's weather forecast, it was unlikely to get any warmer over the next five days. It had snowed heavily for three days, leaving a blanket of snow three feet deep and isolating her from the outside world.

She liked living on the outskirts of town, but there were drawbacks and snow, when coupled with a three hundred foot driveway, was one of them. On the first day of the storm, she'd made her way into town and back, but during the evening the wind had strengthened to gale force and had driven the snow into drifts of up to six feet. On the second day, not needing to go out, she had settled in to wait out the weather.

An English teacher, she'd taught in the same high school since starting work and had reached the point where she'd had her fill of teaching. She'd found it fun once, but in recent years had become disillusioned with the attitude of the school board, the pupils and their parents and although she would never have admitted it, at fifty-five she was merely passing the time until she could take early retirement.

Her disenchantment with teaching was mirrored by a similar disenchantment with the rest of her life. Divorced and single, her parents dead, her two adult children living a continent away on the west coast, she'd gradually come to believe life offered only more of the same; more sitting at home, more reading and more time spent watching a dwindling number of watchable television programs. What was worse, she was doing it on her own.

She'd been married once, but nine years previously, she'd returned home one lunch time to pick up some forgotten end-of-year reports and caught her husband in their living room, fucking Melissa, their neighbour, and the neighbour's friend. That it was the neighbour hadn't been a complete surprise. The first time she and David had been invited next door for a swim, she had watched with envy and growing anger as her husband had spent the afternoon with his eyes glued to the neighbour's bikini clad body.

When they'd returned home, rather than confronting him, she had gone into the bathroom, stripped naked, looked in the mirror and cried. She was fat, her tits and bum drooped, there were wrinkles everywhere and she looked old. How could she possibly compete with a neighbour who was young, attractive and shapely; her body toned by visits to the gym, her perfect tits a testament to silicone and the plastic surgeon's art?

If finding her husband fucking the neighbour wasn't a complete surprise, what had been a surprise was finding him engaged in a threesome, coupled doggy fashion with Melissa who, in turn, was lying between the legs of an equally young and shapely female, her head bobbing up and down as she played with her recumbent partner's clit. Throughout the twenty-three years they'd been married, David had never shown the slightest inclination to mount her from behind and yet she had caught him rutting like an animal and with a woman he'd known for a less than twenty-three weeks.

Initially shocked into immobility, her first thought, once she had recovered, had been to rush into the room and attack him, but for some reason, which she had never been able to reconcile, she'd continued to stand in the hallway and watch; transfixed by the scene being acted out before her.

She'd realised she ought to be angry; but she'd found the ménage erotic, a sexual combination she'd only imagined, but which, in reality, was far more exciting than she had thought possible. With the exception of the friend, who was still wearing the top half of a yellow bikini, the participants were naked, the women's bikinis scattered across the floor, the red and yellow scraps of material a vivid contrast to the beige of the carpet. As she'd watched, rather than wanting to stop them, she'd found herself wishing she was one of the participants and it was her, rather than Melissa, who was on her knees and impaled on David's cock.

Within seconds she had become aroused; her cunt moist and her nipples erect. She'd reached inside her blouse, put her hand inside her bra and rubbed her breast and teased the nipples, her usual reaction when she was excited. Her right hand had just begun to inch down her body, heading towards her cunt, when the recumbent member of the ménage had looked up, noticed her standing outside the door and screamed, breaking the spell and returning her to the present.

The next few seconds were a blur of action. The two women had grabbed their discarded bikinis and headed home; brushing past her with their faces averted; neither able to look her in the eye. David had remained, naked and shamefaced; standing by the bed; his glistening, but rapidly deflating cock evidence of his infidelity.

No longer spellbound by the ménage, she had turned on him, shouting and screaming; alternating between asking how he could treat her this way and ordering him to get out. He'd tried to plead with her; offering excuses; 'it was a mistake', 'it was the first time', and platitudes; 'I love you', 'I won't do it again', but given all she'd had to put up with in the previous few months, she'd found his protestations both pathetic and unbelievable. In response, she'd thrown a vase at him, which had missed his head by the proverbial whisker before crashing against the wall. Realising he risked being the target for other missiles and further excuses were likely to be futile, he'd grabbed his underwear and followed the two women out of the back door.

The period immediately following her husband's departure was to prove a trial, both financially and emotionally. The loss of David's paycheque and her divorce lawyer's seemingly never ending legal bills had eaten into her finances such that by the time she'd managed to sell the house and had received her divorce decree; her already meagre savings had been reduced to a pittance. Over time, moving into a less expensive house and a bequest from her mother's estate had resolved her financial problems, but the same could not be said for her emotional issues.

If she had hoped to gain a measure of revenge by throwing her husband out, she was to be severely disappointed as he'd merely moved next door and within days, had formed a ménage-a-trois with Melissa and Lisa, the third party in the threesome. It was a development which was to provide a daily, unwanted reminder of his infidelity and what she had found even more trying, had made her an object of pity among her friends.

The first summer had been difficult. After sharing a house for twenty-three years, living alone had proved a challenge and one which had been exacerbated by the presence of the ménage. The house next door had a swimming pool and whenever the sun shone, the lovers had taken every opportunity to disport themselves, clearly for her benefit, in varying degrees of nakedness. The women had paraded in the tiniest of bikinis which just managed to cover what a male friend had referred to as 'the good bits', while the normally conservative David had forsaken the scruffy, knee-length shorts he'd worn for swimming during their marriage and had adopted the type of swimming trunks normally found only on the beaches of southern Europe.

She had attempted to dismiss, as adolescent behaviour, the incessant displays of affection which had accompanied the displays of naked flesh, but she hadn't always found it possible. Even if their actions fell short of actual sex, she'd found the sight of her neighbours kissing and fondling erotic. On several occasions, including two, booze fuelled evenings when the women had dispensed with their bikinis, she'd gone inside and pleasured herself to images inspired by the lovers; many of which had seen her playing Melisa's original role in the threesome.

If her orgasms had been satisfying, and in most instances they had, the aftermath had not. She'd been both angry at herself and ashamed; angry David had left and condemned her to a life of onanistic sex and ashamed she found images based on her husband's infidelity, sexually stimulating.

It wasn't just the sexual nature of the displays which she'd found difficult; the women were attractive and she'd found it impossible to ignore the difference between her five foot seven and one hundred and seventy-five pound body and the almost anorexic bodies of her husband's lovers. She'd understood comparing her body with those of the neighbours was pointless as they were twenty years younger than her and the laws of nature dictated there would be a marked difference between her body and theirs and a difference which wouldn't be to her advantage. However logical the argument, she'd found herself being intimidated by their almost perfect bodies to the extent she'd given up sunbathing in her back garden and had come to accept she was fat, unattractive and undesirable to men.

With the exception of Christmas, which she'd spent alone for the first time in her life, her daughter having left for the west coast immediately following her college graduation in the spring, the winter had been easier. The pool had been closed, the displays of naked flesh and affection had ceased and winter clothing meant the differences in body shape had not been so readily apparent.

If the winter had proved easier, the following the summer had proved at least as difficult as the first. David had opened the pool in time for the Memorial Day weekend and while the Saturday had been cool, the Sunday had been warm and by early afternoon the backyard was full of guests, including some who had been mutual friends of David and her during their marriage. She had decided to ignore it and had called Ann, a friend and colleague from school and arranged to go shopping, but had changed her plans when she'd seen two long-time friends park their car across the road and go next door.

Both Scott and Deb Warner had sided with David after the break-up, Deb having even gone so far as to spread malicious gossip about her relationship with Ann, and since it was a pool party, she decided it might be worth staying and taking a peek - if only to laugh at Deb.

Deb was fat, definitely fatter than her and she was curious to see what she was going to be wearing. Uncharitably, she imagined her in a flower-print bikini, bat-wings flapping, cellulite rippling the back of her thighs and rolls of belly fat overhanging the bikini bottom and hiding it completely from sight.

After calling Ann and cancelling their shopping trip, she made her way upstairs to a rear bedroom, the window of which offered an unrestricted view of the pool area, and she knew, if she stood far enough from the window, she would be almost invisible to the people next door. When she looked there was nobody in the pool, but the yard was full, most of the women sitting on chairs while the men were standing around either the barbecue or the makeshift bar.

She located Deb almost immediately; she wasn't wearing a bikini, but a blue, one-piece swimsuit with a skirt and contrary to her imagination, there didn't appear to be any rolls of fat hanging anywhere. To her left and standing with their backs to her, were David's two women, both in what appeared to be new and even smaller bikinis and talking to an older woman. As she watched, Lisa, the woman she had identified to her female friends as 'the one whose pussy was being licked', turned to greet another guest and in so doing offered her profile; a profile, which it was immediately apparent, was not in keeping with her usual svelte outline.

Lisa had put on weight and her first reaction had been to feel smug, but a closer look revealed the only place it had accumulated was around her belly and rather than getting fat, she was obviously pregnant and from the looks of it, had been for at least five or six months. How she'd managed to miss it she didn't know, although when she'd thought about it later, she realised she hadn't seen much of Lisa since February and when she had, she'd been wearing either winter or loose fitting clothing.

The knowledge was a bombshell. She had come to accept she was no longer married to David and rather than her, he was getting his jollies from the floozies from next door – whenever she'd described them she'd been tempted to call them the whores from next door, but had settled for floozies, a word she'd borrowed from her mother. That one of them would become pregnant was something she had never contemplated, but from what she could see, it appeared at least one of them was expecting David's bastard.

She found the notion ridiculous. David was forty-eight with two children, the youngest of whom was twenty-two. He'd stopped trying to impregnate her immediately after their second child was born and had never again expressed any interest in having another. At the time, it was a decision with which she'd been happy to agree, since she was only twenty-four and had given birth to two children in seventeen months.

At his insistence, she had taken the pill, which she'd done until she was almost forty, after which she'd used an IUD in order to comply with his directive to the effect that he didn't want another child and it was up to her to insure they didn't have one. His apparent change of heart was incomprehensible.

She was angry, but most of all she was jealous. It was almost twelve months since he'd left, but despite her acceptance of the situation and her determination to get over him, from time to time, she still found herself feeling jealous of the two women. She knew she was being irrational and that she couldn't compete. The two women were in their late twenties and much younger than her, far more attractive, probably better in bed and in getting two for the price of one; David was fulfilling a male fantasy. Being jealous was a waste of time and energy, but she couldn't entirely rid herself of the feelings.

Lisa's pregnancy only served to re-enforce those feelings, although they were not based on him having impregnated Lisa rather than her, but because Lisa could have a child and she couldn't. She knew it didn't make sense; she didn't want any more children, but the onset of menopause following David's departure – she'd blamed it on the stress - and the accompanying knowledge she couldn't have more children, for some reason, had been upsetting. Lisa's pregnancy had only aggravated the upset.

Over the following eight years, the anger and pain had gradually disappeared. She'd experienced a measure of revenge a year later, when Melissa had left David in favour of a thirty year old corporate lawyer who, apparently, was a better catch than a forty-nine year old, regional marketing manager for a sporting goods company. It had been a surprise when Lisa had not only stayed with David, but had married and had another child by him. The last time she had seen them together, the svelte figure she'd envied had disappeared and she'd taken delight in noting Lisa's figure looked remarkably similar to the figure she'd had at the same age.

When she looked back on her marriage, she realised she'd been cheated, not only by her husband's infidelity, but also in her sex life. She had been able to accept the former, but had never been able to forgive him for the way his attitude to sex had supressed her sexuality. Sex with David had not been satisfying and if she had donned her teacher's hat and assessed his performance as a lover, she would have given him, at best, an 'F' coupled with a comment to the effect that 'David's performance has been disappointing. He really must try harder'.

He had taken her virginity three months after they had met at college. He'd been persuasive, gradually increasing the pressure on her until she'd felt compelled to say yes. She'd been apprehensive, his cock looked big and much too big for her cunt, but she had convinced herself he loved her and when they came to make love for the first time, he would be loving and tender.

The reality had been painful and nothing like she'd imagined. He'd been clumsy and inexperienced, groping her and trying to ram his cock inside her with little concern for her well-being. She'd been tight, it had taken him a long time to pierce her hymen and once he had, he'd cum almost immediately, filling her cunt with cum and totally unconcerned he might impregnate her.

His performance had improved slightly over the course of their married life, but he'd never been an ardent, attentive or adventurous lover and after the children were born, the first, a son, four months after their marriage and five months after she'd graduated, they had quickly settled into a routine of once-a-week sex, usually on a Friday night, and for some reason, always in the missionary position.

David had been her first serious boyfriend and when they'd met her knowledge of sex had been rudimentary, mainly because she'd had no one to teach her. Her mother, who had been in their middle fifties when she was a teenager, had been too embarrassed to discuss sex with her and an unholy combination of Roman Catholics and Evangelicals had ensured sex education had not been taught in her school. As a result, when she'd first made love to David, other than a brief, almost asexual, lesbian affair with her college room-mate, she'd had no theoretical or practical knowledge of sex and wasn't aware an orgasm during sex wasn't just a male prerogative, but that women were also entitled to one. It was only after starting work and having been counselled by Ann, she had become aware a very occasional orgasm was neither acceptable nor the norm.

At Ann's suggestion she'd acquired a vibrator, the latest version of which was a pink rabbit she called 'her friend Peter'. The first time she'd used one, she'd felt both uneasy and guilty and had waited until her husband and children were out for the day before she took it out from its hiding place in her underwear drawer.

Although Ann had provided some basic instructions; 'It's like using your fingers – only better. I usually stick it in my pussy to get it wet and then switch between my pussy and my clit – but it's a matter of personal preference and you'll soon discover what you like best' - she had found herself reluctant to use it.

The rabbit was intimidating, even more intimidating than her first sighting of David's erect cock. She hadn't expected David's cock to be so large, but if anything, the rabbit looked to be thicker and longer and what was more intimidating, appeared to require a degree in nuclear physics to operate it. She'd read the instruction manual and when she had finished was still totally confused on how to invoke the various vibratory and rotatory motions. She'd almost called Ann and asked her to come over and show her how to use it, but had persisted and after ten minutes of pressing all six buttons controlling rotation and the four controlling vibration had found a combination which was acceptable.

Her first efforts were tentative; just brushing the head over her clit and then inching the head into her cunt, but the longer she played with herself, the better it started to feel and contrary to her original concerns, it didn't feel wrong, but exciting. By the end of the afternoon, an afternoon in which she had cum eight times and had almost exhausted the batteries, she had come to realise she was orgasmic and using the rabbit guaranteed she would reach her climax. In contrast, sex with David certainly hadn't come with the same guarantee. It was as if he was the only person allowed to get any pleasure from their sex life and any enjoyment she garnered was only a bi-product of their coupling.

In an effort to improve the enjoyment she got from their love-making, she'd attempted to introduce her friend, but when she'd produced it from under her pillow, he'd yelled at her.

"What the hell makes you think we need something like that? Turn it off. Now! We don't need it."

He had been wrong; she did need it, but astounded by the degree of hostility he'd shown, she'd complied. It was as if her rabbit was a threat, but whatever his reasons, she'd resented him for forcing her to pleasure herself in secret.

It was not long after Melissa had moved in that David's attitude towards her had deteriorated. He had always been remote, rarely kissing and hugging her, but after Melisa's arrival it was as if she didn't exist; either in or out of bed. In bed, what little interest he'd had in her body had evaporated to the extent that in the first two months following the neighbour's appearance on the scene, he'd made no effort to make love to her.

For an intelligent woman, her inability to notice the association between Melissa's arrival and David's complete lack of interest in her body was inexplicable. Rather than attach blame to him, she'd blamed herself; deciding his lack of interest was attributable to her sexual inexperience and to the weight she'd put on over the years.

In an effort to rekindle his interest; she'd joined Weight Watchers, but with only limited success, and had sought advice from Ann; on whose recommendation she'd clandestinely bought an instructional sex video and the 'Guide To Getting It On'. When they next met to discuss the purchases, Ann had handed her a well-thumbed copy of the 'Story of O' and as she'd done so, she'd laughed and added a paean in its praise.

"It may give you a few ideas and even if it doesn't, I guarantee it'll make you horny. It certainly makes me moist."

Her efforts had met with little success. Over the following two months she'd managed to persuade him to make love to her twice, but it had been hard work and the results had been disappointing. Whatever she'd done, she had found it difficult to get his interest and on the two occasions when she'd managed to induce him to make love; he'd resorted to form, mounting her in the missionary position, following it with his usual five minutes of mechanistic thrusting, a grunt and the immediate removal of his cock.

She hadn't cum on either occasion, but had persisted with her efforts, hoping his lack of interest was merely a temporary phase and his interest would increase if she could find a way to sexually stimulate him; either by her actions or by losing weight and making herself more attractive. When she'd finally realised whatever she did it wasn't going to work, in desperation she had turned once again to Ann, to whom her friend's second request didn't come as a surprise.

Ann didn't like David; whenever she was in his company she got the feeling he wasn't interested in anyone but himself. Furthermore, he treated her friend abominably; ignoring her and even worse, taking her to task or ridiculing her contributions to the conversation, even when they were with company. She wasn't a marriage counsellor and hadn't been asked to comment, but if she had, she would have told Karen there was very little chance of her husband changing and she should either get rid of him or if she didn't want to divorce him, then she ought to look elsewhere for sexual satisfaction.

She had, however, been asked for suggestions and after listing a number of options, which, based on what she knew of David, she was sure had little chance of success, she asked Karen if she had ever considered anal sex.

"I know it turns them on – well it certainly does the trick for my husband. There's nothing Richard likes better than fucking me in the ass and you never know; you may actually like it."

The knowledge Ann and her husband engaged in anal sex was mildly surprising. Ann had always been prepared to talk openly about sex, including providing titillating snippets about her sex life, but there hadn't been even the slightest hint she and her husband engaged in what, up to that point, she had considered an abnormal sexual practice.

"I love anal sex, particularly if I'm playing with my vibrator at the same time, but I won't kid you, when he's putting it in for the first time it can be uncomfortable and painful. It does get easier over time and for a long-term ass fuckee like me it's not a problem.

"Lube is the key. I made sure I read an instruction manual before I let Richard stick it in my ass and when he did, I made sure he lathered his cock and my ass with lube; but he still has to be careful. I would make sure you've got his cock in your hand before he starts and only let him feed it in very slowly - and I mean verrrry slowly."

It had taken some time, following their initial discussion, for her to overcome her fear of the unknown and it was only Ann's candour and advice which had finally helped her overcome her reluctance to try it. Even after she had made her decision, she had still found the prospect daunting and had procrastinated, waiting for almost a month before she had summoned sufficient confidence to broach the subject with her husband.

The occasion she had chosen was following a party in their home to celebrate David's forty-seventh birthday. She hadn't planned it in advance, but he'd appeared relaxed and in a good mood from the outset and halfway through the evening, she'd realised it was likely to be the best opportunity she was ever going to get. By the time the party was winding down she was slightly inebriated and under the influence of the alcohol, determined to proceed with his seduction

She'd waited until after the guests had left and he had gone to bed, before she'd followed him upstairs. Undressing in the bathroom, she'd donned the high heels, garter belt and stockings she had hidden in a bathroom drawer earlier in the evening.

Naked and nervous, she'd paused at the bathroom door, taken a deep breath, opened the door, entered the bedroom and humming 'The Stripper', had strutted across the floor to the bed in the best vamp-like strut she could muster. It had been an amateur performance, but he'd watched her progress with what she took to be apparent interest and when she reached the bed and pulled back the bedclothes it appeared, from the semi-erect state of his cock, she'd been right.

Climbing into bed, for one of the few times in their marriage she'd taken the initiative; kissing him, rubbing her tits and down his body, brushing her cunt against his thigh, stroking his cock and licking his body from his nipples to his belly button. In spite of her efforts, he had shown little inclination to reciprocate her advances other than, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, returning her kisses, but what she had found more disconcerting; his cock had shown no sign of becoming fully erect. She'd realised she was losing him and needed to do something and since she was having no success with her current approach, she'd tentatively suggested he may like to try something different.

"I've been thinking about our lovemaking. After all this time, it must be getting boring for you. I've been wondering - would you like to try something different?"

"What are you suggesting?"

She'd hesitated, before asking timorously,

"I was wondering whether you might like to take me from the rear. You know; make love to my bum."

There had been no immediate reply. She hadn't been sure whether it was from shock or whether he was taking the time to consider the idea. His answer, when it came, had been filled with anger.

"What do you fucking think I am? Do you think I'm a fucking queer? Fucking in the ass is for queers. I don't know how you could possibly think I'd be interested. You're disgusting."

His response had surprised and upset her. It had been embarrassing suggesting anal sex to him; he wasn't aware of the courage she'd needed in order to make the offer to let him bugger her and his angry reply was not what she'd expected. Frightened and upset, she'd fled their bedroom and had spent the night in the guest room, lying in bed and crying for hours before finally falling to sleep just before dawn. When he'd appeared at breakfast the next morning, he had ignored her, refusing to look at her or respond to any of her attempts at conversation

That day, during the lunch break, she'd told Ann of his response and had received sympathy and some unsolicited advice.

"Don't worry, some men are opposed to anal sex; they tend to associate it with gays and can't believe it has any place in a straight relationship. David is clearly one of them."

"He must be. Ann, you couldn't believe how mad he got. I was frightened he was going to hit me."

"But he didn't?"

"No, he didn't."

"Okay. Assuming you still want to keep on trying to save your marriage – and for the life of me I can't imagine why you would – there's one last suggestion I can offer. If it fails, then you've got no chance of saving it."

"What's that?"

"In my experience, and that's based mainly on Richard's taste in porno videos, there's one thing which is almost guaranteed to get a man's attention and that's a three-way."

So Richard and she watched porno videos together. Was there to be no limit to the surprises about Ann's sex life to which she was to be privy?

"You know, sex with three parties, although, as he's a man, I would propose you suggest MFF." Karen looked puzzled. "Male, female, female. Two women and one man. Have you ever considered it?"

She had given it some passing thought when she'd read the relevant chapter in 'The Guide to Getting it On', but had rejected it, in part because she couldn't envision sharing David with another man or woman and also because of a porno video she'd once seen.

The video, which had been one of three loaned to her by a female friend, who'd removed them from a stash she'd uncovered in her daughter's bedroom, had starred two men and a woman and had featured a range of sexual practices, including double penetration.

As a movie it had been a failure; the action had been stilted, the tattooed actors and the silicone filled actress couldn't act and in spite of their feigned enthusiasm, had appeared to be going through the motions. There had been a couple of scenes which had induced a slight tingling in her cunt, the most exciting of which had been a scene showing cum leaking simultaneously out of the woman's bum and cunt and blending as it dripped onto the bedclothes, but, on balance, she hadn't found it erotic.

What had spoiled it for her had been a scene at the end of the film in which the two men had ejaculated, in turn, onto the actress's face. While sucking their cocks and wanking them, the actress had feigned delight at the thought of being coated in cum, but when the men had ejaculated onto her face, in volumes which suggested the scene had been filmed at a different time to the DP scene, she had blinked and squirmed. She and David had never tried anything like it and she couldn't imagine how a woman could possibly get sexual pleasure from it.

Even if she had been prepared to consider the notion, Ann's suggestion of a MFF three-way was probably moot. How would she find a woman prepared to be the third party, and if she could, what chance would there be of retaining her interest given David's abysmal performance in bed?

"Not really."

"Then maybe you should. I've never met a man who wasn't turned on by the thought of three-way sex, particularly if it's MFF. Why do you think MFF threesomes and lesbian videos are predominantly watched by men? It's because two women having it off turns them on, although I don't really understand why.

"It's not that I'm opposed to it. Although, I must admit I've never tried it. I've no objection, in principal, to licking another woman's clit or having her lick mine, but I can't imagine many women being turned on by men fucking and sucking each other."

As she spoke about having no objection to having sex with a woman, Ann raised her eyebrows and leered at her. Karen blushed, was her friend propositioning her, was she inviting her to lick her cunt? She didn't know and the answer was probably not, but surprisingly, the thought of three-way sex which included another woman didn't sound distasteful.

"I can't, either."

"And what about women doing the same thing?"

"I'm not sure."

She was saying she wasn't sure, but as she'd had sex more than once with her college roommate, even if it was true neither had brought the other to a climax with her tongue, her answer was a lie. But the question under discussion wasn't one of queer sex, but a three-way and she was more interested in resolving her feelings with respect to the latter rather than discussing the merits of the former.

Three-way MFF sex required another woman and she had no idea how to recruit a third party. She'd heard, in their search for sexual partners, people used the internet and in particular, the newly launched and rapidly expanding Craig's List, but she couldn't envision recruiting someone she didn't know. If she was going to have sex with another woman it had to be someone she knew; she couldn't imagine undressing and performing sexual acts in front of a stranger; but whom did she know who may be interested?

She looked at Ann. If there was someone she trusted unreservedly, it was her. Furthermore, she and Ann had often undressed together when changing at the local pool and although they hadn't flaunted their bodies, neither had been uncomfortable. It was possible she would feel comfortable with Ann, but would Ann be comfortable with her and David? The only way to find out was to ask and she found the prospect far less daunting than when she was considering asking David if he wanted to take her in the bum.

"Ann, have you ever had a three-way?"

Ann smiled; she knew what the next question was to be.

"Are you trying to recruit me?"

"Of course not."

The question may not have been a direct request, but the underlying reason for the question was apparent.

"Well, in the event that you are being a little economical with the truth, the answers are 'No' and 'Maybe'. No, I haven't and maybe I would consider it – but it's unlikely I'd want to do it with David – someone else; then maybe."

Karen looked at her for several seconds before she replied, during which she imagined what it would be like making love to Ann and the yet to be determined, third party.

"So where do we go from here?"

Before Ann could reply, the entry of the Vice-Principal put an end to the conversation. She hadn't had the chance to mention it again to Ann before she had walked in on the lovers. Finding her husband enjoying three-way sex was irony she could have done without.

Chapter 2

In the eight years following her divorce, she'd had three lovers. Her first affair had been with Robert, a former neighbour who had come to her house to help her erect an outside light and had started the year after her divorce. The job had taken longer than had been anticipated and it had been almost dark when he'd finished. Karen had offered him a drink and five beers and three quarters of a bottle of wine later they had ended up in bed.

Sex with Robert had been a revelation. He'd been far better in bed and more adventurous than David; paying attention to her needs, introducing her to positions other than the missionary position, but more particularly, had introduced her to the pleasures of oral sex. David had never attempted to go down on her; it had been as though he had a phobia about her cunt; treating it as unclean, refusing any form of sexual contact during her period and refusing, at any time, to put his mouth anywhere remotely in the vicinity.

She had to admit the fault wasn't just on his side; she hadn't been keen on blowing him, the thought of cum in her mouth had revolted her, but she had tried, only abandoning her task when she found it impossible to bring him to a climax. In contrast, Robert was an enthusiastic cunt-licker and he'd started every coupling with an oral attack on her cunt, licking and teasing her clit and probing her cunt with his tongue. She had responded to his enthusiasm and while not totally overcoming her revulsion to the thought of cum in her mouth, had blown him to within seconds of cumming before finishing the job with her hand.

Despite the quality of the sex, her relationship with Robert hadn't been easy. He was married and they had been forced to meet secretly, either in slightly seedy, out-of-town motels or, occasionally, at her house. It had almost come as a relief when he had abruptly ended their relationship; announcing he had qualms about cheating on his wife and thought it would be better if they did not see each other again.

Her second affair followed almost immediately after the end of her affair with Robert. Simon had been another married man, eight years younger than her and a colleague at her school. She'd fucked him at first because she'd needed to be fucked. Robert had shown her sex could be enjoyable and while Peter, her rabbit, was good at making her cum, he had his limitations – he couldn't kiss her, couldn't spray her cunt with his cum, but most of all he couldn't hold her in his arms and tell her the lies lovers tell to each other after they have made love. Simon could and did.

Over the two years they had been lovers, she had come to believe she might have been in love with him. He was attentive, good in bed and thoughtful, everything David had not been, and she had even harboured faint hopes he might leave his wife for her. Once again she had been rejected, although, on this occasion, not quite as brutally as by her former lover.

He'd been offered a position, as a Vice-Principal, on the other side of the state and despite logic telling her continuing their affair would have been almost impossible, she had come to believe he had used the move as an excuse to end their relationship. Unlike the break-up with Robert, which she'd taken in her stride, the end of the affair with Simon had left her heartbroken and she had fallen into her third relationship almost without thinking.

Her next lover was a woman. Other than her mild experimentation with her first-year university roommate; a relationship which had ended during the second semester when she'd met David, she'd never been sexually attracted to women. Her relationship with Rachel, a gym teacher at her school, had started immediately after Simon had told her of his planned move and on her part at least, had been accidental.

It had started at a pool party at Rachel's house where she had been celebrating the end of the school year with several of her colleagues. By midnight the other guests had left, leaving Rachel and her sitting by the pool and still in their swimming costumes. She had started to leave, but had been offered a night-cap and as she'd had nothing to do the next day, had stayed. Three-quarters of a bottle of wine later, she'd been almost drunk and feeling the need to share the ¬¬pain she was experiencing trying to cope with the loss of her lover.

She'd started telling her story without much emotion, merely recounting, in chronological order, brief details of the affair, but the longer she talked, the more emotional she'd become. She might have loved Simon, but now she was mad at him and if she'd had her way she would have strung him up by the balls, but as she'd talked, the anger had quickly faded to be replaced by an overwhelming feeling of despair and she'd started to cry. In between sobs, she'd poured out the intimate details of their relationship and the despair she was feeling.¬¬¬¬¬

Rachel had listened, soaking in the details, nodding and offering the odd encouraging word, but her attention was concentrated on Karen's body and in particular her tits, whose nipples had been stiffened by the cooling night air and were clearly visible through the fabric of her swimsuit. She could almost feel and see them; hard and upright; nestled between her lips, her tongue gently teasing them, but to achieve her goal she needed some way of persuading Karen to give her access to them. It wasn't going to be easy; as far as she knew, Karen was straight, but the alcohol and her resentment of her former lover might offer the opportunity.

Karen's seduction was far easier than Rachel could have imagined and started innocently enough, with a friendly, supportive hand on Karen's hand, followed by a soothing arm around her shoulder. When she'd met no resistance, she'd applied gentle pressure, pulling Karen to her until her head was resting on the top of her left tit. The final act had seen her lift Karen's chin and kiss her. Although partly extemporaneous - Rachel had no plan other than to wait for an opening - the seduction had been well-orchestrated and so effective Karen had been oblivious.

They became lovers that night and Karen had been forced to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed it. The kiss had been followed by another and then by an exploratory hand on her tits, the fingers seeking and finding the turgid nipples. She had watched, almost without emotion, as Rachel had pulled the straps of her one-piece costume down over her shoulders, exposing her tits.

"Beautiful."

She had never considered her tits to be beautiful, but Rachel's compliment pleased her.

Without another word, Rachel caressed her tits, gently cupping them in her hands before bending down and kissing, licking and sucking on the nipples. If she had been unsure of her response to Rachel's advances, the tenderness with which her would-be lover had played with her tits had served to resolve her uncertainty.

"We should go inside."

Karen nodded and followed her through the back door and via the kitchen, into the living room. The room was dark, but there was sufficient light from the street lamp her to follow Rachel's progress as she struck a match and lit the two candles sitting on the glass coffee table. As the light penetrated the darkness, she watched as Rachel faced her, smiled, blew her a kiss, kicked off her sandals and removed her bikini top. Smiling coquettishly, and holding the bikini top at the end of her extended middle finger, she walked towards her and asked,

"Why don't you take off the bottom?"

It had been a long time since she'd helped undress a woman, but she had no qualms in reaching out, undoing the left-hand tie and watching it slip down Rachel's legs.

"Thanks. Just a moment. I'm going to get us a drink."

She watched as Rachel dropped the bikini top at her feet and with the flickering candle light playing over her slim body, moved over to the buffet where she opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Her first thoughts were not about sex, but about the marked difference between Rachel's body and hers. Rachel was slim; even slimmer than her ex-husband's lovers. In the last four years, if she included Rachel, she had seen four completely naked women and with the exception of her friend Ann, they had all possessed slim, taut and hairless bodies; a complete contrast to hers. She knew she should undress, but hesitated, concerned what Rachel would think when she saw her naked.

Returning, Rachel handed her a glass and held up her own glass in a toast.

"To us."

She wasn't sure they were an 'us', but followed Rachel's lead.

"To us."

Rachel took a drink, smiled again and placed her half-full glass on the coffee table. Still smiling, she asked,

"Aren't you going to get undressed?"

She knew this was her last opportunity to say no, but simply nodded, placed her glass on the same coffee-table and withdrew the arm which was wrapped across her breast and keeping the top of her costume in place. Before she could pull the costume down, Rachel had seized hold of the bodice.

"My turn."

Rachel made removing the costume a production; sliding it tantalisingly slowly down Karen's body and over her hips, pausing from time to time to kiss and lick her body or to fondle and kiss her tits. When she reached her pubic hair she paused, looked up at Karen and smiled.

"Hirsute, I see."

She was, but she wasn't going to offer an apology or explanation.

When she had finished removing the costume, Rachel stepped back three paces and told her,

"Don't move."

Rachel inspected her body, her eyes moving up and down, almost exclusively within a zone between the top of her tits and her cunt and only briefly looking up at her face. Apparently satisfied, Rachel approached her. When she reached where Karen was standing, she stopped, reached for her tits and fondled them.

"Great tits."

The first and last time she had heard the phrase was thirty-five years ago and it had been spoken by David whom, at the time, was sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy and watching as she tentatively undid her white bra. He'd been right, she'd had great tits; she'd been younger and slimmer then and her tits, while smaller, had been firmer, but tipped with the same prominent nipples as they had today. To hear the same compliment from a woman was a surprise and the only response which came to mind was 'thank you'.

Smiling once more, Rachel took her hand and led her to a leather sofa, sat her down, sat next to her and kissed her. Whereas the kiss she had received from Rachel by the pool had not been unwelcome; the second kiss provoked an unexpected and immediate response from her body. She had accepted they would make love, but had still not overcome a nagging doubt it was wrong and she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into doing something she didn't want to do. The tingling in her cunt the kiss had engendered, removed all those doubts. Within seconds, she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into a position where she was lying prone, her right leg draped over the edge of the sofa, with Rachel kneeling on the floor, her head between her legs and her lips and tongue gently playing with and teasing her clit.

It didn't take long for her to cum, a combination of the wine, Rachel's tenderness and expertise with her mouth bringing her to her climax far more rapidly than she had ever experienced with a man. When she came, she'd grabbed her lover's head, ground it into her cunt and cried; but they had been tears of joy and relief, rather than despair.

It hadn't taken much for Rachel to persuade her to stay the night; a night during which Rachel had introduced her to lesbian sex. She knew in theory what lesbians did, but until that first night in Rachel's bed, her practical knowledge of lesbian sexuality had been limited to mutual masturbation and tentatively licking her college roommate's cunt, an endeavour she had abandoned as soon as her roommate had started to become excited. Rachel had been more insistent, demanding she lick her clit until she came and once she'd recovered from her climax, demanding she repeat it. By the end of the night she had been exhausted, but sexually content.

The next day, she'd questioned what she'd done; she wasn't a lesbian and should have rejected Rachel's advances, but she'd felt lost since losing Simon and needed someone who would show her love and compassion. She'd expected and wanted a man, but the only offer she'd had was from a female colleague and in spite of her misgivings, she had enjoyed being fucked by Rachel.

They had been lovers for almost two years and although she'd felt guilty throughout the relationship, there was something about the way Rachel made love to her which she found difficult to forego. Her relationships with Robert and Simon had brought her to realise she enjoyed sex with men and in particular, how much she loved the feeling as they plundered her cunt with their cocks, but while both men had excited her every time they'd fucked her, she found the tenderness shown by Rachel to be exciting in a different way. A confirmed lesbian, who hadn't fucked a man since her first year in college, Rachel knew exactly what pleased a woman and her mouth was an instrument of pleasure second to none, teasing and exciting her clit, driving her to orgasms so intense she was sometimes unable to bear the sensations Rachel's tongue induced.

Ultimately it wasn't anything in their sex life which had ended their affair, but Rachel's attitude to her. Lesbianism had a political as well as sexual agenda for Rachel, whereas, to her, it was just another variety of sex. Increasingly Rachel had put pressure on her to come out, admit to being a lesbian and espouse the feminist cause. When Rachel had insisted they both attend the Portland gay pride parade and had harangued her when she had refused, Karen had ended the relationship. The end, although conducted in private, had turned out to be almost as acrimonious as her divorce, but she had persisted and when it was over, had been comfortable with her decision.

Chapter 3

The third day of the storm was the twenty-fourth of December and that evening she was scheduled to go for a drink, in a down-town bar, with some of her friends and colleagues from her school. She wanted to go; two days of her own company, with the same scheduled for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, was too much, but she wouldn't be able to make it unless the driveway was ploughed. Determined to meet her friends, she called the local ploughing company, only to be told they were backed up and the best they could manage was to have somebody at her house at somewhere around four-thirty p.m. It should be enough; an hour at the most to plough the driveway and at worst, another half an hour to drive to the bar.

She spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready. When she went for a drink with her friends she usually wore a sweater and chinos, but tonight was Christmas Eve and she was old enough to believe Christmas was a special occasion. She took a bath, a departure from her usual routine of showering, lying in the soapy water until it was luke-warm and thinking about sex.

It had been four years since she'd been fucked by anyone, either man or woman, and to use the vernacular, she really needed some – she smiled to herself when she thought of the slightly old-fashioned phrase - and then smiled again when she decided what she really needed was a hard cock, preferably slick with pre-cum, driving into her more than willing cunt. Her musings excited her and although she hadn't intended, she played with herself, caressing and tweaking her nipples and rubbing her clit with the rough-textured facecloth until, with a shudder which caused a minor tsunami in the bathwater, she came.

When she had finished cumming, she lay in the bath, soaping her tits, lightly stroking her clit and wallowing in the feelings her climax had engendered. It was the cooling of the water which finally forced her out and as she dried herself, she looked at herself in the mirror. Since her divorce, her lovers, both male and female, had restored much of her confidence in her body, reassuring her, both by their words and actions, that it was still desirable. She understood it wasn't hard like Rachel's or her husband's whores; but soft, the body of a fifty-five year old and yet it possessed redeeming features. Her tits might be edging towards pendulous, but she knew they attracted men and in particular, they were attracted by her nipples. Long and thick, whenever they were cold or excited they were clearly visible through even the thickest of tops and she knew, from their reactions, they excited men; even her ex-husband had played with and suckled them.

She played with a tit, pushing it up so it was resting on her palm and at right angles to her chest and decided, tonight, she was going to give the men a thrill and she knew precisely how she was going to do it. She would wear her flimsiest and sheerest blouse and with it her new bra, the one which, while sheer enough for her nipples and areolas to be clearly visible through the lacy, almost transparent fabric, offered enough support to conquer – almost - the effects of gravity. If that didn't attract their attention, she would become a nun.

When she had finished putting on her bra, knickers and blouse, she stood, looked into the mirror again, undid the second button on her blouse; exposing the top of her bra and doubling the amount of cleavage on show, and decided she looked good - even if it was her own evaluation. For a moment, inspired by her recent adventure in the bath, she harboured hopes of attracting a man and perhaps, if she was lucky, a hard cock to end her over-long period of abstinence. Before she could expand on her fantasy, her thoughts were interrupted by the melodic chime of the front door-bell; the sound returning her to the present and her predicament.

Covering the blouse and underwear with an old, matronly housecoat, she went to the front door and opened it to find a youngish man on the doorstep, muffled to the eyebrows, and behind him, parked some thirty or so yards up her driveway, a black pick-up truck complete with snowplough.

"Karen Lincoln?" She nodded. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm Chris Marsh from Maine Towing. I'm sorry I'm late, but we've been inundated with calls. It seems everyone is going out tonight."

"That's all right; you're here now. I don't know if they told you, but I need to be out of here by six to six-thirty at the latest. If it's a problem for you, just clear the space in front of the garage and a path down the driveway wide enough for me to get my car out."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get on to it right away, but before I do, may I have a drink of water?"

"You may." Ever the English teacher, she was amazed a snowplough operator knew the difference between 'can' and 'may'; most of her friends, including some from school, used the terms interchangeably and she was often tempted to correct them. After stamping his feet on the doormat and depositing a small pile of snow in her hallway, the young man took off his boots, revealing grey woollen socks with pink feet. She laughed and realising what she'd done, put her hand to her mouth.

"It's all right; my sister knitted them as a joke and sent them to me last Christmas. I suppose I should have expected your response, but you're the first person, other than me and my sister, who has seen them."

Well, she thought, he's probably not queer and obviously not married or even living with anyone - male or female. Given the circumstances, it was an odd thought and when she had finished, she'd asked herself; but why would I care?

"Do you want coffee instead? You must be frozen."

"Thank you, ma'am, but water will do."

He followed her into the kitchen where she filled a glass with water from the tap. While he drank, she looked at him more closely. When she'd seen him at the door he'd looked young, a closer look, in the brighter light of the kitchen, indicated he was older than she had thought; somewhere in his mid-thirties, but he was tall, good looking and seemingly well-mannered.

When he had finished the water, he thanked her and went outside, leaving her standing at the door and watching him walk slowly through the deep snow to his truck; his feet seeking, with little success, to retrace his footsteps. He got into the cab and as he did, she closed the door, went into the living room and stood by the window. It was nearly dark, but she could just make out his silhouette as he sat in the cab.

She watched, waiting for the tell-tale smoke from the tail-pipe which would indicate the engine had started. She waited for two to three minutes, but there was no smoke and as far as she could tell, no sound of the engine firing. Apparently unable to start the truck, he opened the cab door and wrench in his hand, a made his way to the front of the truck, where he opened the hood and paused for a few seconds before attacking the engine with the wrench. After two whacks, he returned to the cab, tried the engine again and based the absence of smoke from the exhaust, with no success.

For a quarter of an hour Karen watched as he alternated between using the wrench to attack an unspecified part of the engine - she later discovered it was the starter motor - and lying down under the engine and fiddling with something. The result didn't vary; after each attempt at repair he returned to the cab and tried the key in a futile effort to start the engine. Apparently beaten, he removed the keys from the ignition and headed back to the house, Karen watched him make his way from the truck and before he could ring the door-bell, had opened the front door and let him in.

"It's no good; the truck won't start. It spluttered twice on the way here and once in your driveway before it finally stalled where it is now. I thought it might be a problem with the gasoline being frozen, but whether or not it was the original problem, right now I'm fairly sure the starter's jammed and there's no way I'm going to be able to start it."

"What are you going to do?"

"Have a hot drink and warm up, if I may. It's freezing out there."

"You may have both, young man."

Once more she found herself surprised and for some reason, pleased, at his use of the word 'may'. The first time might have been an accident, but his repeated used of the word and in context, led her to believe there something about him which would bear further investigation. She watched and waited as he removed his jacket and boots, once again exposing the pink-footed socks.

"Come into the kitchen."

They moved into the kitchen; Karen busying herself making coffee while Chris sat at the kitchen table, trying to get warm and considering his options. It was unlikely he would be able to get his truck repaired before the morning and the only solution appeared to be to walk into town. The prospect was daunting: it was freezing cold, the snow was at least three feet deep and it was almost five miles to his apartment. The only alternative which presented itself was to ask her if he could sleep on her couch, but as she was a single woman living on her own in an isolated location, he thought her approval unlikely.

"Cream? Sugar?"

He nodded and waited until she found the sugar bowl. She watched as he added cream and two spoonsful of sugar into his coffee; she drank it black and unsweetened and couldn't understand how people could add cream, let alone sugar.

They talked for a few minutes and drank their coffee; he told her about the road conditions in and around town, while she outlined her plans for the evening. When he'd finished, he asked to use the telephone and called his office. The call was brief and unproductive.

"The office wasn't too optimistic; the mechanic is out fixing a plough on the other side of town which, from the sounds of it, is going to take some time. At best, they expect him be finished in about a couple of hours, but they've warned me they don't know if he will be able to get through as there's been a crash on the highway involving half-a-dozen cars and two tractor-trailers and according to the boss, it's unlikely to be cleared before midnight."

It wasn't the answer she'd wanted; she had to be in town by seven-thirty; eight at the latest.

"Isn't there something else you can do?"

"I can try the AAA, but I don't hold out much hope. In this kind of weather the wait is usually two to three hours and since the road is blocked, they'll have to come from Dexter."

The answer from the AAA was worse than he had anticipated. The best they could offer was four to five hours; 'all being well and 'probably not until the morning'. He relayed the news to her and was rewarded with a frown.

"I guess that puts an end to my night out and I was really looking forward to a drink with my friends."

"I'm sorry to spoil your evening, the truck is fairly old, but it's usually reliable. If you give me a few more minutes to warm through, I'll walk back into town and try and pick up another starter."

It was a ridiculous suggestion, the snow was at least three feet deep, the wind was still blowing at gale force levels and creating almost white-out conditions and it was four miles to the edge of town.

"Don't be silly. I'm reconciled to the fact I'm not going to make it into town and I don't feel like being the person responsible for you being found frozen to death alongside the highway. If you have to be in town for some other reason, then go, although I don't advise it; but don't do it just for me."

He hadn't any reason to go. He lived alone; he'd left his wife four years into their marriage when one of his friends had told him he'd seen her coming out of a hotel with her boss; they'd had no children and most of his family lived in England. As usual, Christmas was going to be spent in his apartment and on his own, eating a micro-waved frozen turkey dinner, drinking five or six beers and making a couple of Christmas morning 'Merry Christmas' telephone calls to England.

"I've nothing to go for, but I'll have to leave sometime and it's probably better if I leave now rather than later."

She looked at him closely; he was well mannered, he didn't look like a serial rapist or an axe murderer; his office knew he was at her house – and his English was good.

"If that's the case, why don't you stay here until somebody gets through to us? If doesn't matter if it takes all night, I've got a couple of spare bedrooms and enough food and drink to feed and water the five thousand."

It was an offer out of the blue, but, given he didn't relish the prospect of a five mile walk in the snow, acceptable.

"Are you sure?"

"Young man, I wouldn't make the offer it I wasn't sure. Hang your parka on the hook by the door and come into the living room and have a drink."

The living room was warm, heated by an open wood fire and decorated for Christmas; with Christmas cards on the mantle-piece and in one corner, a tree covered in assorted ornaments and fairy lights. There was an old-fashioned record player in another corner and she went over, took a record out of a sleeve, put it on and waited until she heard the first strains of a concert of carols by the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral.

"Isn't that the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral? When I was a child, our family always used to listen to them on Christmas Eve."

"It is."

She was surprised he recognised them; it wasn't what she would have expected from a thirty-odd year old snowplough driver. Suddenly occurred to her, there was something odd about his accent she hadn't quite been able to pinpoint. She had been certain it wasn't from anywhere in New England, but had been reluctant to ask. Now she understood.

"You're from England."

He smiled and nodded.

"I am, but I've been in the States on and off since I was seventeen. I came with my parents and sister – my dad's a petroleum engineer and he got a job based in Houston. I lived there for two years before my parents separated. When my mother and sister went back to England I stayed with my father, but left after a couple of months."

"You didn't like Houston?"

"I couldn't stand my father's girlfriend. It was she who caused my parents to split-up and I wasn't too happy when she moved in within a month of my mother leaving. She was fairy young, probably only nine or ten years older than me, attractive, but dumb and although I don't like the word, a slut. It was clear my father was thinking with the brain between his legs when he latched on to her.

"One night, when my father was out of town, she came into my bedroom and propositioned me. She'd made suggestive comments from time to time prior to this episode, but this time there was definitely no room for mis-interpretation. She was drunk, stark naked and remarkably persistent. All I can say is I somehow managed to escape with my virtue intact. I left the next morning and went back to England."

"When did you come back to the States?"

"About five years later."

"Why did you come back?"

"After having lived in Texas, I found I was really missing deep fried okra – okay, just kidding – actually I got a job in New York with a branch of a European engineering company."

An engineer turned snowplough operator, she realised she'd fallen into the trap of assuming a snowplough operator was unlikely to have been educated beyond high-school.

"Go on."

"Go on, what?"

"Tell me how you went from being an engineer to a snowplough operator."

"It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay. I'll try to keep it short."

The first five years of his story were what she would have expected of a man of his age and she had to wait until he recounted his years in the States to glean some insight into his personality. On his return to England he'd gone to live with his mother and sister before going to the University of Liverpool where he'd studied Engineering – apparently only when it hadn't interfered with his social life. On graduation, he'd joined a large European engineering company and when the opportunity to work in New York had arisen, had applied for and been given the job.

"Did you like it?"

"I did at first, but after a while it became monotonous. The only reason I stayed was the money. I met my wife the second week after I landed in New York and we got married a year later. In short order, we had done all the usual, what used to be called yuppie, things; bought a house we couldn't afford, a couple of fancy imported European cars, been on exotic holidays and all that took money - lots of money."

"Why did you leave?"

"I got divorced about four years after I married and after I did, I realised I didn't want the job or need the money. I left the engineering firm and got a job as a manager in a friend's hardware store."

"So, how did you end up in Maine?"

"I followed my prick."

"You did what?"

"I followed my prick. After my divorce, I lived with a woman for almost two years and when she got a job here in Maine, I followed her. I knew I didn't love her, but she was easy to live with, good in bed and the hardware store was becoming a drag. It didn't last, she wanted something I wasn't prepared to give her; namely, a wedding ring, and so we split up about nine months after we moved. I've been here ever since."

"And do you like it in Maine?"

"I do."

"How long have you lived in this area?"

"Almost six years."

The answer was a surprise. She'd guessed he was in his mid-thirties, he certainly looked it, but based on his potted biography, he was either thirty-nine or forty and fifteen not twenty years younger than her. It was still fifteen years, but the five years reduction in the age gap made her feel more comfortable; he had almost become one of her generation.

"And why did you become a snowplough operator?"

"Now that's a long and convoluted story."

She realised she'd pried enough and decided the rest of his story could come at a later date – if there was to be a later date.

"Okay. Enough said. What do you miss about England?"

He laughed; once people realised he came from England, almost everybody he'd met had asked him the same question.

"The pubs, good beer, my mother and sister, football and cricket - although not necessarily in that order."

"Talking of drink, can I offer you one?"

"If I have anything other than pop, you're stuck with me for the night. My contract with the ploughing company doesn't allow me to have any alcohol in my system when I'm working."

It wasn't a displeasing option. She'd been looking forward to going into town, but the prospect of having this young man to herself for the evening and given the state of the roads and weather, maybe for all of Christmas Day, had become more appealing than a struggle through the snow and a drink with her friends.

"Beer, wine? I think I might even have some scotch somewhere."

"I'll have whatever you're having."

She took a bottle from a wine-rack on top of the buffet and in the manner of a sommelier, showed it to him.

"It's a red; a Californian Shiraz."

A beer man, who usually drank imported English beer, the last time he'd drunk wine was when he was living in New York and he couldn't tell the difference between a Californian Shiraz and an Outer-Mongolian Baby Duck, but he nodded, jumped up and offered to open the bottle. She smiled to herself; it was apparent, from the blank look on his face when she had shown him the bottle, he knew little about wine, but if he wanted to play the gentleman, she wouldn't stop him.

They took their drinks and went to sit in old leather armchairs, one on each side of the fireplace; where they talked, enjoyed the wine and the warmth thrown out by the fire. Finishing her wine, Karen got up and excused herself; she'd been sitting in her housecoat and while comfortable, it was clearly not appropriate attire for entertaining a gentleman guest on Christmas Eve.

In her bedroom, she sat and took stock of the situation. They were two, fancy-free individuals who, other than keep each other company, had nothing to do on a Christmas Eve. At the least, they could have something to eat and drink; at the best, they could do the same and end up in bed.

The thought of sex with her guest brought about a myriad of physiological changes which she hadn't experienced for a long time. Her body started to tremble, her heart rate increased and what was most telling, her nipples hardened and her cunt started to become moist. I must be stupid, she thought, to believe a man as young as Chris would be interested in me. Nevertheless, when she returned to the living room she was still wearing the silk blouse, but had removed the housecoat, put on make-up and added a knee-length, A-line wool skirt which disguised her hips and emphasised her feminine shape.

He was impressed, without make-up and swaddled in her house-coat, he'd paid little attention to her looks, but without the house-coat; wearing make-up and with the sheer, silk blouse emphasising her tits and providing an almost unrestricted view of her nipples, she was no longer a slightly frumpy, middle-aged woman. She was attractive and obviously a woman who, in the words of his now dead grandmother, 'washed up well'. He smiled at her and was rewarded with a smile in return.

"Am I allowed to tell you that you look great?"

She laughed.

"You most certainly are. In fact, there are no restrictions on compliments."

"Then you look beautiful."

"Why thank you, young man, this old woman is most gratified – even if you are just being gallant."

He looked at her closely, she must be in her fifties, but she had an attractive face, which was dotted with freckles, with just a few lines around her mouth and in the corner of her eyes, short, almost copper coloured hair and a body which, while not sylph-like, was clearly feminine. His wife had been slim; almost boy-like and had spent hours in the gym ensuring her body-fat content didn't exceed fifteen per cent. He hadn't minded her working out, but in bed, particularly when taking her doggy fashion, had found her almost boy-like frame, mildly disconcerting.

"Not at all. You're not old and you do look great."

"I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Then my father, whoever he was, would have been risking statutory rape charges."

She laughed; the young man was certainly a smooth operator. Still, she didn't mind; it had been a long time since she'd been complimented on her looks and she was enjoying it.

"Pour me another drink will you, Chris? I'm going into the kitchen to see what I've got in the 'fridge. I'm sure you're hungry."

He poured the drink and followed her in, holding both her glass and his while she poked around in the freezer and the 'fridge.

"If you want something quickly, it'll have to be a chicken Kiev or a burger."

He didn't like garlic; he couldn't stand the smell or the lingering taste and was amazed how people who would be horrified if they thought they had body odour, were content to breath garlic over unsuspecting bystanders.

"A burger would be great."

It took her fifteen minutes to prepare a salad and cook the burger, by the end of which they had both finished their wine and he had laid the kitchen table. They sat at the table, ate, drank the remainder of the bottle of wine and talked. He told her more about his life in England and New York and his marriage and she told him about her job, her ex-husband and her children. By the time they had finished their meal, both knew more about the intimate details of the other's private life than anyone other than their closest friends.

When they returned to the living room, they were greeted by a fire which needed tending. While he added logs, which he took from a brass scuttle located on the hearth, she opened a second bottle of wine and replenished both of their glasses. They sat and talked; sipping the wine and becoming increasingly mellow and increasingly aware of their companion's physical presence.

It was an innocent action which broke the ice. Leaning down to pick up a log and add it to the fire, she'd put her glass down on the hearth and as she did, her blouse had gaped open, exposing the top of her tits. It was the seminal moment in their relationship. Even when she had been swaddled in her shapeless housecoat, he had realised her tits were larger than average, but the creamy white expanse, visible as she bent forward, was clearly larger than he had imagined. His first reaction was a slight intake of breath, his second a rush of blood to his cock.

When they both looked up, it was almost a comedy of errors; he smiled almost shamefacedly and averted his eyes from hers, but in doing so, returned his gaze to her cleavage; she smiled back and seeing where he was looking, covered her cleavage with her arm. He smiled again, almost a smile of apology; she smiled back, almost a smile of approval.

"Like what you see?"

She wasn't usually so forthright, but the wine and the circumstances had reduced her inhibitions.

"I do. I do."

She smiled again and moved over to sit on the floor at his feet, ensuring her cleavage and the top of her bra were clearly visible. She put her hands on his knees, rested her cheek on her hands and looked into the fire. It was Christmas Eve and his presence was a present she had not envisioned. He reached down and stroked her hair; she closed her eyes and relaxed, wondering where they would go from here.

Unsure of her response, but increasingly excited by her proximity and his view of her tits, he reached down, lifted her face and kissed her, gently at first, but when she responded, far more intently. The kiss seemed to last forever; almost innocent at first, as he became aroused, he pushed his tongue into her mouth and used it to fence with hers. Karen smiled to herself; the last time anyone had French-kissed her was in high school and now a young man – toy boy might be more appropriate – was French-kissing her. When she finally broke their bond, she let out a 'phew' and said,

"It's really warm in here. I'm going to change."

He watched as she got up and left the room. It was the second time she had gone to change in just over an hour and he hoped she was intending to swap her blouse and bra for an easily removed top or, even better, she would return, in the manner of a film-star from the black and while film era, clad only in a long, clinging, white silk robe.

While she changed, he waited expectantly, his cock filling the front of his trousers, his heart beating rapidly; if she had smiled at the thought of French kissing, he smiled at the rate his heart was beating. It was almost like the first time he'd made love and although he was usually secure in the knowledge he was a more than competent lover, he hoped, should they end up in bed, his performance would be better than his first fumblings in the back seat of his father's car in the entrance to a farmer's field somewhere in rural Lincolnshire.

When she reached her bedroom, Karen sat at the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. The lines around her eyes and mouth were clearly visible and using both hands, she pulled her skin taut until they disappeared. When she saw the results, she stopped immediately; the lines may have disappeared, but she looked like a younger Jocelyn Wildenstein. If he's interested in me, he's going to have to accept me as I am, she thought, although it doesn't mean I can't try to improve the odds.

While they had been sitting and talking, she had been plotting his seduction. She was certain he wanted to fuck her, but she wasn't going to leave anything to chance. Removing her clothes, but resisting the temptation to look at herself in the mirror, she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out her pièce-de-resistance – a red, waist length, half-cup, open-bra bustier and matching garter belt. She and Ann had bought the same outfit in a sex-shop in New York City and although she'd never worn hers, other than the day she'd bought it, it was obviously erotic and according to Ann, had worked wonders for her marriage - 'he fucked the ass off me' were her exact words when describing the first time she'd worn it. Now she needed it to work a similar magic for her.

Still with her back to the mirror, she put on the bustier and followed with the garter belt and a pair of black nylons complete with seams, before turning and looking at her reflection. She smiled, the bustier looked good, its colour providing a pleasing contrast to her naturally pale skin, the bra enhancing the already ample proportions of her tits and pointing her exposed and still erect nipples directly forward. She stroked the top of her tits, tweaked the nipples and shuddered as she felt a tingling in her cunt. I may be fifty-odd, she thought, but if this doesn't turn him on, I've got no chance of seducing him.

Taking her eyes from her tits, she looked down at the garter belt and below it her pubic hair. She wasn't self-conscious about it – if she had been, she would have shaved it off – but it wasn't the norm and she wondered whether it would it look better, sexier, more erotic and perhaps less forward, if she put on a pair of knickers? It probably didn't matter; if the bustier worked, it wouldn't be long before they would be around her ankles, but a pair of knickers might complete the outfit.

She went back to the drawer and picked out a pair of matching red silk knickers, bought at the same time as the bustier, and put them on. Flimsy and so small they almost qualified as a thong, she knew they were a little inappropriate for a woman of her girth, but they looked sexy. Finished with her undergarments, she refreshed her lipstick and donned a pair of four inch high-heels, in an almost matching red, and a dark-blue silk kimono; the latter a present from her lesbian lover.

When she returned to the living room, her progress across the floor was watched intently by Chris. He had hoped to see her tits jiggling as she walked; providing evidence she had removed her bra, but was disappointed when it appeared what she was wearing was at least as restricting as the items she'd been wearing before she'd gone to change. She stopped at the buffet and asked,

"Want another drink?"

"I've still got a drop left in my glass." Seeing the look of disappointment in her eyes, he added, "But you can bring the bottle."

She returned to the fire, the bottle in her hand, and resumed her position at his feet. The kimono was wrapped around her body and tied tightly at the waist and when he looked down, he was disappointed to find, even if he leant forward, the amount of cleavage on show was considerably less than he had been able to see down her blouse.

"Feel more comfortable?"

She realised he wanted to know what she'd done with her clothes and was pleased by his obvious interest in her attire.

"Yes I do. Do you like my kimono? It's from Japan."

He did; covered in ferocious, long-tailed dragons; their bodies stretching, snake-like, around the garment; it appeared to be silk and expensive, but it was what was under the kimono he was anxious to determine.

He leant down; kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair and was rewarded by a low 'mmmm' and the subtle movement of her body against his knee. He stroked her hair and trailed the back of his hand down her cheek and was rewarded with another 'mmmm' and a less subtle movement of her right tit as it brushed against his thigh. He could feel her tit, but it was difficult to determine what she was she wearing. He smiled to himself; they were adults, both had been married and they were both acting like teenagers, but whether she was ready or not, he was convinced it wouldn't be long before they were doing very adult things to each other

"Feels good."

"What?"

"Your tits."

She blushed; but given what she had been planning, she shouldn't have. For the first time in her life, she had decided she was not prepared to wait for a would-be lover to make the first move. She had considered adopting an aggressive approach and asking whether he would like to 'fuck her' or even the less direct 'take her to bed', but had rejected both as she was not confident enough to face rejection. In the end, she had chosen to convey her message in a way which would indicate her willingness to engage in sex, but allow her an out if he took exception to her advances. Brushing her tits against his legs rather than a spoken offer had provided her with that out.

"They do?"

"They do."

His reply was enough evidence for her to decide he was interested and without waiting for any further confirmation, she reached down, pulled at the obi and let the kimono open, exposing the bustier and her tits. He paused for a moment, looking at them and excited by what he saw; while she looked up at his face, trying to interpret what he was thinking.

"Wow."

She smiled; it was an expression used by her age group, not his.

"I've never seen anything like it - or them."

"It's a bustier. It's the first time I've worn it. Do you like it?

"I do. Why don't you stand up and let me see what it looks like."

She stood up immediately; his reaction all she could have hoped for. He looked for a moment; she looked fabulous. Who would have thought the slightly frumpy matron would undress so well?

"Turn around."

She pirouetted until she was facing away from him and wiggled her bum.

"Mmm. Nice ass."

Did he really mean it or was he just being nice? It didn't matter; he was saying all the right things. She turned to face him and watched as he stood up and started to remove his shirt. It was as if they had agreed, almost by osmosis, to having sex. Neither had said anything, but it was clear to both they had agreed on consummating their relationship – however brief.

"Let me help."

If she wanted to help, he had no objection and he stood and waited as she knelt down and undid the waistband of his trousers. She could see his cock was at full mast and wanted to see it. At first, she was all fingers and thumbs, but with his help, it took just a few seconds to remove his clothes, leaving him standing in his underwear; a pair of blue and white Calvin Klein bikini briefs. She was surprised, she had expected boxers, her two male lovers and David had worn boxers, but what was more surprising and pleasing was the size of his cock, clearly rampant with most of the head poking over the top of the waistband. Before she pulled them down, she licked her lips with an involuntarily movement of her tongue; it had only been a slight movement, but he'd noticed.

He had a beautiful, slightly tanned body, with tight, athletic muscles and much more masculine than any of her former male lovers. Briefly, she wondered if he was thinking about her and if he was, was he comparing her body with the bodies of his female contemporaries? In their thirties, these women would not be in the first flush of youth, but their bodies would still not have surrendered completely to gravity. She was at least fifteen years older than him and she knew, even allowing for her age, her body was by no means perfect, but in spite of its imperfections, he appeared to like it.

She pulled down his briefs and looked at his cock, if his body was perfect, so was his cock. Uncircumcised – she didn't like them cut as they seemed unfinished somehow – and now she could see it all. Big and lightly coated in pre-cum, she could almost feel it sliding between the lips of her cunt.

He leant down, kissed her and stroked her bum with his left hand. She liked it and liked it even more when he moved backwards slightly, stroked the top of her tits and played with her nipples.

"Nice. Really nice."

It was a game two could play and she wanted to participate. She reached down and stroked his cock.

"Nice. Really nice...... and big."

He laughed, reached into the cup of the bustier and as if weighing it, held one of her tits in the palm of his hand. It was both heavy and big and couldn't be contained totally within his palm.

"Before you ask, they're thirty-six double D or E; depending on the bra."

"I wasn't wondering about their size, merely enjoying holding them."

It sounded like a mild rebuke and she accepted she deserved it.

He kissed her again and while they were kissing, inserted his hand into the front of her knickers and was mildly shocked to feel pubic hair. So far, he had concentrated his attention on her tits and bum and had no inkling she would be unshaven. His wife had been fastidious in ensuring she removed every follicle of hair and not just from her pubic region, but from all of her body. His other lovers had not been as determined as his wife, but the most pubic hair he had seen since he returned to the States had been his last girl-friend's sparse, well-trimmed, three inch long and two inch wide landing strip.

He looked down to where his hand was holding open the waistband to her knickers. Pulling back the waistband even further, he looked at her pubic hair. Luxuriant, spreading across her belly to her upper thighs, it was copper coloured, the same colour as the hair on her head, but whereas the latter contained the faintest hint of grey, the former was unmarred by the signs of age. As far as he could tell, it had not been groomed, but for some reason, rather than being turned-off, it excited him. She'd noticed his hesitation when he'd inserted his hand and asked,

"You don't like pubic hair? I know a lot of women shave. I guess I'm old fashioned."

"Not at all. I like it."

He knew shaved cunts were the norm among younger women in North America, but couldn't understand why. He'd grown up in in the eighties and early nineties in a small town in the east of England and it wasn't until he emigrated to the States he'd seen a shaved cunt. Not that he'd had the opportunity to conduct a significant sample, as the only women's cunts he'd seen had been those of his sister, all three of his girl-friends and a couple of accidental sighting of his mother's and they had all possessed pubic hair. The first bald cunt he'd seen had been that of his father's girlfriend and given the circumstances, he'd paid little attention to it. His wife had been the second and when he'd watched her take off her knickers for the first time, he'd almost laughed.

"I don't really understand why women think they have to shave their cunts – or under their arms for that matter. It makes them look like children."

Re-assured, she waited as he played with her pubic hair, running his fingers through and stroking it as if it was something new to him. Satisfied, he licked a finger and teased her clit, waiting until his manipulations had resulted in it becoming engorged before inserting his index finger into her cunt. She was wet and given the absence of an objection to his probing, obviously willing.

Taking her hand, he led her back to one of the chairs by the fire and without speaking, pulled her knickers down until they reached her ankles.

"Pick your foot up." No please or thank you, but she obeyed. "And now the other." Again no please or thank you; just an order.

"Stand there; I want to look at you."

It was the second time in less than five minutes he had ordered her to pose for him, but now she was partially naked and exposed. For almost a minute he looked at her; shifting his head slightly as his gaze shifted from her tits to her cunt and after motioning her to turn round, her bum. From time to time, he smiled and issued what seemed to be approving 'mmms' and when it appeared he had seen enough, spoke,

"Not bad. Not bad at all. Sit down in the chair."

She sat and he followed, sitting on his knees on the floor in front of her, his eyes at tit level. He licked his lips and smiled before stretching out his hand and parting the lips of her cunt. She squirmed; his approach was a little more direct than she had expected.

"I'm going to lick your cunt and when I've finished with you, you're going to suck my cock – and you have to swallow."

She looked at him; they'd met for the first time less than three hours ago and he was ordering her around, making assumptions about what she wanted and what she was prepared to do. She ought to chastise him, but had no inclination to so do. In comparison to Chris, all the men in her life had been milquetoasts and rather than being affronted by his effrontery, his attitude excited her; so much so she could feel her cunt becoming wetter and wetter.

"Open your legs."

She opened her legs and was roughly pulled forward until her cunt was poised on the edge of the seat cushion. He inserted a finger and started to finger-fuck her, pushing his finger upwards into her cunt, as if seeking her g-spot. Whatever he was doing, it was exciting and she started to respond, her hips moving backwards and forwards in time with his thrusts. He inserted another finger and it was enough to start her orgasm. She started to buck harder, driving her clit against the palm of his hand. She was coming; another five or six seconds and she would be there – and then his hand was gone.

"Why did you stop?"

"I wanted to. Get up."

She wanted to be angry with him, she was within seconds of cumming and he'd denied her. She started to say something and was rewarded with a narrowing of his eyes and an order,

"Get up."

She rose and they exchanged positions so it was now he who occupied the same precarious position at the edge of the chair, while she knelt on the floor, facing him. Once comfortable, he got hold of his cock, pointed it at her and demanded,

"Suck it."

She didn't mind complying. From the first moment she'd caught sight of his cock, she'd had an overwhelming desire to take it in her mouth and to suck and lick every inch. If she had a minor qualm; it was whether he was too large for her to deep throat. She'd learnt the technique from Robert, but both he and Simon had been smaller than Chris and she wasn't sure whether she could take all of it.

She got hold of the base and wanked it twice, but it was slippery with pre-cum and her hand slipped. Concerned, she stopped and looked into his eyes, only to find them closed.

"Did I tell you to stop?"

He hadn't and she returned to her task, first licking the rim and smiling when his cock flinched; it might be bigger and he might be less courteous than her other lovers, but they all liked the same things. She edged her mouth over the head; it was big, but nowhere near as big as her mouth, and seeking to swallow it all, she relaxed her throat and inched her lips down the shaft. It was difficult, but she succeeded; her nose finally nestling against his pubic bone.

Blowing him wasn't easy. His cock was thick and although she had engaged in oral sex with both Robert and Simon, she wasn't an expert at blow jobs. Having never voluntarily sucked a man until he reached his climax, she had never experienced the feeling of teasing the last vestiges of cum from a lover's cock and watching, cock in mouth, as his stomach muscles finally stopped convulsing and his thigh muscles ceased quivering.

At first she found it difficult to accommodate his cock, but once she had, it didn't take long before she was able to settle into a rhythm which, from his response, clearly suited him. Within seconds his breath was becoming laboured and his thighs muscles alternatively tightening and relaxing as he sought to push himself to his climax. When he came, her response was something she had not intended when she had started. She had expected to follow her usual pattern and bring him to his climax by wanking him, but as her excitement grew, she realised, for the first time in her life, she wanted a man to cum in her mouth; for her mouth to become the receptacle for her lover's cum. It was his order, the first words he'd spoken since she'd wrapped her lips around his cock, which settled the matter.

"Swallow it. Swallow it, bitch."

As he spoke he grabbed her head, forcing his cock down her throat and almost choking her. Whenever she had gone down on her female lover, Rachel had done a similar thing; holding her head and face-fucking her until she came. She had found it exciting and hadn't minded her female friend using and abusing her mouth to reach her climax, but this was different; he was big, he was using her mouth like a cunt and he was choking her.

She ought to fight him, to stop servicing him, but she was aroused by the thought of his cum flooding her mouth and rather than reject him, she only fought against his hands until she had pulled her head back far enough to be able to accommodate his thrusts. Just as she accomplished the task, he came; his cum pulsing out of his cock as if driven by hydraulic pressure from deep in his balls, hitting the back of her throat and flooding her mouth.

Between thrusts, she swallowed, fighting, with some difficulty, to avoid gagging as he drove his cock into her mouth and watching as his thigh and stomach muscles juddered repeatedly as she coaxed the last of his cum from his balls. Immediately following his last spasm, he pulled his cock out of her mouth, almost glared at her and demanded,

"Show me, woman. Show me my cum."

She opened her mouth, put out her tongue and showed him the remaining vestiges of his seed. There wasn't much left, but it was evidence enough she had obeyed his orders.

"Okay. Swallow it."

She swallowed and opened her mouth, laughing as she provided evidence she'd followed his instructions.

"That's good."

He kissed her once, almost as a reward, and sat back in the chair, his wilting cock listing to the left and glistening with their cum.

"Clean it up."

Another instruction; again no 'please' or 'thank you', but she followed his directions without demurring. It had taken her mere minutes to realise she liked being told what to do and although it had never happened to her before, she was finding being controlled by a man was exciting and even more so, since it was this man.

En route to his cock to comply with his order, she leant forward so that her hair brushed his belly and when he flinched, she smiled; he was still sensitive; he obviously hadn't totally recovered from his climax. She licked his cock slowly and sensually; it was nowhere near the size of the monster which had violated her mouth, but she found the slimy, soft texture was erotic. She laved it from the tip to his balls and back again and as she did she stroked his balls; she'd never felt so aroused by or so close to a man and she wanted to prolong the moment.

When she could find no further excuse to continue, she kissed the end and then flicked it with her tongue, smiling as she watched it flop limply against his thigh. He sat there, enjoying her ministrations, but saying nothing as he considered his options. When he recovered, he was going to fuck her, but where and how were the questions.

Sat at his feet, she was also thinking about being fucked, but her thoughts were directed to her fantasies. As she'd got older and especially since she'd had no lover, she'd started to harbour fantasies, some of which were derived from what she thought of as the dark side, and involved sexual partners and practices, some of which she knew were forbidden by law and others which were only barely legal; but in all cases, just fantasies.

Her favourite was one in which she was being gang raped by men in uniform. She had visualised policemen and soldiers as her rapists, but preferred firemen and in particular, firemen clad only in shiny, yellow neoprene, bib-style overalls; their buff, tanned and well-muscled bodies based upon images on a calendar she'd bought in support of the local fire-department. In her fantasy she was spread-eagled, her wrists tied to the fire pole and draped doggy-fashion over a hose reel, her cunt and bum totally exposed and available; able to look forward, but unable to see who was violating her, knowing she would be taken, in turn, by the entire department and the non-participants would be standing in front of her, watching her being violated and slowly wanking their giant-sized cocks as they waited their turn.

She knew her rape fantasy was just that, fantastic, but there was a fantasy which she thought might be within the realms of possibility. It too involved being bound, but in this fantasy there was only one man; a man who was her master; a man who would control her, who would use and abuse her body. She'd not had the courage or the inclination to broach the subject with her other lovers, primarily because she couldn't see any of them as her master, playing with and abusing her tied and bound body, but there was a chance with this man.

They had been strangers, but right from the start he had taken control of their lovemaking; showing none of the reserve shown by her previous lovers. It appeared, from his actions, control was something he craved and if he asked, she realised she was prepared to cede it. The thought was exciting and her already moist cunt, started to flood; her nipples growing to the extent they were almost as large as when she had been nursing her children. She'd never felt like this before and she knew, if there was man who could to fulfil her fantasies, it had to be him.

"Chris, have you ever tried bondage?"

She understood it was a more direct question than she had intended, but however hard she'd tried, she'd been unable to see any other way of introducing the subject.

He looked at her; was she asking him a question or suggesting they try it?

"No. I've seen it in porno videos and photographs, but I've never tried it."

He might not have tried it, but he'd seen videos and had thought about it often. It excited him; he had always wanted control of his lovemaking and if he was being honest, he would have to admit his divorce may have been partly attributable to his ex-wife's resistance to his desire to exercise control during their love-making. He'd tried it with his other lovers, but with only limited success; none of them had been prepared to cede the degree of control he desired.

"Are you opposed to trying it?"

That depends, he thought; it depends on who was the controller and who was the controllee. As long as it was he who was in charge, he certainly wasn't opposed.

"I might. Would you like to try?"

She would, but in the same way she had not been sufficiently confident to propose they fuck, she didn't want to appear too enthusiastic about bondage

"I might."

It was all the agreement he needed and without asking, he picked her up from the floor and led her, naked from the waist down, hand in hand up the stairs. He'd made his decision about the 'where'; he was going to take her on her bed, but the 'how' had not been resolved.

On the landing he paused and asked,

"Which is your room?"

"It's the one on the left."

The room was a surprise; almost a throwback to the seventies, its walls covered in flower-patterned, Laura Ashley wallpaper, a brass bedstead, a décor comprising greens, oranges and purples, candles on many of the flat surfaces and a sou'wester sporting Winnie-the-Pooh on the bed. He wanted to laugh, but didn't; his parent's bedroom had been decorated by the same interior decorator and it had been only when they moved to Houston they'd redecorated in a more contemporary pattern – one which had been only ten years out of date. He pointed to the bed.

"Get in."

She got into bed and waited for him to join her. The room was cooler than the living room and she had to resist the temptation to pull the bedclothes up around her neck. He looked at her and smiled a smile which, while it couldn't be classified as a leer, engendered in her a feeling of both trepidation and expectation. Trepidation, because it seemed to hold some form of threat and expectation, because she knew he was going to fuck her and she couldn't wait to feel his beautiful cock sliding into her cunt.

He climbed onto the bed and stood with his feet either side of her body. Holding his cock in his left hand, he pointed to it with his right and said,

"You see that?" She nodded. "From now on this is to your god, your reason for living and everything you do will be guided by the need for you to pay homage to and satisfy its needs. Do you understand?"

He was aware his words were at the outer limits of hyperbole, his cock wasn't a god and she wouldn't be expected to treat it as such, but at that moment, standing over her vulnerable body, he was feeling powerful and if a little hyperbole would serve to establish the nature of their relationship, he was prepared to use some.

"I do."

Still standing, he leant down and pulled back the covers; once more leaving her totally exposed. Without thinking, she crossed her hands over her exposed cunt, only to have them roughly pulled away.

"Don't do that. Don't you realise I'm your master and you have to comply, without objection, with whatever I tell you to do? You are not allowed to cover yourself. From this moment on you have to provide me full access, at all times, to your mouth, cunt and tits. Do you understand?"

It wasn't what she had expected, but it was she who had introduced the subject and if he was to be her master and she his slave, she had to agree.

"Yes, I do, Chris. I do."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled."

He looked at her; he knew she hadn't thought too deeply about the consequences of the master-slave relationship and what it would entail, but he had and he needed to set the ground rules as quickly as possible.

"In future whenever we're at home, with the exception of a dress, you have to be completely naked and available. Do you understand?"

She nodded; it was a surprise to be met with a demand which had obviously been inspired by the 'Story of O', but if being available meant being fucked by him, she had no objection. He watched her closely, she was nodding, but it was clear she was still trying to assess the situation.

"Take off that corset thing you're wearing."

"It's called a bustier."

"Bustier, then."

She sat up and removed the bustier, undoing the laces which ran down the front of the garment and as it dropped, crossing her arms under her tits in an effort to support them, worried the inevitable sag would destroy the illusion.

"What did I tell you? Drop your arms."

She complied and felt her tits settle against her chest. She looked down at them; wishing they didn't droop as much; and then at his face, searching for evidence of his disappointment.

"Lie on the bed, face down."

Pleased he hadn't remarked on her tits; she turned over and waited in position for fifteen to twenty seconds; wanting to look at him, but determined to obey his instructions.

Whack. He hit her bum, not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to sting and hard enough to raise a red wheal the shape of a hand. She hadn't expected it and her first reaction was to turn and confront him, but before she did, she realised he was testing her and if she was not going to fail the test at the first hurdle, she had to remain silent.

The next thing she felt was cool air blowing over the wheal; followed by a wet tongue and then a series of kisses all centred on the now stinging area of her bum.

"You know, you've got a beautiful bum, it's a real woman's bum, wide and plump. Do you know why I think it's beautiful?"

She didn't know. Since puberty she had worried about her weight; worried her bum was too big, too fat and now she was being told it was beautiful.

"It's because it gives women, for want of a better word, their 'womanness'. You've got what my grandfather used to call 'child-bearing hips'."

A size fourteen going on sixteen, she was much fatter than conventional ideals, but not so fat she would have been out of place in a Renaissance painting. He had loved his size six wife, but, over time, had come to realise what really excited him were curvaceous women, not obese women, but women with big tits, big bums and small waists. If he'd had to choose a woman who embodied his ideal it would be a woman like his mother or sister or the woman lying on the bed. For Karen his change in attitude was welcome, for the last thirty minutes he'd been brusque, now he was being nice and she liked nice, but why his attitude had changed, had perplexed her.

He caressed her bum, stroking it, gently squeezing and massaging it with his fingers and the palms of his hands. It wasn't a lie; she did have a beautiful bum and sooner or later he would violate it, but for now he was content to play with and even praise it.

"Play with yourself."

It was a command and although issued in a milder tone than he had used previously, she realised it was another test and both knew, if she obeyed him without demurring, she would have ceded control and he would truly be her master. She didn't know how to respond; she'd done it many times before; even played with herself while fucking; but had never done it on command and had never performed in front of a third party whose only role was that of a spectator.

"But....."

"No 'buts'; I told you to do it."

She wasn't sure she could, but if she was ever to fulfil her fantasy, it was essential she obeyed him. She licked her fingers, parted her nether lips and started to play with her clit.

"Not like that. I want to see everything. Prop yourself up against the bedhead and bend your knees and spread your legs."

Slowly and deliberately, she pulled herself to the head of the bed, her mind working feverously as she tried to reconcile her conflicting emotions. By the time she had worked her way to her destination, she had accepted being the star of a one-woman show; the excitement she would get from having him watch her play with her clit and work her fingers in and out of her cunt far outweighing her reservations.

He watched, waiting until she was in position, before he issued his command.

"Open your legs and show me your cunt."

Smiling, she complied, sitting upright on her bum, her legs akimbo and her cunt totally exposed. Using both hands, she parted her labia, exposing the pink, inner sanctum. It was glistening; providing him with clear evidence of her state of excitement and mirroring the feelings he was experiencing.

"Put your fingers in your cunt and fuck yourself."

It wasn't what she usually did when she played with herself, she usually played with and teased her clit before inserting a finger and most times she didn't even do that, preferring to use her friend, with his whirring, rotating motion and his

tiny, vibrating fingers, but he had issued an order and in theory at least, she was bound to obey it. She was happy to comply, but she wanted to have some fun of her own, merely sticking her finger into her cunt would excite her, but her involvement would be passive and she wanted to interact with him.

Watching him intently, her eyes indicating an underlying amusement, she inserted a finger into her mouth, wrapped her lips around it so that her lips formed a circle and slowly slid the finger in and out of her mouth. It took only a few seconds for his face to indicate her performance was turning him on. Satisfied she'd shown him that, although she'd agreed to be his slave, it didn't mean she wasn't going to take an active, albeit limited, role in their sex games, she removed the saliva coated finger from her mouth, slid it into her cunt and started to finger-fuck herself.

If her performance had aroused him it had also aroused her and it didn't take long for her to reach the point where the solitary finger wasn't enough and in response, she inserted an additional finger and then a second. She liked a feeling of fullness in her cunt and at one time, she had entertained the notion of emulating Rachel, who had been able to insert all five fingers, but the most she'd managed to accommodate was four and then it had been Rachel's slim fingers rather than hers. It had been exciting watching Rachel's fingers disappear into her void and later in the relationship, she had found it even more exiting when, encouraged by her Rachel, she had managed to insert all five of her fingers into her lover's cunt, but when pleasuring herself, she preferred to use two or three.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching and listening to the sounds of fingers playing in a pre-cum soaked cunt, Chris was enjoying himself. Watching a woman masturbate turned him on; he'd watched his last lover, a closet exhibitionist do it many times, including a number of occasions when she'd pleasured herself as they'd driven along the free-way, and while it had always been exciting it hadn't been the most erotic incident he'd experienced. Early in their marriage, he'd secretly watched his wife as she'd played with herself while lying on the living room floor and watching a pornographic video. Watching Karen do it to his command, her face contorted as she worked to reach her climax, matched or even exceeded the thrill he had experienced watching his wife.

He wanted Karen to cum; he wanted to hear and see her replicate the sights and sounds his wife had made as she'd experienced nirvana; the ragged breathing, the stomach muscles contracting, the eyes closed and at the moment of climax, the shivering thighs, the face contorted as if in pain and the high pitched cries of 'yes, 'yes, yes' as her body stiffened in her final throes. Watching his wife had excited him so much had almost cum in his jeans; but he knew he couldn't allow Karen to cum, that it didn't fit his plans for her.

"Stop."

His words carried the weight of a peremptory decree and she stopped. Once again she had been seconds away from her climax and she wanted to ignore him, she wanted to continue, she wanted cum – but he was her master.

"Get up."

Once again there was no 'please' or 'thank you'; just instructions. She got up from the bed and stood as if awaiting further orders; her arms by her side and her face impassive. He said nothing, but left the bed and walked over to her; his hard cock pointing at almost ninety degrees to the horizontal and glistening with pre-cum. She wanted to reach down, grab it, play with it and stuff it in her cunt. She'd enjoyed his mouth and her fingers, even if she hadn't cum, but now she needed his cock and in her cunt.

He reached for her tits and tweaked a nipple. It hurt, but for some reason she found it exciting. He lifted her left tit, released it, let it fall and then repeated the exercise with the other.

"Not much bounce in those."

It was true, but mean. Her tits weren't pert, but they didn't really droop down her body – at least not too far. She knew men found them attractive, particularly when they were supported by her bra and offering the illusion of youth and he certainly hadn't objected when he'd held them the first time.

He paused and for the first time, critically assessed her body. He liked her tits, but wasn't prepared to tell her again; he'd told her once and that was enough. They were womanly and real; he'd seen plastic tits in porn movies and on the stage at the local strip-club and hadn't been impressed; what other men saw in them, he couldn't fathom. Her tits fitted her body; most women with fake tits looked out of proportion and when the owner moved quickly, there was nothing more ridiculous, when compared with the real thing, than the way they hardly moved; their amplitude of motion restricted by their bulk.

If he liked her tits, he thought her nipples were magnificent. He had already admired and lusted after them through her blouse and bra, but in the flesh they were outstanding. He smiled to himself; he hadn't meant to make a joke and one day when he was feeling so disposed, he would repeat the joke to her – but now was not the time.

He reached out and held a nipple, pulling on it and stretching it slightly.

"From now on these are mine."

Doesn't he realise I'm passed child-bearing age, she thought.

"In fact your body is mine to do with as I wish. Do you understand?"

She nodded and averted her gaze, leaving him to contemplate what he would do with her agreement. The situation was new to him, but almost instantly, he had developed a list of uses to which to put her body and the longer he thought about it, the more bizarre and erotic they became. He decided to share one with her.

"You and your body are mine and I've just had a thought about how I'm going to ensure you really understand you're mine. I'm going to have you tattooed. As soon as we can, we're going into Bangor to find a tattoo parlour and I'm going to have you tattooed with my name, either on your tits – from what I can see there will certainly be enough space - or, perhaps, just above your cunt."

He paused, picturing the results and watching her face. Perhaps he would have 'Chris' tattooed on the right tit and 'Marsh' on the left and just high enough for some of the tattoo to show above the top of her swimsuit or bra. He would enjoy having her wear a low cut swimsuit and watching her reaction to the faces of her friends when they saw it. How she would explain it to her friends he didn't know; he was certain she wouldn't tell them the whole truth, but whatever she did was going to be amusing.

She ought to have been horrified by his pronouncement as she'd always thought tattoos irrational, the sort of the thing only seen on stone-age tribesmen and sailors and one step removed from a bone through the nose. When Rachel, who had sported mementos of previous love affairs in the form of a butterfly on her bum and a rose on her ankle, had tried to talk her into having one, she'd refused. Now her master; a man she had just met; was proposing a tattoo which, wherever it was placed, could, at best, be described as vulgar. Her first reaction was to object, but the tingling in her cunt and nipples told her that her body was finding the prospect exciting. He continued,

"I was thinking of having my name emblazoned on your tits, but the more I think about it, the more I'm considering making it an arrow which is pointing at your cunt and which is accompanied by words to the effect of 'For the exclusive use of Chris Marsh'." He laughed at the prospect and then continued, "It's much more tasteful than 'Hands off; Chris Marsh's cunt', don't you think? At the moment I can't decide whether it should be on the inside of your thigh or just above your cunt, although I'm leaning towards the latter."

She wasn't sure, whatever he decided it was likely to be painful, but he had the right. She had accepted his dominion over her and her body was now his to do with as he pleased, but if she had her choice, she would prefer his seal of ownership to be emblazoned on tits rather than her belly.

"And what, Sir, shall be the colour of the arrow?"

He hadn't considered the detail, he was still excited by the thought of his mark of ownership, but his extemporaneous reply emphasised, even for an engineer, he was better read than she thought.

"It will have to be red, as befits a scarlet woman.... and with Royal purple lettering to indicate my sovereignty over you. My other demands I will convey to you over time, but right now we are going to fuck or, to put it more accurately, I am going to fuck you."

He reached over, grabbed her left nipple and holding it between his finger and thumb, led her to the bed.

"Lie face down and don't move." He watched as she lay down on the bed – she really did have a great bum. "Where do you keep your scarves and belts?"

"There are two or three belts in the bottom two drawers of the dresser and my scarves are in the closet."

For a couple of minutes she waited as he opened the closet door and then rifled through her dresser; from the sounds apparently opening and shutting all the drawers, and then, silence. She wanted to look, but had clear orders to keep her face down. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps as he approached the bed.

"Spread your arms and legs."

She complied and flinched when his hand brushed against her bum and his fingers found her clit. She felt his index and second finger slip into her cunt and slowly start to finger-fuck her. She realised she was wet; far wetter than she would have expected at this juncture, and which was being confirmed by the liquid sound his fingers were making as they worked their way in and out of her cunt.

It didn't take long before she was relishing the feel of his fingers; she would have preferred his cock, but if he wanted her to cum in this manner, she was content. As her excitement started to build, she started to rub her clit against the bed clothes; something she'd learned to do in high school when she'd hugged her pillow and brought herself to a climax by rubbing her clit against her pink, chenille bedspread.

The memory of her youthful sexuality aroused her further; her first experiments with her own sexuality had been precious and the results had been far more satisfactory than any she had achieved during sex with her husband and in a bid to reproduce the feelings of her youth, she increased the downward pressure of her clit on the bedclothes.

Just as she was about to cum, he stopped and removed his fingers; leaving her, for the third time, just seconds away from her climax. Frustrated, she tried to bring herself off, frantically rubbing her clit against the bedspread, but ceased her exertions when he slapped her bum with some force and ordered her to stop. She didn't want to; she needed to come; she was certain all she needed was to rub her clit another four or five times against the cover and she would be there.

He got up from the bed, took her hair in his hand, pulled up her head and with his other hand, laid one of the scarves on the bedspread. Releasing her hair and allowing her head to fall back onto the scarf, he took hold of both ends of the scarf and used it to blindfold her, tying the knot tightly behind her head. When he picked her wrists up and started to tie a belt around them, she suddenly realised what he was about to do. It wasn't an unpleasant thought, her gang rape fantasy involved being tied and spread-eagled and he was obviously planning the same.

When he had finished tying her hands to the bedhead, he slapped her bum again and got off the bed. She heard a drawer open, followed by the familiar whirring sound of her rabbit, which he must have found while searching her dresser. She waited in anticipation, she liked her rabbit and if he was going to use it to make her cum she wouldn't object.

"Ever been fucked in the ass?"

She had; but not by a man. Her lesbian lover was the only person with whom she'd indulged in anal sex and in spite the offer she'd made to David, when Rachel had first suggested it she had been unsure of her response, but under intense cajoling, had finally agreed.

Her lover had been gentle; introducing her with care into the joys of what she had laughed and called the 'Hershey Highway'. Initially she had been ambivalent about the experience. It hadn't been unpleasant, the purple strap-on dildo Rachel had used to violate her bum hadn't hurt, but she hadn't found it exciting and had been unable to understand why Ann had waxed lyrical about the experience, both for sexual pleasure and as a fool-proof method of birth control.

Ultimately, she had come to enjoy the experience, particularly when, towards the end of their relationship, Rachel had forsaken the strap-on, using a vibrator to penetrate her bum and eating her at the same time, but had always felt the exercise was not about giving her pleasure, but satisfying her lover's needs.

Her belief had been confirmed just before their affair had ended when her lover, inebriated as the result of a three hour sojourn in a local bar with two of her lesbian friends, had come to her house, persuaded her to go to bed and using the strap-on, had taken her in the bum far more violently than usual. It had hurt, but not as much as the words of her lover who, as she'd pounded her, had called for her 'to take it, bitch, take my cock in your ass'.

Now, as she contemplated being taken in the bum by a man, she was concerned, not because she objected in principle, but because both the vibrator and the strap-on had been smaller than Chris's cock and because, she suspected, he was likely to be less gentle than her former lover.

"Got any lube?"

She had; sometimes her cunt wasn't always as wet as it had been and as Peter didn't generate his own pre-cum, she usually had a tube in the bathroom.

"Where is it?"

"In the bathroom, in the left-hand drawer of the counter. At the back."

He left and she waited, her heart pounding as he searched the drawer for the lubricant. When he returned, he said nothing. She couldn't see him, but sensed he was standing over the bed looking at her. The first sound she heard was a 'splurt'; the sound of an almost empty tube as it released its contents.

"Ready?"

She nodded and wondered what he was going to poke into her bum. She hoped it was the rabbit as, at most, it was only two-thirds the width of his cock, but was prepared for it to be his cock. Her answer came a second later and it was neither. She felt her cheeks being parted, followed by an index finger which just penetrated the entrance, the nozzle of the tube and finally, by a flood of cold jelly.

Satisfied with the amount of lubricant, he pushed his middle finger gingerly into her bum and was surprised when it slipped easily past the sphincter muscle. He'd engaged many times in anal sex with his last lover, but with the arrogance of youth had assumed it was not a common practice among older people and had expected she would be an anal virgin. When his finger easily slipped in as far as the final knuckle, he was surprised, but put it down to the lubricant.

If she had expected him to be rough, she was pleased when he started by gently finger fucking her, merely easing his finger slowly in and out. When he stopped and withdrew his finger, she waited, once again wondering what he intended to do. The answer was provided by a whirring sound; followed by the teasing, vibrating motion of her rabbit as the lubricated head slid tantalisingly, in a circular motion, around the entrance to her bum. The vibratory motion of the rabbit provided a far more erotic feeling than his finger and she felt her cunt starting to tingle, followed by an involuntarily movement of her thighs as she sought to rub her clit against the bedspread.

When he stopped teasing and thrust the rabbit into her bum, it was a shock. In comparison with his finger, the rabbit was at least twice as wide and she tightened her sphincter muscle in an attempt to forestall the violation. She was too late, the rabbit slipping into her bum like a rabbit down a rabbit hole.

"God."

"You may invoke the Deity, but it won't save you. I'm going to ream your ass."

Once again he took his time, moving the rabbit slowly up and down and waiting for her bum to accommodate its bulk. It took longer than he'd expected before he felt her relax and her body start to respond to the action of the vibrator.

"Like that, do you?"

She nodded and was surprised when he took his hand off the rabbit, leaving it vibrating in her bum, and picked her up by the hips so she was resting on her knees. She wondered what he was going to do; the porno video had shown the woman being penetrated in her cunt and bum at the same time, 'DP'd' Ann had called it, but the video had involved two men and two cocks – one black, one white - and unless he'd invited a friend, there was only Chris.

But what if he had invited a friend? He'd called his boss to tell him off his plight, but she hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. What if he had invited his boss and they were going to have her like the woman in the video? What would she do? Her rape fantasies had involved multiple men, but she had always been taken in turn, now she was entertaining thoughts of multiple men at the same time and the prospect was not displeasing.

He had no idea what she was thinking and for the moment was wondering whether to DP her or take her in the ass. If he was really going to own her, he had to use all of her orifices, but at that moment he wanted to fuck her cunt, her bum could come later.

He slipped his cock into her cunt and was rewarded with an audible gasp as his cock slipped readily to its base. Her cunt was warm, wet and accommodating, a pleasing receptacle into which to insert his cock.

"You're wet."

She nodded. She wanted to reply; she wanted to tell him 'Of course I am. What do you expect? You've got your cock in my cunt and a vibrator in my ass. Why don't you stop talking and fuck me; why don't you fuck me until I cum?', but knew she couldn't. He was fucking her to his agenda and not hers.

It wasn't long before, in part, he answered her unspoken wishes. Her obviously willingness to be fucked had excited him, inspiring him to make use of her body and he mounted her, his cock slipping easily into her wet cunt; slapped her twice on the bum and reached under her to hold both of her tits in his hand.

"Ready, bitch?"

She nodded, she'd been ready within an hour of meeting him and all she wanted now was for him to fuck her to a climax.

He squeezed and released both nipples and was rewarded with a gasp. Moving backwards from her body, he assumed what he thought of as the rutting position; the man squatting on his heels, his cock angled slightly downwards; the woman resting on her knees, her head on the bed and her bum in the air. It was a position of power; a position which left the woman totally exposed and which highlighted the dominance of the male animal.

As a boy, he had watched stallions covering the mares at a stables owned by a boyhood friend and aroused by remembered images of the stallions as they serviced the mares, their nostrils flaring with lust, their teeth nipping at the mare's necks and most vivid of all; their enormous pricks as they plunged deep inside the mare's cunts, he attacked her; ramming his cock as deeply and as hard as he could into her cunt and eliciting a grunt as she felt it bottom out against her cervix.

Encouraged by her response, he continued his attack, his stomach muscles expanding and contracting as he sought to gain leverage for his thrusts. Below him, she had been surprised by the ferocity of his initial attack, but as it became clear he was intent on abusing her body, she started to become excited; responding to his thrusts and encouraging him with low moans, intermittent 'that's it' and requests to 'fuck me'. In response, he increased his already frantic pace and started to abuse her; slapping her bum, pinching her nipples and playing with the rabbit impaled in her bum.

It wasn't long before they were both on the verge of cumming when, true to script, he pulled out. She was close, closer even than the first time he'd finger-fucked her and as on that occasion, she tried, in desperation, to use the bedspread in her quest to reach her climax; dropping to the bed and fucking the rough fabric with exaggerated thrusts of her hips.

"Stop it."

She did. She didn't want to, she wanted to cum and satisfy the longings which had been building since the first stirrings she'd experienced when they'd first kissed, but she knew he wasn't going to let it happen - at least not in his presence. The next thing she felt was a slap on her face; not from his hand, but from his cock.

"Suck it bitch. Suck it."

She sucked, without the use of her hands it wasn't easy as she had no control over the depths of his thrusts and as he became turned on, they became deeper and deeper and harder to accommodate. Just as she thought he was going to choke her, he pulled out and almost ran to the other side of the bed.

"Take it whore. Take it."

She had no choice; bound as she was, she was only a ready, albeit willing, receptacle for his cock. It slipped in easily, her cunt was wet and his cock was slick with saliva and pre-cum. It was clear from the start he was close, within four or five thrusts he was deep inside her, pounding her so hard she could almost feel his cock trying to penetrate her womb.

When he came, he issued a sound, which she later described to Ann as a cross-between a war-whoop and the sound of a dying elephant, slapped her bum twice – hard - and flooded her cunt with his cum. Once again mere seconds from cumming, in desperation she tried to milk him, trying to keep his cock erect for the few seconds she needed to reach her own climax. In the end her efforts proved futile; his cock rapidly wilting and sliding out of her cum-soaked cunt.

Once the bond was broken, he knelt behind her and waited in silence; his flaccid cock leaking cum as he watched the same cum leak slowly out of her cunt and down her thighs. It was a scene which he hadn't experience since his marriage, but which had always aroused him. It was an unequivocal indication the woman beneath him was his subject, had ceded control to him and a control so complete he had been granted the right to choose whether to impregnate her or not.

Once satisfied there was no significant amount of cum still left inside her, he undid the belt and scarf holding her wrists and removed the blindfold. She blinked; trying to adjust her eyes to the light in the room and trying to focus.

"Like that baby? Like being fucked by your master?"

She nodded, smiled and looked at him, she still hadn't cum, but he was her master and she was his slave; her body to do with as he liked; her pleasure only the afterthought. She put her hand to her cunt; he had been wrong; there was still some cum leaking out and dripping onto her thighs. She lifted her hand and looked at it, as if to confirm what she already knew.

"I'd better go and clean up."

He nodded and watched as she made her way to the bathroom. He'd enjoyed fucking her, she had a velvet cunt and was both a good fuck and a good fucker; he knew when he let her cum, and he had already decided when it would be, her climax would be off the Richter scale.

In the bathroom Karen was sitting on the toilet seat and mulling over what had just transpired. She hadn't cum and still desperately wanted to, but the rest of the experience had been exciting, including his threat to tattoo her. Almost absentmindedly, she rubbed her clit and started to play with herself; she was wet; she may not have cum, but her cunt was soaking from a mixture of their cum.

Realising what she was doing, she stopped; he hadn't told her explicitly, but she knew everything that had transpired had been a test of their master-slave relationship. By taking her to the edge of her climax and then stopping, he was testing her resolve to be his slave. She rubbed herself again; she wanted to show compliance, but she was weak and wanted to cum; she wanted to feel the tremors building in her stomach, to feel the tingle in her nipples, the warm feeling in the depths of her cunt and the final release as her whole body shuddered. Just a quick cum she thought, not earth-shattering, but just enough to take the edge of her hunger. In the state she was in, it wouldn't take long and he'd never know.

She started to play with herself, inserting one and then two fingers and although they were no substitute for his cock, she still found herself becoming aroused. In an effort to more closely duplicate the feel of his cock, she needed to insert a third finger and in an attempt to provide easier access for her fingers, she changed position until she was leaning with her back against the tank, her bum on the edge of the seat and her cunt projecting forward and easily accessible to her fingers.

She had just inserted a third finger when a gentle 'thump' interrupted her search for release. It didn't register at first, but when it did, she realised it was the sound of a foot dropping onto the bedroom floor. She stopped and listened to the sound of the footsteps. Realising they were making their way to the bathroom, she hurriedly removed her fingers, flushed the toilet and was just getting up from the seat when the door opened and Chris entered; naked, a trail of spider-silk like cum running from the end of his cock to his thigh.

"I need to take a pee."

Without waiting, he moved past her and stood in front of the bowl, pulled up the seat and started to piss; apparently unconcerned with the niceties. She washed her hands and started to clean her teeth. He finished pissing and walked over to the sink where he washed his hands, kissed her, tweaked her right nipple, slapped her on her already tender bum and left for the bedroom.

When she reached the bedroom, he was lying on the right side of the bed – her side whenever she'd slept with anyone – and apparently asleep. She looked at him and let out a slight chuckle. Truth was often stranger than fiction. Yesterday afternoon, who would have thought she would be spending Christmas Eve being fucked by a stranger? A man at least fifteen years younger than her, good looking and good in bed, who had come to rescue her from the snow and had, instead, succeeded in rescuing her from a period of unwanted chastity.

Chapter 4

It was light when Chris awoke the next morning and given the time of year, seven o'clock at the earliest. For a moment he didn't know where he was, but a glimpse of the Laura Ashley wallpaper allowed him to pinpoint both his location and the circumstance. He smiled as he recalled the events of the previous evening and how he had fucked a woman who had aroused and inspired him.

He reached for his cock. It was iron hard, which was not an unusual situation when he awoke and normally he would have ascribed it to morning wood, but on this occasion, there was a good chance at least part of its state of readiness could be attributed to returning memories.

He had started the previous day with few expectations other than long arduous hours moving tons of snow in freezing cold temperatures and had ended it in bed with a woman who, while she was neither young, nor lithe, nor beautiful, was not only good company, but a good fuck, a really good fuck. If he were being honest, she was the best fuck he'd ever had and to cap it all, she appeared willing to be his slave and satisfy a long unfulfilled dream of domination.

He had just started to stroke his cock and fantasise about using his lover's body, when his reverie was interrupted by the sounds of banging and scraping emanating, as far as he could tell, from the kitchen. He listened, trying to determine what she was doing in the kitchen so early in the morning, before fuzzy memories from his youth provided an answer; it was Christmas Day and she was preparing Christmas dinner. He was feeling good and wanted to lie in bed and wank or, preferably, call Karen and have her blow or even fuck him, but he was intrigued by the sounds and wanted to see the woman who had offered to be his slave, in part as re-assurance he hadn't been dreaming.

He got up, went to the bathroom and as he came out of the shower, a voice from the floor below called out,

"There's a new toothbrush on the counter and a clean towel on the left towel rail."

He smiled to himself, he'd eaten her cunt, poked his fingers in her ass, his cock in her cunt and his tongue in her mouth and she was concerned about him having a towel and toothbrush of his own.

"It's okay. I'm using yours."

She laughed; she understood why he'd said it.

When he got into the kitchen, she was standing by the sink, peeling potatoes and wearing old jeans and an almost threadbare, iconic tongue, Rolling Stone's t-shirt; although from the position of her nipples and the way they were poking through the fabric, it was apparent she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Merry Christmas, Chris."

"Merry Christmas, Karen."

They kissed and as he hugged her, he realised he'd been right; she was braless and for all he knew, knickerless, but it wasn't good enough; she was disobeying his orders.

"What did I tell you?"

"What about?"

"Your permitted clothing."

"But I'm going to be cooking and I usually wear my scruffs when I cook. I don't want to get my good clothes dirty."

"Did I give you permission to be fully dressed?"

He hadn't and she knew she was wrong, but it had been a sin of omission not commission. She'd simply forgotten.

"I'm sorry; I forgot."

"It's not acceptable. You know what clothing you are permitted. If you want to wear something to stop your good clothes getting dirty, you can wear an old dress or an apron or nothing - but that's all."

She looked at him and smiled; if that was what he wanted, she didn't mind. Last night and into the morning, his eyes, hands, cock and tongue had seen and explored every nook and cranny of her body and appearing before him naked was not going to be a problem. Still smiling, she pulled up the t-shirt and took it off. Braless, her tits drooped against her chest, but the nipples were erect and on the left tit was an enormous, almost purple, love-bite; the one he'd inflicted on her the night before.

It hadn't been a spontaneous act, he'd needed to show she was his property and as he couldn't tattoo her until after Christmas, he'd bitten her to leave his mark. It was the first time anyone had given her a love-bite and when she had looked in the mirror in the morning, she had been surprised by both its size and colour. If the tattoo was going to be anything like the bite, it would certainly be something different and certainly something more risqué than a butterfly on the bum.

Braless, just as she'd done the night before, she smiled, did a pirouette, picked up her tits and flaunted them at him.

"You like?"

It was a question which didn't require a reply. She knew he liked them and he knew that she knew he did. At that moment it was all he could do to supress a desire to ravage them with his mouth, to take the nipples between his teeth and worry them like a dog worries a bone. He didn't reply to her question, he had plans for her body and he didn't want to say anything which would provide her with any leverage, but the look of undisguised lust in his eyes gave him away.

When she dropped her jeans, he saw his second guess was also correct, she wasn't wearing knickers and he smiled when he saw the faint outline of wheals on her bum where he'd smacked her during their lovemaking.

"Come here."

She came, her eyes downcast in mock subjugation. She realised he was going to use her and subjugation was in keeping with her role as his slave. He pointed at the table and demanded,

"Lie down, face forward, over the table."

"Yes, master."

It was the first time she had used the term and it felt both odd and exciting. Odd because she had never thought of anyone, lover or not, as her master and exciting because it held the promise of something new and something she was certain she would enjoy.

Moving over to the table, she moved the runner and flower vase and bent forward until her body was resting on the table with her hands hanging over the edge. Her cunt and bum felt sore, a momento of his incursions into both orifices the previous evening, but not sufficiently so to dissuade her from being aroused by the prospect of his cock violating one or more of them, particularly the former.

"Stay there. Don't move an inch."

The order was superfluous, she had no intention of moving. She heard him leave the kitchen and go up the stairs, returning a couple of minutes later.

"Stand up."

She stood and was not surprised when she felt a scarf wrap around her eyes.

"Lie down, again."

She lay down, her body spread-eagled over the table and forming the letter Y, her tits crushed against the table-top. She had a good idea what would happen next and was not disappointed when, in succession, she felt him take both wrists, tie them with the belt and using a scarf, attach it to the belt and then to what she surmised to be the table leg. He was going to fuck her and her cunt was providing a clear indication of the state of her arousal. Already wet when he had ordered her to lie on the table, it was now soaked; far wetter than she could ever remember and she was concerned, should her level of arousal continue to grow, there was the possibility that her juices would leak out of her cunt and down her leg.

She waited for ten, twenty and then thirty seconds, expecting and willing him to mount no idea where he was located or what he was preparing to do. It didn't appear he was standing close to her; she would have been able to hear or even feel his presence - so where was he and what was he planning?

A shuffling, the location of which, at first, she couldn't determine, provided the first indication she was right and he hadn't left the room. He wasn't behind her, which was what she had hoped, but possibly somewhere in front and perhaps, below her. A second sound fixed his location; he was underneath her and if anything, directly beneath her legs. She racked her brain trying to determine what he intended to do since, spread-eagled across the table, whatever he was intending wouldn't be easily accomplished; perhaps he intended to use his mouth on her clit.

Her conjecture proved to be half right; he was intending to play with her clit, but the first contact was not with his mouth, but from an object she had difficulty identifying. Clearly not his finger or her rabbit, it was something which merely brushed her clit, tickling it and causing her to shudder. It took two or three repetitions, each one just flicking lightly and teasingly over her clit before she realised what the object was – it was a feather and probably the tail feather of a red-tailed hawk she'd found while walking in the woods behind her house and had left on her dresser.

Whatever the object, the results were exquisite. Usually, as she was about to cum; she liked to abuse her clit, rubbing it rapidly and exerting pressure with her index and second fingers in an effort to drive herself to orgasm. Rather than exerting pressure, he was brushing her clit so lightly she could hardly feel it; but it was having the same effect. Her body was responding and she could feel the excitement building; all she needed now was his cock in her cunt. 'Please don't stop', she thought. 'Please don't stop'.

He could see she was enjoying it. The tell-tale gasps and the slight trembling in her thigh and stomach muscles as he teased the feather over her clit were a clear indication of her state of arousal. Abandoning the feather, he reached up, briefly flicked her clit with his thumb, inserted a finger in her cunt and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He started to fuck her with his finger, occasionally returning to playing her clit with his thumb and trying to determine, from the rapidity of her breathing, how close she was to her climax. Just as she was about to cum, he stopped; to Karen, it appeared as if he could read her mind and at that moment, he was reading the state of her emotions with unerring accuracy.

"Please", she whimpered.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum."

She got no reply, just the sound of her rabbit starting up. Her first thought was 'just stick it in – either hole – but she was to be disappointed. The sound got louder and without warning, she felt the tips of the rabbit's fingers trail across her face.

"Where would you like it? In your ass or your cunt?"

She pondered the question. The previous evening he'd used her rabbit however and wherever where he'd wanted and without any thought for her preferences and now, for some reason, he was deigning to consult her. She wanted it in her cunt; she liked anal sex, but if she had her choice, much preferred being fucked in the cunt. On the other hand, if he was going to DP her, and she was hoping he might, she wanted the rabbit in her bum since it would mean his cock would be in her cunt. It was a difficult decision and she guessed at the reply; although, in part, her answer was guided by the enthusiasm he had shown the previous evening when he'd DP'd her.

"In my cunt."

Two seconds after her answer, she felt lubricating gel being squeezed onto her bum-hole to be followed by the rabbit, which he rubbed in the gel before slowly inserting it into her bum. She'd been correct when she'd guessed, whatever she suggested, he was likely to be perverse and select the alternative option. The first incursion was a shock, but as he worked the rabbit into her bum, with no hint of soreness to mar the proceedings, she started to relax.

He fucked her bum with the vibrator, easing it gently backwards and forwards, gradually penetrating deeper and deeper and gradually ramping up the pace. It didn't take long before she felt the tell-tale signs she was approaching her climax and hoped, without much conviction; he would let her achieve her release. Standing behind her, watching the rabbit going in and out and on occasion, pulling it all the way out and marvelling at how much her bum-hole had expanded to accommodate it and thinking just how readily it would accept his cock; he was assessing his alternatives.

He could pull the vibrator out and take her in the bum; the thought appealed to him, but not as much as cumming in her cunt. He knew she was past child-bearing age, but the thought of his cum swimming around her cunt and finding their way into her womb, was exciting. His wife had been on the pill and he had enjoyed the opportunity to spray his cum into her cunt, but he'd not trusted his subsequent lovers and had always used a condom. Karen provided his first opportunity, since he'd separated from his wife, to ride bare-back and to flood a cunt with his cum and he was determined to take it. The only choice he faced was whether to DP her or just fuck her cunt. Tied as she was, he would prefer the latter since it was he who would have to control the rabbit in her bum and the previous evening, the closer he had come to his climax; the more difficult he had found it to concentrate on the rabbit. On the other hand, double penetration allowed him to exercise contemporaneous control over two of her three fuck-holes. It was the control factor which won the day.

While he was contemplating his alternatives, the vibrator in her bum was having its effect and he could tell, from the quickening of her breath, the gasps and the occasional shudder, she was getting close. He slowed his ministrations with the rabbit and prepared to mount her, but before he did he slapped her bum, eliciting the first Anglo-Saxon sexual expletive he'd heard her utter.

"You cock-sucker."

He wasn't and never had been and although the outburst violated her role as his slave and he ought to have been annoyed, it made him smile. To that point, she had been totally compliant with his orders and this was the first time she had shown dissent. Control over a woman with spirit would much more enjoyable than exercising control over a door-mat.

He mounted her deliberately; watching his cock slip easily into her vacant, slippery hole and then pressing downwards until he felt it bottom out. He heard her gasp and shudder slightly; if he was pleased to be using her cunt, it was evident she was equally pleased to be entertaining his cock.

They fucked, he started slowly as he had meant to savour the moment, but the situation was exciting. When masturbating, he had sometimes envisioned taking a woman while she was spread-eagled and helpless and this was his first opportunity to realise his dream. Within seconds of mounting her, he was driving into her; pounding her cunt; the rabbit in her bum almost forgotten. Under him Karen was enjoying being the object of his lust and was rapidly approaching her climax. She had never been so excited by a lover, either man or woman and it was being reflected by her state of arousal. The manner in which his cock was violating her, from time to time hitting against the base of her cunt, was a clear indication to her of his desire, while the vibrator in her bum was providing its own illicit delights. She hoped he would let her cum, she really needed to cum and be granted release from her torment. Above her he was ready, he'd enjoyed teasing and using her, but it was now time for her to share in his pleasure.

They came together, she on her toes; her legs trembling; her hands grasping and straining against the belt which was tying her to the table, he driving his cock as deep as he could into her cunt in his futile quest to penetrate her womb and as he came, slapping her bum and shouting,

"Merry Christmas, Karen. Merry Christmas."

Still in the throes of cumming, her response was muted and slightly garbled.

"Mmmerry Christmas, Chris."

Finished and exhausted, he lay on top of her, kissing her back and stroking the side of her tits and body until the inevitable happened and his limp cock slid gracefully out of her cum-slick cunt. The bond broken, he kissed her shoulders and then lightly trailed his fingers from her shoulders to her bum and back, smiling to himself as she shivered from his feather-like touch, before bending and removing the scarf and belt holding her wrists. Released from her restraints, but still blindfolded, she stood, turned, reached for and hugged him. She'd never felt anything like the euphoria she was feeling and wanted to hold the man who had invoked it.

"Darling."

Yesterday they'd been strangers and now she was calling him 'Darling', but he didn't mind. His wife had never used the word, preferring the ubiquitous 'honey', but this woman had and in comparison, the word conveyed a far warmer feeling.

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

She wanted to tell him she loved him, but knew it was silly. Even if she felt it, she was too old for unprovoked expressions of romance, particularly when directed towards someone she had only met the day before and who was fifteen years younger than her. Not wanting to say something she might have regretted at a later date, she changed the subject.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

As a child, a fried breakfast, cooked by his father, had been the tradition in his family on Christmas morning. He hadn't thought about it since he'd moved back to the States, but sharing Christmas with Karen, even if she wasn't a member of his family, had provoked a feeling of nostalgia for Christmas Past.

"Got any bacon and eggs?"

She had both, but the bacon was frozen and in the freezer in the utility room and it took her a couple of minutes before she located it under a frozen rump roast. She returned, still naked, and triumphantly holding in her right hand, in the manner of a trophy, a frozen packet of bacon.

"Da da. Bacon."

It was, but when he transferred his gaze from the bacon to her body and saw the state of nipples, all thoughts of bacon and eggs disappeared from his mind and he fought, but failed to suppress, a laugh.

"Chapel hat-pegs."

"What?"

"Chapel hat-pegs. Your nipples are standing out like chapel hat-pegs. It's an English expression."

She looked at her nipples. The freezer had worked its magic and her nipples were, 'prominent' was the word which came to mind, and she supposed, just like chapel hat-pegs. She smiled, then leered at him, picked up the left tit in her hand and sucked on the nipple. It was cold, but the heat from her mouth had little effect on its condition.

"You can hang your hat on them or anything else you have a mind to - but only after breakfast."

"Is that a promise?"

"It is."

He cooked breakfast while she hovered, unsure whether he knew how to cook and anxious to help. It was a struggle, but with her assistance he managed to finish the meal without a serious mis-hap.

They ate and talked; Karen rarely ate bacon and eggs and under normal circumstances, would have preferred her normal breakfast of fruit and toast, but there was something special about the situation and she ate them with a relish almost matching that exhibited by her lover. When they had finished eating, he asked if he could use the 'phone to call England.

"May I call England? I want to wish my mother and sister Happy Christmas. I'll pay for the calls."

"You may and don't be silly, you don't have to bother paying."

The call to his mother took less than ten minutes and at his end, consisted of the usual compliments of the season, a string of 'yeses', the occasional 'no' and a final 'next summer, I hope'. The call to his sister took longer and at Chris's end at least, was conducted sotto voce, making it difficult for Karen to follow.

From the tenor of his voice, it was apparent the two were close. Of the parts of the conversation she was able to follow, it seemed as though he was having difficulty explaining why he hadn't been to England to see her. It was towards the end of call she overheard an exchange which seemed out of place between brother and sister.

"Of course I miss you. Of course I love you, sis. No, I haven't fallen out with you."

There was long silence at Chris's end followed by,

"I'll see you in the summer; I just promised mum I'd see her...... Either July or August. .... What about a week in France?......... Yes, of course on our own........ Where's he going to be? New York? How long?" Chris laughed and continued, "That's good. Maybe I can arrange it so we'll cross over the Atlantic."

The call ended shortly afterwards with a kiss followed by,

"OK, sis, and I love you too."

He put the telephone back in its cradle and smiled at her.

"Thanks."

"That's all right. How are they?"

"Mum's all right. She, her husband and her step-daughter and family had just finished Christmas dinner and she was waiting to listen to the Queen's speech. She's expecting my sister to visit them on Boxing Day."

"How's your sister? You two seemed to have a lot to discuss."

"She says she's okay. She was waiting for her husband to come home from their local so they could have Christmas dinner. He was already almost an hour late."

Karen waited for him to continue. It was evident he had more he wanted to tell her, but she didn't want him to think she was prying. After pausing for a moment, he continued.

"Chloe's been married for just under three years; it's his second marriage and her first, although he's not the first man she's lived with. He's an accountant and has interests in a number of businesses, mostly in the north of England.

"On the surface he's personable and charming and it's easy to imagine women liking him, but you don't have to spend much time with him to realise it's all a façade. If I were to sum him up politely, I'd say he's self-centred and arrogant and being late for dinner on Christmas Day is an example of both. If I were to be vulgar, I'd say he's a big-headed, thoughtless wanker."

Although she wasn't sure of the exact pejorative connotation of the term 'wanker', it sounded like he must have a lot in common with her ex-husband.

"To tell you the truth, I can't understand why my sister married him. Granted, he's not bad looking and he's apparently well-off, but he came with a lot of baggage. From what I can gather, he has a poor reputation in the business world – apparently he squeezed his former partner out of their business - in addition to which he was a serial womaniser and has a very demanding ex-wife and three teenage children. I can understand why his ex. is mad at him; she'd had to put up with his affairs, culminating in one with his former partner's wife, but her constant demands and her incessant sniping are hard on my sister.

"Although she hasn't said anything to me, I'm almost certain he treats her poorly. I don't mean physically, she certainly wouldn't stand for anything like that, but mentally. To give you an example; we went to their local a couple of times before their wedding and the way he treated her on both occasions, was unacceptable. It wasn't just that he spent most of the time talking to his cronies - men in pubs are prone to do that - but the way he treated her whenever she had the temerity to offer an opinion. He either ignored or talked over her or was openly dismissive of anything she had to say. I took him to task a couple of times, but as I didn't want to upset my sister, I was probably more diplomatic than I should have been. It's worrying; if he treats her like that in company, what's he like when they're on their own?

"There is another issue, one which she's been reluctant to discuss with me and that's children. I know it's none of my business, but from being a little girl she has always talked about having a family. I've broached the subject a couple of times and have got nowhere. Her answers have been deliberately vague and when I pressed her she tried to change the subject. She's been more forthcoming with my mother, who told me her husband has made it abundantly clear that he's had three kids, which was more than enough, and he doesn't want any more. I've never wanted children and I have to admit I have some sympathy with his position, but it was a real blow to my sister. If she stays married to him, it's almost certain she's not going to realise her dream."

His description of his sister's treatment at the hands of her husband was confirmation of Karen first thoughts about the similarity between the personalities of her ex and Andrew.

"My ex. has had four children; two by his new wife and two by me, but apart from the children bit, the way your brother-in-law treats your sister seems to be identical to the way my ex treated me."

"It sounds like it, doesn't it? I can tell you, if I find out he's been treating her anything like your ex. treated you, the asshole will have to answer to me - and I can assure you, that's a promise, not just a threat."

His last statement contained a vehemence which disturbed her. She could understand his being upset about the way in which his sister's husband treated her, but the look of anger on his face and the threat in his voice seemed disproportionate and driven by something more than normal sibling affection.

The rest of the morning they acted like a long-time married couple; she remained in the kitchen, finishing the preparations for Christmas Dinner, while he sat, either in the kitchen, talking to her and occasionally helping with the preparations, or in the living room, reading the previous day's paper or using her lap-top computer to answer his e-mails.

They ate dinner at two o'clock, enjoying the food, the other's company and the large bottle of champagne which she'd been saving for a special occasion and which, until the previous evening, had not been scheduled to leave its place in her wine rack. For Chris, the occasion was particularly enjoyable. In his youth Christmas had always been a family occasion, but neither Nicole, his ex-wife, nor his former lover had liked to cook and Christmas dinner had always been celebrated in a restaurant and among a crowd of strangers. The last time he had eaten a home-cooked Christmas dinner had been while he was still living in England and had been spent in the company of his grandparents, mother and sister.

"Pudding?"

"What is there?"

"Wait and see."

She left and headed into the kitchen, where she banged around for a couple of minutes before re-appearing naked, except for her apron, a pair of flashing reindeer antlers on her head and the red high-heeled shoes she'd worn the night before, and carrying a serving plate, on which was a large Christmas pudding and which appeared to be on fire. The last time he'd seen a Christmas pudding, alight or otherwise, had been the Christmas before his grandmother had died and just before he'd left for the States, when she'd made the last of her 'proper English Christmas puddings'. She put the pudding on the table, removed the apron and pointed to her cunt.

"Are you watching?" He nodded. "I hope you are, because you're going to start by eating the pudding and then you're going to eat me."

He laughed; for an old biddy, she was certainly something different.

"Do I get to set your cunt on fire before hand?"

She chuckled and added, "Hmm; it's an intriguing thought - but perhaps not."

They ate the pudding, with its rum sauce, in relative silence; Chris remembering his childhood Christmases and Karen wondering and worrying what would happen the next day, when it came time for him to leave - although she certainly wasn't going to kick him out.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

"Go into the living room and I'll bring it through."

She disappeared towards the kitchen; her exaggerated gait, a product of the high heels she was wearing, causing her naked bum and tits to sway provocatively and in unison. When she reached the door she stopped, looked round and smiled at him. It was clear he liked what he was seeing and she rewarded him with a laugh and a shake of both her tits and bum.

Her exit had been erotic; her swinging tits with their erect nipples had excited him and he had been tempted to forego coffee and honour her requirement that he eat her cunt. If her entrance proved to be as erotic as her exit, he intended to enjoy the spectacle and in order to ensure an unobstructed view when she returned, he took up position in the chair on the left hand side of the fireplace.

It took just over five minutes for her to return and when she did, she was carrying a tray, complete with coffee pot, various items of crockery and a cheese-plate, all of which, to his disappointment, obstructed his view of her tits. He smiled, she reminded him of his grandmother; there were china cups, not mugs, on the tray and the coffee was in a proper, china coffee-pot.

She kicked off her shoes, knelt at his feet, poured the coffee and proffered the cheese-plate. He watched her; it had been a long time since he'd felt so relaxed and happy in a woman's company. The first two years of his marriage had been happy, but he had difficulty imagining Nicole, almost naked, sitting at his feet and pouring coffee for him out of a coffee pot. He felt the urge to kiss her, to bury his head between her tits, but before he could act, she spoke.

"Have some cheese. The one on the left is Camembert, it's from France, and the one on the right is from your neck of the woods. It's Lancashire; it's from England – although I guess you would know that."

He'd heard of both, but had eaten neither. In England, he had usually eaten Cheddar or, his mother's favourite, a local cheese, Lincolnshire Poacher; the only foreign cheese had been Mozzarella and then only as a topping on an occasional pizza. The only cheeses he'd eaten since he'd been living on his own had been processed cheese slices, Colby and Monterey Jack and then only as an option for his burger.

He tried the almost milk-white Lancashire and was surprised; sharp and moist; the taste contrasted markedly with the bland cheeses which populated his burgers.

"It's good. I've never tasted an English cheese anything like it – although I have to admit I wasn't a big cheese fan when I was living there. It really is much sharper than Cheddar."

She smiled; in spite of his background, in some areas he'd appeared to have led a sheltered existence, but from his reaction to the cheese, he was clearly prepared to try new things. Maybe we can do a swap, she thought; he can expand my range of sexual experiences – well straight ones at least - and I'll show him my world; even if it is mainly restricted to food, music and literature. Who knows, he may even get to enjoy books of a genre which doesn't include the 'Story of O'.

When they'd finished eating and drinking, she put the cups and cheese plate on the tray and started to stand, but was restrained by a hand on her arm.

"Don't go. I want to talk to you."

He sounded and looked serious and she searched his face, trying to determine from his expression what he was going to say to her. Was he going to tell her he was married or he didn't want to see her again? Her heart rate increased precipitously and as she waited for him continue, she stopped breathing.

"You've been really good to me and I want to do something for you in return. A sort of present ...... another Christmas present if you like."

She started to breathe again. He wasn't rejecting her, not now anyway, and if this present was going to give her as much pleasure as the episode on the kitchen table, she couldn't wait to find out what it was. He handed her a folded piece of paper and waited as she opened and read it. One glance at the contents and it was clear what he had been doing during the morning when he had supposedly been using her computer to answer his e-mails. The paper was a receipt from an establishment which went under the name of 'The Devil's Dungeon'. She looked at the 'ship to' address - it was her house - and then the list of items.

"What the heck is this?" she asked.

"It's your present."

She looked again; the list of items was extensive, but of the items she could identify, all appeared to have one thing in common; they were all props used for bondage. Shocked and unsure what to say, she replied without thinking.

"And what makes you think I would accept these things? These objects?"

It wasn't the reply he had expected. They had talked about and practiced mild bondage, but now she was castigating him. Was she changing her mind? Had she been stringing him along? Neither was acceptable and he intended to make his position clear.

"Because I'm giving them to you. We have a pact. You've agreed your body is mine to do with as I please and since I intend to use these presents on your body for my pleasure, then you'll have to accept them."

She looked at the list; the first item was a pair of nipple rings, followed by a clit ring and followed by a leash. She'd never seen either ring and apart from scenes from 'Lipstick', which she'd seen with Rachel, and standard images of whip-carrying, leather clad dominatrices, she knew very little about BDSM, but it didn't require she be an intellectual giant to understand their use and their association with the leash. The rest of the list was long and included handcuffs, collars, restraints, ropes, assorted vibrators, butt plugs and dildos, two masks and a few items, the uses of which were not readily apparent. .

She smiled when she saw the list included masks; his use of the scarf as a blindfold the previous evening had been exciting. Unable to see and thus unable to determine his intentions, she had run through her list of fantasies – once more including some from the dark side - and although she knew his objective was likely to be more prosaic her body had responded until, by the time he had finished tying the restraints, her cunt was soaking and her nipples rock hard.

"They're supposed to arrive sometime this week and given it's Christmas, I can't imagine it will be before the twentieth-eighth or twenty-ninth. When they arrive, call me on my cell and as soon as I can get off, I'll come home. We're going to open the parcel together and then spend the rest of the day trying them out."

'Come home?', 'We're going open the parcel together' and 'we're going to spend the rest of the day trying them out.'? He had made a number of assumptions, including her preparedness to be bound and led by her nipples and clit, but, for her, the most telling was contained in the words; 'I'll come home'. Apparently, he had already decided to move in with her. He ought to have asked, but the prospect of once more having a man in her house and bed and this time one who didn't have to return to his wife after they had made love, was something she had not thought possible and she certainly wasn't going to protest. That it was a good-looking man in his thirties who was proposing to plough her furrow, was almost the stuff of fairy tales.

"After they arrive, we're going into Bangor as soon as we can. There's a tattoo parlour on Hammond Street and I'm going to have the rings installed on your nipples and clit; plus we're both going to get tattoos."

"We both are?"

"Yes; we both are. I've had another chance to think about it and I've decided to make some changes; I'm going to get one and you're getting two. You're going to get the arrow I've already described to you and the other will be the word 'Slave', which is going to be tattooed, in Gothic script, at the top of the crack of your ass. I'm having 'Master' tattooed, in the same script, just above my cock. That way, when I'm taking you from behind, the two will be juxtaposed and whenever I look down, I'll be rewarded with the evidence of our relationship."

She tried to take in what he was telling her, but it wasn't easy. She was fifty-five, not twenty-five, and was being asked to do things she could neither have envisioned nor would have agreed to before she met him.

Her initial reaction was to refuse, both procedures sounded painful, but the idea of being led around, almost certainly naked and perhaps blindfolded, with a leash attached to rings on her nipples and clit sounded exciting, to the extent she could feel her nipples starting to harden and her cunt becoming moist. Almost sub-consciously she reached for her tit and gently squeezed it in the palm of her hand. He noticed the movement and smiled. She was clearly aroused by what she'd been told, which was all he needed to confirm she'd accepted her fate. Now her body really was his to do with as he liked – and he had plans.