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My white blouse was undone nearly all the way down the front. One of my breasts had been eased out of its cup and my fiercely hardened nipple was being sucked. I was lying back in the corner of the sofa in the small lounge off the kitchen, what we called the TV room. He was half lying on me so that his evident erection was pressing suggestively into my upper leg. His hand had rested tentatively and enquiringly on my leg just above my knee a few moments ago. Seeing there was no resistance, he had slowly moved that up my leg so that now, as his tongue explored the inside of my mouth, it was pressing right against my jeans covered pussy.
“I think it might be time for us to go to bed don’t you Peter?” I whispered looking into his eyes.
Life had moved on. I could hardly believe just how much. Sara, my daughter was 22, at Durham University reading English and the big five oh was roaring towards me at what seemed an increasing rate of speed. I had landed a fantastic job in an ad agency owned by an old flame from before I even knew Kevin. I still lived in London Docklands, played golf and a little tennis, went to the gym two or three times a week and was a devoted shopaholic. Kevin, my ex, from whom amazingly it seemed I had been parted for almost ten years was still around and we had become good friends, but then we had always been that. He still had a thing about younger women, but generously shared himself around with us ‘ordinary mortals’ as well; we had become fuckbuddies. We sometimes talked about getting back together permanently, but we both knew that wouldn’t work, so nothing happened other than the occasional fuck. He was on his way to making his second or third fortune. After selling the original business, we had owned jointly and losing a bundle in the Spanish property crash, he had started on an online gambling company that he was preparing to sell for many, many millions.
So life generally, was good. I had been fortunate with my investments and had avoided many of the ‘car crashes’ post the 2009 credit crunch. Dockland property prices had remained fairly resilient and were now on the up again and the silly sods at the ad agency were paying me a fortune to run their copywriting throughout Europe. Being financially secure and knowing that I could provide comfortably for Sara for the rest of her life if need be was a great weight off my shoulders and made life easier.
There were, of course, some downsides. Between school and uni, Sara had a gap year where she travelled the world with three friends meeting other groups in such far-flung places as Vietnam, China, Australia and Peru. She was away for an agonisingly long nine months. Although we had met up for a few days in LA, I missed her so badly that I seriously wondered how I would cope when she went to Durham. Now she was there I found out and it was tough, but I managed.
Sex and relationships were an issue. Until very recently I had not felt able or inclined to look for, or enter into longer-term relationships. I still felt uncomfortable making the level of commitment, or letting myself become as emotionally dependent as I had been with Kevin. Nevertheless, I needed and badly wanted sex. It seemed that as I got older I wanted more. And that was not just in quantity and frequency, but also in variety and creativity.
I, though, pretty much had over experimenting with other women. Although I am a firm believer in that everybody would dabble in same gender sex if they could overcome the way society, particularly the church, has conditioned them, it just became too complicated. I was also very worried about Sara’s reaction if it came out and the chances of that increases as one ‘plays’ nearer to home as I had done with a girl at the tennis club and a married woman at the golf club. That said, I knew very well that if a totally safe opportunity presented itself then I would be unlikely to decline. On my travels round Europe and the States, an opportunity now and then would seem to appear, but none had come through to fruition, well not yet.
Fortunately, even though I say it myself, I had held onto my looks and figure. Despite being in my late forties, I was still wrinkle-free and there were no signs of cellulite. My work at the gym largely overcame the effects of my laziness after Sara was born and the slight paunch on my tum had not changed in years. I have always had the tendency to put on weight and since the divorce; it has varied from around one thirty up to near one fifty pounds. Whilst I have got used to and really do not mind my body being referred to as voluptuous or Rubenesque, it does cause a big problem. As the weight always seems to pile on in two places, my ‘tits ‘n ass’ it plays havoc with my bras. As my tits vary from an ample 35C up to a very generous double handful of 36DD, I need two sets for when I am in my weight on and weight off periods. However, having been ‘ample bosomed’ since my twenties I get used to the stares, having to wear a sports bra and avoiding running anywhere! The legs, well certainly pendik escort beneath the knees, are holding up well, although my thighs are a little chunky, but thankfully, not outlandishly so and they do not rub together.
Although, probably on the young side for me, I still wear my hair long, down to my shoulders and I have persevered with both the colour, chestnut, and the style, unkempt and dragged through a hedge look.
This latest phase of my life began just over a year ago.
With Sara at university and unlikely to return home to live permanently, I had decided to have some remodelling done in the duplex apartment near to Canary Wharf in London Docklands. This included knocking some walls down, building others, lots of electrical and plumbing work, decorating of course and the design and build of a complicated wooden room divider incorporating shelves, cupboards and a closet for coats.
I had the plans drawn up by an architect and he obtained the necessary building permissions. The last builder I had used had been when Kevin and I had some extensive work done in the rambling pile in Chigwell. It had been at a difficult time for us as I had just found out for the second time for sure and about the fourth for likely that Kevin was ‘playing away from home!’ The first couple of times I had, after some blazing rows, forgiven him. The next time I was not so forgiving and applying the tortuous logic of a woman scorned I was unfaithful to him.
It was a rather pathetic episode really and involved an old flame who had been sniffing around me at the tennis club. I think he was even more surprised than I was when I agreed to having a drink with him and we ended up at his grubby, flat having sex. It was sort of cathartic, although that was mixed with some guilt and a degree of revulsion, but that was more at the circumstances and the partner than at being unfaithful for the first time.
I have heard it said that committing adultery is hardest the first time, after that it gets easier. It certainly did for me when I found out that Kevin had been shagging some young bimbo that worked for him I fucked the builder with little guilt or compunction.
Peter was about fifteen years older than I was, probably in his mid-forties and owned the small company that was doing a lot of work in the house. A joiner by trade he was one of the brightest and most intelligent men I had ever met and I have always been a sucker for clever men. As the six-week project progressed, I had got to know him well and he taught me how to do both the Daily Telegraph and Guardian crosswords. That involved sitting side by side at the table as we had morning coffee and the sheer almost animal-like magnetism slowly got to me. It evidently got to Peter as well and several times our legs touched under the table or one of us would put their fingers on the other’s wrist. There were those lingering glances and gaze holding moments that are the indications of the mutual attraction of a burgeoning relationship. However, neither of us was looking for an affair. Peter was happily married and Kevin and I had met him and his wife for drinks a couple of times. Additionally, Kevin and I had been getting on well and he seemed to be behaving himself. With my rather distorted logic I never even contemplated being unfaithful when he was a good boy, but when he was not then my ‘red mists of jealously built up and I wanted my revenge.
So nothing serious happened between Kevin and me until I found the damning evidence. He owned up, I kicked him out and a few days later when Peter’s knee pressed against mine as we were sitting side by side on the sofa, not at the table, I did not move away. As both of us stared at the crossword that he was holding as we tried to solve seven down, I pressed back. He looked at me, down at our pressed together knees then back up and into my eyes. He smiled and said softly.
“Are you sure Amanda?”
“Yes, Peter, yes I am.”
That was fifteen years ago, but when I heard Peter’s voice on the phone, it seemed just like yesterday.
“Good morning, Kenwrights.”
“Hello Peter, it’s Amanda Williams, well it is now, but you knew me as……”
“I know who you are Amanda, and who you were,” he said in his deep, velvet tone. “How are you, it has been a long time.”
It all came flooding back to me. I remembered his words as if he has said them just yesterday.
“Yes Amanda, I do think it is time we went to bed” he had replied.
I stood up with my blouse fully open and one breast pulled out of my bra. I put that away and said. “Come on then.”
I led him up the stairs very aware that my somewhat oversized bum was swaying just in front of his face. I probably emphasised the wiggle as I contemplated in a quite matter of fact way where I was going to commit adultery. Although the marital bed had some appeal, for I doubted it would be that again, I had slept in it a for few nights so I opted for the clean sheets of the guest bedroom.
We stood beside the bed and escort pendik kissed. He eased my blouse off and reaching round me, with our mouths clamped together, he adeptly unclipped my bra and between us, we removed it. I undid his dark blue, heavy cotton shirt and pulling it apart, I pressed my breasts against his nicely hairy chest. We kissed again; he was a good and patient kisser, much better than my previous lover and about as good as Kevin, who really is a great lover, just a lousy fucking husband.
He eased me towards the bed until the back of my legs were pressed against it and then helped me lie on it. I shuffled my body further onto the bed and, after removing his shirt, he lay on top of me. We kissed a lot more and squirmed our bodies together, it was lovely! His erection was alternately pressed into the softness of my stomach, against my denim-covered pussy and rubbed up and down against my clit.
“God I so want you” he grunted as his hand ran up and down my leg and again pressed against my pussy.
“Yes, Peter” I groaned back as I felt his fingers struggling with my zip. “Here let me,” I said sitting up. I undid the zip and pushed my jeans down. His eyes not leaving my body he did the same. “And these?” I asked slipping my fingers into my panties.
“Yes” he said very thickly as he did the same to his rather old-fashioned Y fronts.
Then we were both gloriously naked.
I felt very nervous. I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it. I felt a little sorry for Peter for really I was using him; there was no real emotion in this other than lust and my distorted sense of revenge. I reconciled that, however, by assuming it was the same for him. He had a need for extra-marital sex and whatever the reason for that was; he was satisfying that urge just as I was mine.
As it happens that first time was not that successful. I was far too tense and Peter was probably too eager. As I learned later, that was his first time at being unfaithful. It was over quite quickly leaving both of us sexually sated, but rather disappointed. It got better over the next three weeks or so whilst Kevin was persona non grata and we had some truly memorable fucks.
When I let Kevin come home and told Peter we had to end it, we agreed that ‘our fling’ had been good for both of us.
On the phone those fifteen years later, Peter and I chatted and he asked about Kevin; he knew that we had divorced. He told me that he was semi-retired and that his son ran the business now. I asked if he would be interested in my work and he said that they would and that he and his son would pop in, have a look at the flat and the plans and then prepare a quote. I had to be in Germany when they visited the apartment, but was pleased to get a quotation a couple of days later. It seemed fine and we agreed a start date some three weeks later.
When I met Peter the son, those fifteen years again just seemed to evaporate. He looked and sounded like his dad, had many of his gestures and mannerisms and the same sense of humour. He was quick witted like Peter senior and as he explained how they were going to go about the work, I could feel a similar level of mental horsepower. It sent a little shudder through me.
Although I had the occasional sex with Kevin and now and then, I had a date that resulted in some, usually fairly unsuccessful, lovemaking, most of my sexual pleasure nowadays was self-administered. I had bought a few toys online and made good use of them as I sexually consoled myself either, in my bed or, a hotel room on my travels.
A couple of weeks after the work started on the apartment Kevin came round to discuss Sara. We did this every six months or so or make sure that we were both fully involved in her development.
I had been away some of the time so had not spent much time with Peter Junior up until the last couple of days. I had been working from home and he and I had meetings at the end of each day when we discussed progress, what was going to happen next and some revisions to the plans. Sitting next to him looking at drawings or across a table chatting and having a coffee I could not help thinking back to the few weeks when his dad and I had our passionate and thoroughly enjoyable affair. The likeness between the two Peters was remarkable
Kevin and I had a light dinner and a few drinks and, as sometimes happened, he pulled me to him and kissed me.
“We should do it more often Mands.”
“This” he said cupping my breast.
Although he still excited me, the ‘magic’ had gone and there was no love left in me for him. However, there was still a lot of lust. I guess it was partly due to old times, partly that he is and always had been a good lover, but mostly because he was safe. I was not going to get emotionally involved or become dependent upon him, fuck him yes, but love him no.
We didn’t bother with going to the bedroom, but had sex there and then in the large kitchen diner.
As we had kissed, he had rolled my pendik escort bayan cashmere sweater up and had pulled my tits out of my bra. I had unbuttoned his shirt, unzipped him and had eased his familiar, beautifully hard cock out of his trousers.
“I am going to fuck you right here and now,” he grunted pulling my skirt up and bunching it round my waist. I was not wearing tights or stockings. He grabbed and squeezed the cheeks of my bum pulling me even more firmly against him.
“Promises, promises” I smiled rubbing his dick.
“Turn round you horny, fucking bitch” he grunted falling into the dirty talk patter that we had enjoyed for so many years.
“Not my bum Kevin.”
“I don’t want that I want your big, wet, hot cunt that’s what I am going to fuck.
So wonderfully and excitingly sordidly, he didn’t even bother taking my thong off. He bent me forward so I leaned against the table and merely pulling the slither of lace to one side he pushed his fat cock into my what I realised was a big, wet, hot cunt and fucked me wonderfully from behind.
As my orgasm burst over me, I could hardly believe what was in my mind. It was not my ex-husband who was fucking me! At first it was my ex-lover Peter and then horrifyingly just as we both climaxed it was Peter junior’s face that was in my mind.
I felt embarrassed the next few times I saw Peter. The recall of what was in my mind as Kevin had shagged me in the very room where I was chatting to the young man sent little shudders through me. Shudders of what, though, was the annoying question that plagued me as Peter carried on with his carpentry.
I came home early, around four one afternoon. I had been away in Prague for a few days so I felt I had earned an early finish. There was only Peter in the apartment. The workmen started at eight and finished at four so we were alone. We chatted about how the job was going and he reported that it was on time and on budget. I asked about his dad and he said he suffered from a very bad back and nowadays concentrated on his fishing and bowls. He explained that he had been apprenticed in a large firm for three years and two to his dad before getting involved in running the business. He was now taking a degree on business studies with a view to taking it over completely when Peter senior retires when he is sixty.
“He and mum are going to live in Italy, he loves it there,” he told me.
He explained that he had many plans for expanding the business so that it was, as he called it an integrated design and build operation. It all seemed very grand and the sheer enthusiasm with which he explained it was intriguing.
Several times over the past week or so I had seen him staring at me. As with all full-breasted women, I was used to men ogling my boobs although they usually thought we did not notice. We did, though and I did with Peter as I felt his eyes on my chest. He watched me as I moved and seemed to go out of his way to make conversation. Alternatively, was I imagining it? Who could tell? At the same time, I looked forward to our meetings, to seeing him, talking to him and being with him. It was daft, it was crazy and it was unfathomable. Just as seeing his dad’s and his face when I had made love to Kevin had been and just as imagining it was him screwing me was when I left him in the kitchen, went to my bedroom, locked the door and fucked myself imagining it was him.
I was sure that there was an atmosphere developing between us. Whenever we were alone, and it seemed as if we were alone more and more often, I could feel it. I wondered if he could too, but how could I know for sure? ‘Why did I want to know for sure’ I asked myself receiving the dreaded answer that I expected, but hoped I would never hear. ‘Because you fancy him, because you are intoxicated by him, because you want him and you want him to fuck you.’
I fought it. I tried resisting it and denying the fact that was in my mind most of each and every day. I tried to stop thinking about him, thinking about being with him and thinking about holding him. I fought the evil spirits that were a little like the ‘red mists’ that had driven his father and me to bed, that were tempting me. They filled my mind with him naked, with me holding his cock and him sucking my breasts. Even in bed late at night when my hands travelled over my tits and body to arrive between my legs sometimes with a vibrator, I worked hard to imagine that it was Kevin whose head was between my thighs. That it was Kevin’s cock I was stroking or licking and it was that which soared up inside me and fucked me. But I failed. Each time I could not do that and each time it was Peter who in mind was licking, sucking and fucking me.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked him one evening.
It was after seven and I had just got home from work. I had not had time to change so I was still wearing a blue business suit with a skirt and a white button up blouse. He was finishing up what he was doing. It seemed to me that recently he had been staying later. ‘Was it to see me?’ I asked myself feeling my pulses racing at the thought as at the same time I told myself not be so stupid. ‘He’s twenty four for fuck’s sake’ I told myself adding for good measure. ‘Almost half your age.’
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