Putty In Her Hands (10 page)

We shouldn’t be doing this,
Rob.

I know, you’re right. I’m
sorry, I got carried –

Kiss me again, God, kiss
me.

I can’t, Dawn,
I said,
reaching for my shirt.
Like you said, we shouldn’t.

It did the trick. She pushed me
down on the settee, then, climbing on me, kissed me again, her tits
dangling in front of me, those lovely chocolate-coloured nipples. I
cupped her breast, lightly brushing my finger against her nipple,
then took it in my mouth, circling my tongue around the hardened
mammary. She groaned with pleasure. I pulled down her trousers
while she helped me, wriggling out of them. Tearing off my jeans,
we were now down to our underwear. She looked at the shape of my
cock trapped inside my boxer shorts and started rubbing it, making
it harder still, a large wet patch where my pre-cum had soaked the
material.
Shall we free him?
she asked. All I could do was
nod.

She held my cock gently and
just stared at it, a slight smile on her lips.
My, you’re big,
such a big boy. Is it all for me?
I mumbled something
unintelligible. She licked her finger and ran it round the tip of
my knob. She sucked the pre-cum off her fingers. Then she kissed
the tip again, not a suck but a kiss. As she pulled away slightly,
I noticed a thin string of pre-cum strung between my knob and her
lips.
Do you want me to suck it, hmm?

Aye,
I said, in return.
Yeah, gud have fhek shuck
.

She giggled.
Not sure I
understood that but I’ll take it as a yes.
And with that, she
placed her mouth over my cock and sucked while caressing my balls.
Time stood still. She started wanking me, her hand gripping me hard
at the base. On each up stroke, my knob touched her lips. She
licked her fingers and, most gently, rubbed my balls again while
still sucking. She then ran her tongue up and down the shaft,
admiring my purple dome.
What a cock. He’s beautiful. So
straight and hard. So big.
Her mouth descended on it again and
I watched as the ridge of my knob disappeared into her mouth, her
cheek bulging with cock.
Fuck, I want you so bad
, she said,
between mouthfuls.

She leant back and I saw the
frenzied look in my eye.
Under the cushion there’s a condom,
she said, lying on her back.
You are going to fuck me now and
you’re going to fuck me good. You understand? I mean, I want it
hard.

And so the moment had come – a
beautiful, sleek woman, with her legs wide open, her shaved cunt
glistening, waiting, demanding to be fucked, inviting me in. And it
was all mine; what could I do?

Do it.

I clambered on top and kissed
her while reaching down, stroking the inside of her thighs, subtly
working my way up, inch by inch. She wrapped her arms round me and
groaned louder as I rubbed either side of her cunt, feeling her
juices but not touching her, delaying the moment. Then, most
gently, I touched her clitoris as if it brushing it with a feather.
It was enough for her to tense up and squeeze me violently.
Oh
God
, she gasped.
You’ve got to fuck me and fuck me
NOW
.

I plunged my cock into her,
causing her to arch her back, causing her to scream a stream of
obscenities. She kissed me hard, her tongue searching the inside of
my mouth. This felt great, fucking a beautiful woman with total
abandonment, my heavy balls slapping her perineum. I pumped and
fucked, pumped and fucked while she seized my buttocks, digging her
fingernails in. I felt her hand reach down. She’d grab my balls,
cupping them while I fucked her.
My, your balls are heavy,
she muttered, between breaths
. All that lovely cum, all for me.
Do you want to spurt your cum, yeah?
Do you wanna shoot your
load into my wet pussy?

After a while, we swapped
places. I lay back and managed to keep still, squirming with
anticipation, my cock twitching, as she lowered herself, impaling
herself on my dick. She rode me, cupping her tits, playing with her
nipples. She leant back, displaying her shaved pussy to me, her
hole plugged with my cock, my shaft glistening with her cunt juice,
and started to rub her clitoris. I reached for her tits and bounced
them in my hands.
Oh, Rob,
she gasped.
Not only do you
have a massive cock, you know how to use it. It really fills me up.
I can feel it, reaching deep inside. Your wife is one lucky woman
to have a cock like this at her beck and call.

Still on top of me, Dawn turned
round to face the other way and leant forward. I now had a full
view of her cunt going up and down on my shinny shaft, her labia
wrapped round it. After a while, she extricated herself from me
and, still facing away, inched backwards on her knees. What a sight
– her swollen cunt heading rapidly towards me. She planted her
pussy right onto my face, burying my mouth and nose in her wetness,
and started grinding herself in circles. I was suffocating in her
pussy and drowning in her cunt juice. Well, we all have to go
sometime, I thought; what better way? I licked her cunt from behind
as she groaned and grunted, pulling her labia apart, sucking,
licking, swallowing her cream.

And so we made love on her
brown leather sofa in her living room for an hour or more. I came
with her sitting on top of me, her breasts inches away from my
face, plunging into her as if my life depended on it. I came in
huge spurts, thrusting violently as she screamed and gasped. I
carried on for as long as I could, not satisfied until every last
drop of cum had been ejaculated. She remained on top of me, both of
us catching our breath. She began to feel heavy and finally she
extricated herself from me and laid next to me on the sofa.
Oh,
honey
, she said,
that was awesome.

I smiled.
Well, yes…

Subtly I turned my back on her
and removed the condom.

Let’s see
, she said. The
request took me by surprise – she wanted to see?
God,
she
exclaimed,
there’s so much of it. Look all that lovely cum.
Honey, when was the last time you had sex?
I took it as a
rhetorical question.

Afterwards we had time to
cuddle and to come down but leaving was still difficult.
Can’t
you stay the night?
she asked.

Oh, honey, I’d love to
,
I said.
But I can’t
.

Can’t you make some excuse?

I tried to think and no, I
couldn’t think of anything even remotely plausible.
She wouldn’t
believe me, whatever I said
.
I’m sorry, Dawn.

So, you’re just going to leave
me. Fuck me and leave me. Great. Don’t forget to wipe your dick on
the curtain as you leave.

I was shocked by this outburst.
Dawn, you know it’s not like that.

Do I?

Yes.
I cupped her face
in my hand.
You know I have more respect for you than
that.

So tomorrow, at work, you’re
not going to ignore me?

Oh, Dawn, of course not.

By time I got home, it was gone
half twelve and thankfully Emily had gone to bed. I made a cup of
tea, went out into the garden and smoked a couple of cigarettes,
slowly coming to terms with what I had just done. After fifteen
years of marriage, I’d been unfaithful. I felt great.

We never did get chance to
watch any of those DVDs.

Friday, 4th January

I slept well, no
suffering conscience kept me awake, no fitful dreams laden with
guilt disturbed my slumber, but I awoke with a start and for a few
moments I wondered why. It was 7 a.m. And then of course I
remembered, the memory came flooding back – I had had sex with
Dawn. I turned and gazed at the dozing figure next to me and waited
for the guilt to kick in. Five minutes and I waited, wanting it to
come, wanting to feel the grip of shame but as the seconds ticked
by and I watched the duvet rise and fall with Emily’s steady
breath, my heart remained unencumbered by remorse. I realised then
that having eaten the forbidden apple, having devoured it whole, I
wanted to experience its delight again – and again. The only
concern I felt as I lay there was regarding Dawn. I hated the
thought she might wake up feeling sullied. I decided I had to see
her straightaway, to hold her, to reassure her that I hadn’t simply
used her and that, having
got my
way
I wasn’t about to disappear, to ‘wipe
my dick on the curtain as I left’, as she so elegantly put it last
night.

Emily’s a
heavy sleeper, always has been. I envy the way she can come to bed,
close the light and be gently snoring within seconds. So getting
out of bed, showering, dressing and slipping out of the house
unnoticed wasn’t difficult. As I was leaving I thought I heard Lola
stir, so closing the front door quietly, I slipped away. I’d had no
breakfast but the emotions stirring within me had stripped away my
appetite.

I stopped the
car half a mile up the road and rang Dawn’s mobile. No answer. I
tried her landline. On the fifth ring she answered. She asked what
time it was.

Listen, can I come over?

What, now? Sure.

Twenty
minutes later, I was there, excited by the thought of seeing her
again. I pressed the buzzer and bounded up the two flights of
stairs. She opened the door and stood before me, dressed in a silky
nightie, sky blue, strands of hair over her face. She looked sleepy
and dishevelled; she looked beautiful. I hesitated for a moment but
she seemed pleased to see me, so I stepped forward and wrapped my
arms around her. She smelt warm and inviting. She burrowed her face
into my neck.

In the kitchen I accepted her
offer of tea.

That was some
night last night,
she said.

Yes.
Amazing.
The word seemed
inadequate.
But are you OK?

She
smiled.
I am now that you’re
here.

Good,
I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
I just wanted to make sure, you know…

Yeah. I appreciate it. Thank
you for coming. Can you stay long?

Not really, I wish I could.

Don’t worry; I understand. Was
everything OK when you got home?

It was fine.

Taking our teas,
she led me through to the living room and we sat down on her
settee.
We should have watched one of your
DVDs.

What, the one directed by
Werner Phizog?

Werner Herzog, you
ignoramus.

Well, I admit I chose films I
hoped you wouldn’t like. That was the idea. It almost
backfired.

She put on a look
of aghast.
You… I thought as much, you
scheming toe rag, you.
She punched me in
the arm, laughing.
Oh, Robbie, that was so
good last night. For an older man, you’ve got a lot of
stamina.

Hey, less of the old.

So erm,
she stroked my thigh,
how about, you know, if you have time…

Oh God, Dawn, I’d love to but
–

I know, I know,
you’ve got to get to work.
I did. I had a
meeting with Heather and you don’t arrive late when Heather’s
involved.
How about later? Your lunch
hour?

Really? Wow. OK. About
twelve?

It’s a date! I’ll be here for
you, baby. Don’t keep me waiting now.

Heather’s meeting took place in
the large, sterile Conference Room. Anyone with a smidgen of
responsibility had been invited, so that excluded the likes of
Sean, Loretta and Ernie. Paul flounced in a couple minutes late
(very inadvisable) with his usual swagger and was promptly assigned
to take the minutes for his troubles. That took the wind out of his
sails; it would mean he’d have to concentrate now. For a moment I
thought he was going to swing his arms about, ape-like, and say,
It’s not fair
.

Heather, whose diction is
usually that of a BBC announcer, muttered a reluctant
Happy New
Year
to us and then, having got that out of the way, commenced.
This was our quarterly Team Meeting, the important one, which to
miss is not an option. So annual leave, sick children, house on
fire, cat turned rabid, etc, nothing can get you out of this one.
Except death. One’s own. Here, Heather reviews performance, our
delivery targets, and expects progress reports which must contain
evidence of real progress. So when she questions the validity of
the findings from the Absenteeism Report, Karen twiddles her pen
and takes an interest in a piece of fluff on her jacket. You shoot
her a quick glance because you can’t help yourself but it’s not to
gloat because if haven’t already been ritually humiliated you know
your turn is not long in coming. It’s traditionally a long meeting
but is not actually the slightest bit dull because of the fear
factor.

Nonetheless, my mind wanders
occasionally. It’s twelve hours since I’ve had sex with the
gorgeous Dawn, the most attractive woman I’ve yet to meet and I’m
beginning to wonder whether it really happened or whether my
feverish mind had simply made it all up. I’d like to tell Paul but
I won’t because I’m not that stupid but part of me, the macho part,
yearns to boast and to glow in the satisfaction of his admiration
and envy. One month ago she was merely a colleague; six months ago
I never even knew of her existence, and now, here she is, my… what?
My lover? Mistress? Girlfriend? Was it the start of something or a
one-off? If the former, where would it go; how would it end? If the
latter, how would I look back on January 3
^rd
in the
months and years to come? As an aberration, an affront to the
sanctity of my marriage? Or an oasis I chanced upon in the unending
desert of my sexual existence? What a terrible metaphor! And
completely unfounded as my sex life with Emily is far from
unsatisfactory.