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Subject: {ASSM} Anniversary Waltz #2
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<1st attachment, "ann02.txt" begin>
NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and
other uses of this work, public or private, free or
paid, in any format whether existing now or to be
invented in the future, so long as a copy of this note
and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration
is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam
Mad About You, Baby An Anniversary Waltz story By
theGreatxIam
Steve Oldham had picked the restaurant with an eye to
seduction.
Belladonna, his buddy Pete had assured him, was the
best in the city for proving that the way to a woman's
pussy was through her stomach. "Absolutely, dude," Pete
had said. "It's where everyone goes not to be seen."
That threw Steve, but Pete explained: Belladonna was
darkness and candlelight and waiters who didn't tell
you their names and knew never to ask yours. No tables,
just booths. Secluded booths.
It wasn't exactly what Steve had in mind. After all,
the woman he planned to seduce was his wife. But his
other choices were booked. So Belladonna it was.
He was surprised at how effusively the maitre d' had
greeted them. But not too surprised. Being married to
Paula had its perks. When your wife has a body that's
caused more drooling than Pavlov's bell, you get used
to extra attention. What astonished Steve were the
times, like this one, when Paula herself seemed
embarrassed by the fuss people made over her.
He knew just how much time she spent arranging her lush
blonde hair, selecting her outfits, like tonight's
skin-tight red sheath. How could she not expect men to
fawn over her?
But that modesty was one of her most endearing traits,
one of the hundred reasons Steve had enjoyed being
married to her. She was so wonderful that there was
only one disappointment: They hadn't started a family
yet.
That was what tonight was all about. It was sneaky, he
knew. But what choice did he have? Paula had avoided
all discussion. It was always "someday."
Steve had decided. Someday was today, their second
anniversary. All his plans were complete. This time
there would be no slip-up, not like before. Not like
last summer. This time, he'd thought of everything.
---- ---- ----
The July sun applied another bronzing coat to Paula's
skin as she stretched out on the beach chair in her
backyard. She was "between jobs," a condition that had
existed since shortly after her wedding -- so, about
one, one-and-a-half years. "Between jobs" was what she
told other people. To herself, she thought of it as
having taken on the bigger job of being a full-time
wife.
It all took so much time. Waiting around for pick-ups
and deliveries, for example. How would their laundry
ever get done if she wasn't there to hand it to the
service and take it back when it was done? Of course,
they could have a maid, but Steve was so penny-pinching
about that. Fortunately he was working longer and
longer hours, doing whatever he did in that office of
his, so the money situation should be improving. Maybe
she could even afford to get a job again.
Paula rolled onto her back and adjusted her tiny red
bikini, idly thinking about job possibilities. She
sighed. Even with a maid, there would still be so much
she had to do. Especially all the effort it took to
make herself look nice for Steve: the gym, her
nutritionist, clothes shopping, hair appointments,
sunbathing -- that couldn't be rushed. Where would the
time come from if she worked?
Look at Steve. He still had the good looks that had
first attracted her -- the firm jaw, that lovely head
of dark hair. But he had neglected his time in the sun
for years; he was so pale now he almost glowed in the
dark. And he had a hint of a roll around the tummy.
Paula would just die if she let herself go like that.
She rolled onto her flat, taut stomach and reached back
to undo the knot of her top, letting the strings fall
to the chair. Still, she thought, it would be fun to
work again. Maybe in that little dress shop tucked away
in Pomona. Would they give employee discounts?
She began to drift off to sleep with pleasant thoughts
of couture coupons dancing in her head. Then a loud
voice crashed into her reverie.
"Hey, lady!"
Paula looked up, startled. A tall, well-built Latino
towered over her, muscles almost bursting out of a
stained blue workshirt with the sleeves ripped off. She
grabbed her sunglasses; the glare always seemed worse
because of her contacts.
"Lady, these yours? You mean to throw them out?"
In one gloved hand the mysterious stranger held out a
small plastic bag. Paula scrambled to her feet,
inadvertently leaving her bikini top behind.
A small, shallow furrow came and went on her forehead,
right between her sky blue eyes, as she plucked the bag
from him. Her eyes opened wide as she saw what was
inside.
"Where did you find these?" Paula's eyes flicked back
and forth between the bag and the man.
"In the garbage, lady. They are yours, huh?"
His eyes were aimed several inches below her face.
Paula found that shyness appealing. "Yes, they're mine.
I guess -- They were in the trash?"
"Right on top, that's why I noticed. Still had the
receipt and everything. Thought you might have thrown
them out by mistake. Wouldn't want to lose those, huh?"
He smiled, bright ivories sparkling against his dark
skin.
"No. I don't remember throwing anything on top of the
trash, either. I -- you should get a reward."
"No sweat, lady. Glad I could help."
"But I should -- How about something cold to drink, at
least? You do look hot."
He smiled again. "Thanks, but I gotta get back to the
truck."
"Just a cold pop? Or -- something harder?"
He smiled again. "OK. Lemme tell the guys I'll catch up
to 'em."
Paula went into the house and was bent over rooting
through the fridge when the garbageman returned. She
heard his heavy boots and turned toward him, opening
the fridge door to let him see the beer and pop. "See
anything you want?" she asked.
Her nipples showed the effects of the refrigerator's
chill.
"Yeah," he said, his voice low and soft.
It was Paula's turn to smile as his open-mouthed stare
made her finally notice her top was missing. She licked
her lips. He did look handsome.
The garbageman stepped closer. A whiff of something
dead and rotting made Paula gag. He apologized. He did
it so politely, she thought, and it was wrong to treat
people badly just because of their jobs. Her friend
Lucy was a buyer for Sears, for example, but Paula
didn't think any less of her.
But this man did, well, stink.
Paula had an idea. She crooked a finger and led him to
the small bathroom just off the patio. It had a shower
for when they came in from the pool.
The garbageman, who said his name was Luis, cleaned up
real good. Paula soaped him up, top to tight bottom,
and washed the odor right off. She had planned to bring
him up to the bedroom after, but rubbing the suds into
his firm muscles and feeling his hot flesh against her
own made her impatient.
When she'd rinsed the last soapy residue off, she
pushed him against the shower wall and got to her
knees.
His cock was lovely, thick and hard. Its tip fit so
nicely into her mouth. Paula sucked it so hard her
cheeks hollowed. Her soft hands rubbed his stalk. The
shower's warm jets cascaded over both of them as she
worked him over.
After a few minutes, Luis grabbed her head with both
hands and began driving his dick into her mouth. Paula
didn't appreciate that, but fortunately it took only a
few strokes before hot wads of cum burst from him. Luis
sagged back, letting go of her.
He had the good manners to remain hard, Paula was
delighted to see. She shut off the water and led him
out. She considered the family room couch, but it was
leather and, besides, she didn't want to waste time
drying off.
She almost tugged Luis's arm off getting him outside.
She had to assure him over and over that the neighbors
wouldn't see anything. The struggle was worth it,
though, when she got him down on the beach chair and
sat on his cock.
Paula eased him in, bit by bit, and was a little
astonished when she found herself sitting flat on his
lap, all of him deep inside her. She hadn't dreamed she
could get his whole length in her. It was a trifle
uncomfortable and unfamiliar at first, but as she slid
up and down she got used to it.
Luis was still aggressive, bucking up at her to ram his
cock home, but Paula let herself go and gave as good as
she got. Luis's manhandling of her breasts even excited
her, just because it matched her mood.
She found herself riding him like a mechanical bull,
her long hair flying out of its perm as she bounced on
his cock. Paula enjoyed it so much that she didn't slow
down, not even when Luis begged her. "Too much," he
said, "slow down!"
But she couldn't. It felt like his cock filled every
crevice, and the tingling in her body, in every nerve,
had turned into a white heat. Paula drove down onto his
pole, again, again and again, faster and faster. He put
his strong hands on her waist but her passion made
Paula stronger. She tore out of his grasp and continued
her assault.
And then it hit, a volcano of ecstasy, ripping through
her every fiber. Paula jerked and moaned, surfing the
orgasm's waves. Somewhere in the middle of it Luis
came, but she barely knew and didn't care. She held him
firmly between her legs, refusing to let him go until
she had squeezed every last drop out of her climax.
---- ---- ----
"I know, Mom. I know." Steve paced the floor of his
parents' living room. "We do want a family. We're not
selfish. It just -- it just hasn't happened yet."
And, he thought, it's not my fault it hasn't, so why am
I getting the grief? He couldn't believe it when Paula
had told him a garbageman had found her birth-control
pills. What was some snoopy garbageman doing returning
things? He'd thrown them out; they were supposed to
stay thrown out.
His plan had been to feign ignorance when Paula
couldn't find them, then suggest they just take their
chances. And if that didn't work, he even had a pack of
condoms he'd prepared -- little pinpricks to let his
boys get through.
When Paula told him about finding them, all his plans
fell through. He'd considered a full frontal assault,
but that seldom worked with Paula.
Still, it was unfair that he would then have to bear
the brunt of his mother's nagging about their
childlessness. He couldn't deny that she wasn't getting
any younger -- though 52 still seemed a reasonable age
to be a grandmother. Yes, Mother had said -- but she
wasn't one yet, was she?
Steve could only sigh and nod and swear they were
working on it. Couldn't tell Mother about Paula. Mother
thought the sun rose and set on her daughter-in-law,
wouldn't hear a word against her. "Paula is so
thoughtful, always taking me to lunch," it was, or
"Poor Paula, at home alone every night."
Steve sighed again. At least there was relief; Mother
had to go into the kitchen to check on lunch. Paula
would be there in twenty minutes or so, after her
massotherapy session.
That left Steve alone with his dad, who had been
quietly sitting in a corner. From the shadows, Father
spoke. "I'm sorry that Mother's giving you such a hard
time, son. She means well, you know."
"I know that," Steve said quickly. "But this -- it's
not my fault." Even as he said it, Steve regretted it.
Father pressed him for an explanation. Steve put him
off, awkwardly, and was actually relieved when Mother
returned.
---- ---- ----
Paula opened the door and flashed a sunny smile. "Daddy
Oldham! What a surprise! Steve didn't tell me you were
coming over. And he isn't even home -- he called a
little while ago and said it would be another late
night."
"I know," Steve's dad said, stepping inside. "I talked
to him earlier. Actually, that's why I'm here --
because I knew you'd be alone."
Paula led the way into the front room and demurely
adjusted her short white skirt to cover her thighs as
she sat on the brocade couch. She patted a cushion
next to her. "Now you've got me curious. What's up?"
The older man cleared his throat and glanced around the
room. Paula waited, wondering. Idly, she fiddled with
her tight red crop top. Steve's birthday was coming up;
maybe his parents were planning a big surprise? Maybe
-- maybe sending both of them on a trip? Tahiti,
perhaps? She really loved Tahiti.
Mr. Oldham looked at her for a second, then looked
away. "It's about -- well, this is a little awkward."
He turned back to her. "Steve must never know about
this."
Paula nodded. "I promise." Or Paris, she thought.
"Yes. Well. Last weekend, when you two were over at our
place -- er, before you got there, that is -- Steve and
I had a chat."
He paused. Paula mechanically injected an "Oh" into the
conversation. The Riviera -- but that's so yesterday,
she thought.
"We had a chat," Mr. Oldham went on. "About -- the two
of you. And, ah, Steve suggested -- he didn't come
right out and say it, mind you, don't be thinking that,
no -- but he hinted, that, well, there might be -- not
that he made a big issue of it -- some sort of, well, a
problem."
Aruba, she thought. Or was that too common?
"A problem, as I say." Mr. Oldham looked away. "Now,
I'm not one to interfere. Not me. But I know how
difficult these discussions can be -- took us several
years before we had Steve's brother Dave, you know, and
the arg -- ah, discussions we had about that, well, I
say -- but then I suspect you know all about that sort
of thing. Wonderful thing, family, but. Certainly,
there are other considerations. No one denies that.
Still, Steve seems to have his heart set -- and you two
have been married some time -- well, not all that long.
Yet, and all. Perhaps he hasn't made it clear just how
much he -- Awkward, is what it is. Anything, related
to, ah, well, those matters. And, yes, I'm sure you're
thinking, not something for outsiders -- not that I'm
completely an outsider, of course. Still, don't usually
have a third party in the pillow talk, do you? Keep it
all in the bedroom, so to speak."
Fiji, now, she'd heard some good things about --
"I'm sorry." Paula was vaguely aware that the
conversation seemed to have strayed from vacations.
"You said something about pillows?"
Mr. Oldham stared at the ceiling. "Well. Actually. Um."
He looked her in the eye. "Steve suggested you weren't
-- that is, you may not be -" He stopped, stared at
her. "You aren't giving him what he wants, in short."
Paula stared. "In the bedroom? He told you that?"
Mr. Oldham stuttered out a denial, but Paula didn't pay
much attention. The nerve of Steve! It wasn't her
fault, was it, if he came home too pooped to pop most
nights? When he did eventually come home. Not her
fault, at all. She had never had any complaints from
anyone else, that's for sure. And not even man enough
to tell her himself -- he has to send his father!
Paula cut into her father-in-law's chatter. "So just
what is it," she said, "just how have I fallen short,
that Steve couldn't tell me himself?"
"Ah, er --" Mr. Oldham began. "He said that he had
discussed -- ah, the timing --"
"Timing!" Paula's eyes flashed. "We never discussed
that. It's unsatisfactory? What, he doesn't want it to
take so long?"
"Precisely," Mr. Oldham said. "Yes, that's it. Now, I
don't say I'm taking his side. Mind you, you're young.
You can afford to take your time. Stretch it out. Enjoy
yourselves while you can, I say. But Steve and his
mother think --"
"Mother Oldham? He's talked about this with her?"
"Yes. It was her idea, in fact. She's quite adamant
about it. I can say that from experience." Mr. Oldham
winced slightly. "She is not, ah, the most patient
person."
Paula leaned closer. "How long have you been married?"
"We -- twenty-eight years, next August. But what --"
Paula put a hand on the knee of her father-in-law's
grey pin-striped suit. "Twenty-eight years? All that
time, with someone who won't take her time?"
"Ah, I came here to talk about you and Steve --"
"Yes, I see that now. We're kindred souls, aren't we?"
It occurred to Paula that her father-in-law was much
more handsome than Steve -- that touch of grey at the
temples added distinction; the lines in his face
provided character; and he didn't have those dark
circles under his eyes. She put her other hand on his
shoulder. "Two souls tied to people who can't satisfy
us."
Mr. Oldham pressed against the armrest. "I -- er --
this isn't -- perhaps you misunderstood."
"No," Paula whispered, her lips hovering just inches
from his. "I understand. Oh, I understand! All those
years you've suffered!"
"Suffered?"
Paula shushed him. "We'll fix you up," she said. "Nice
and slow, just like you want it. Like we both do." Her
lips met his. At first, she felt resistance. But, as
she persisted, he melted. His lips parted; their
tongues met. The feeling was electric.
Slowly, her hands began to explore his body. Her
fingers spider-walked from his knee to his crotch. She
was delighted to discover the stiff bulge already
there. But, when he squirmed away from her touch, she
reminded herself: Take your time.
So she made her hand leave his cock, travel up his
chest. She slid his suit jacket off as she crawled
forward to press her body to his. When she broke their
kiss to nuzzle his neck, he protested weakly: "We can't
--"
Paula ran her fingers through his still-thick hair.
"Yes, we can," she whispered. "We can take all the time
we want, because we're two of a kind and it's just us
tonight."
His reply was muffled by her kiss.
Paula felt her pussy growing hotter and wetter, and it
took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep
from ripping her father-in-law's clothes off and
ravishing him immediately. But he had made his needs so
clear.
Taking her time, it was twenty minutes before Paula had
them both naked. Along the way, his silly objections
had vanished -- right around the time her tongue snaked
across his chest as she bit the buttons off his shirt.
It was without resistance, then, that she led him to
the guest bedroom. Indeed, Mr. Oldham had become a very
willing partner, and proved to be very adept at the
oral arts. Paula rarely could get Steve to eat a box
lunch, but her father-in-law had a talented tongue.
Ripples of liquid passion flowed from her cunt. Her
toes curled and her fingers clutched at the silk
pillows as he nibbled her clit.
And her orgasm arrived as a Technicolor spectacle, a
rainbow of colors bursting behind her eyelids. She
almost bucked him off the bed when the spasms hit her.
After she recovered, Paula was eager to return the
favor, but Mr. Oldham waved off her offer, saying he
feared he only had one effort in him and didn't want to
miss the chance to have her.
And so Paula rolled onto her back again and spread her
legs wide. Her father-in-law knelt between them, his
cock rubbing her bush as he just held himself over her
on stiff arms.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to admire you
awhile."
"Oh, you sweetheart," she said, pulling him closer for
a kiss, the taste of her sex still on his lips.
He certainly took his time, suckling her breasts and
running his hands all over her body before, at last,
getting into position with his cock riding along her
slit.
He entered her easily but stopped with just the tip
inside her. She couldn't help it; her body pressed up,
trying to get more of him inside. Only after a minute
or two did he push home, deep, deep, deeper into her.
Paula let out a sigh like the desert wind as his cock
came to rest with their crotches pressed close. He
played her like a violin, with a Gypsy in his soul. She
provided the counterpoint and they made beautiful music
together.
Though their pace was gentle, they went on so long that
sweat poured off them. The smell of sex merged with his
piney aftershave and her flowery scent in a primal mix.
Still they kept going, and every stroke was like the
first, a vibrating stab into the depths of her being.
Her legs rose, bent double at the knees, as she tried
to open wider, to take in more and more. Her fingers
clutched at his back, then dug into his ass to urge him
deeper. A second orgasm exploded within her, making her
almost levitate as her spine arched upward.
She was coming down off that high when her
father-in-law groaned and drove his thickening cock
into her, pumping once, twice before deflating.
She gave him one of Steve's shirts after he'd showered,
and in quiet conversation they cleared up the confusion
over why Mr. Oldham was there. Paula laughed at the
mix-up and assured him that she and Steve could work
out their differences themselves. Mr. Oldham thanked
her and went home whistling.
---- ---- ----
Steve slammed the locker door closed. "Damn! I swear I
had a full can of new ones! You sure you didn't pick
them up by mistake?"
Pete, at his own locker a few spots down, rooted
through his gym bag, extracting old towels and grimy
socks before pulling out an orange tube. "My bad," he
said sheepishly. "I got your balls in my hand."
Steve grabbed them without a word, his face purple.
Pete ran a hand through his wet blonde locks. "Chill
out, man. I'm sorry about your balls and all, but
what's eating you? You were flailing around like a girl
out there."
Steve grimaced as he zipped his racquet into its cover.
"Yeah, whatever. Go on, rip into me. Why should you be
any different?"
"Where's that coming from, little buddy? Bad day at
work? I told you, man. Working too hard can give you a
heart attack. You oughta know by now."
"Na. It's not work. It's -- I told you my mom was
giving me a hard time about not having kids yet, right?
So, now my dad calls and rips me for pressuring Paula.
Says I should see her side. And he's my dad! And Paula,
I don't know what's going on. I tried to talk to her
last night about giving up the Pill, see what happens.
Big mistake."
"Mistake, huh? So she's staying on it?"
"Yeah. I guess. I mean, she says we can think about
having kids. Someday."
"But she's still on birth control?"
"Yeah, what have I been saying? Still on the Pill. Why?
You wanna take her side, too?"
"Hey, man, not my fight. I just think you should dial
it down a little before you're riding the coronary
coach. She's on the Pill, so what? You got time. She's
definitely taking it, then?"
"God, how many times do I have to say it? Yes! What's
it to you, anyway?"
"Nothing, my man, nothing. Just tryin' to keep the
story straight, you know? Don't sweat it. Hey, I'll see
you next week, right? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.
Keep it real, dude."
---- ---- ----
Paula preferred the Belladonna to the other places Pete
had taken her. Dives, some of them had been. The
Belladonna had class, even if it was so dark that they
could grow their own mushrooms under the tables.
True, the menu had all the sophistication of an
airline; once you decided "beef or chicken," you were
pretty much done. And the wine list was redder than the
necks of an Alabama football crowd.
But it was quiet, the booths were comfortable, and the
napkins were cloth. It was as close to slumming as
Paula liked to come.
So, for that matter, was Pete. Ever since that
unfortunate incident with Teri's fiance, Paula had
steered away from the boyfriends or husbands of her
friends. But it was so convenient to have a married man
on the side. They were so grateful, so tolerant, so
undemanding. No messiness about the long term. Have
dinner, have sex. Very simple.
Simple was what she needed, especially after another
flaming argument with Steve about babies. Honestly, he
was so crazy on the subject. She'd thought he'd gotten
it out of his system, since he'd been quiet about it
for so long. Suddenly it's baby, baby, baby -- and she
didn't like to hear that, even in bed. If she heard it
one more time, she would just scream.
That's why Pete was perfect. No pretense of emotional
attachment whatsoever. Just wanted someone with more
curb appeal than his dumpy wife could offer.
He met her in the lobby, like always. Dinner was as
uneventful as ever. Her chicken was moist, a pleasant
surprise. There was a moderate buzz in the half-filled
room, just enough to keep Pete's comments from
interrupting her train of thought.
He had started getting frisky during the salad course,
though; she usually could get halfway through dessert
before he switched from hungry to horny.
By the time the strawberries and cream arrived, he had
his hand up her skirt. It was so distracting that she
forgot to order her latte.
Pete actually suggested they duck into the bathroom --
a PUBLIC bathroom, was he insane? Paula had to abandon
all hope of a nice hotel room. It was all she could do
to make him wait until they got to his car -- it had
the bigger back seat.
Inside, he was even more impatient. That wasn't
necessarily a bad thing, as long as he didn't skimp her
once they got down to business.
He didn't. Though their clothes were heaped on the
floor in seconds -- well, his; hers were neatly folded
and stacked on the front seat -- the sex was admirably
enduring.
Pete wasn't the most creative lover she'd ever known,
but he was considerate. In the 69 they formed at the
start, he gave as good as he got. And Paula flattered
herself that he got pretty darn good. Through practice
she knew just when to let the rubbery tip pop out of
her mouth and instead treat the shaft as a large and
rather slowly melting Creamsicle, when to return to the
top and do that hollowed-cheek thing that men seemed to
like so much.
Pete, meanwhile, was mercifully untalkative while he
applied his tongue to her juiciest parts. He did not
have Mr. Oldham's skill, but he was enthusiastic and
devoted to his goal -- even after his own orgasm had
pumped a few splashes of jism down her throat.
It didn't hurt, of course, that Paula continued to hold
his shrinking member in her mouth. They had found,
through trial and error, that to be the only reliable
way to restore him to fighting trim -- a curiously apt
phrase, it occurred to her.
While she was nursing him back to tumescence, Pete was
doggedly edging her closer to climax -- dogged also
being an extremely appropriate word, given the
resemblance of his method to that of an overly
affectionate St. Bernard.
At last she came. As always, with Pete, it was less an
earthquake than a long ride over poorly maintained
grade crossings in a car with bad shocks. Paula was
proud of the analogy; she'd been working on it for
months.
She would have preferred to cuddle awhile, but
adulterers can't be choosers. They shifted positions,
her on top, and she guided his missile into her silo.
At least that position gave her the control to
interrupt Pete's trademark staccato thrusting,
introducing some variety. But he was more aggressive,
friskier than usual. Even being on top couldn't give
her the ability to rein him in.
That wasn't a bad thing, not completely. There was a
wild abandon to him that excited her. She was so
intrigued that she had to mention it, even as she felt
the tide rising in her.
"What's gotten into you?" Paula asked, huffing as she
bounced on his cock.
"You'd never guess," Pete said, grabbing her hips and
pulling her down hard.
"What?"
"Come on, guess!"
She shivered and shook; it wouldn't be long. "Tell me!"
"It's ol' Steverino," Pete said. "Dude gave me the
green light!"
"He what?" She was teetering on the edge.
"Yeah. Well, he didn't exactly say, go screw my old
lady. But he said you were completely safe. Load off my
mind."
"Safe?" So close, she thought, so close.
"You're on the Pill, he says. So I'm in the clear. No
baby, baby!"
Paula's scream rattled windows in the restaurant and
two nearby storefronts, as well as setting off the
alarms of three cars in the parking lot.
---- ---- ----
Steve listened carefully at the top of the stairs. Only
when he was absolutely sure that Paula was watching
"Survivor" did he tiptoe across their bedroom to the
master bath -- well, it was hers. Did you call it a
mistress bath then?
It was bigger than his college dorm, and had a lot more
chrome and glass. Steve could see his guilty face
reflected in a dozen surfaces when he flicked on the
light.
He was desperate. Paula was being utterly unreasonable.
If only he could issue an ultimatum -- but he couldn't.
She would know any threat to leave was a hoax.
With trembling hand, he pulled the bottle of pills from
his pocket. This would work. It had to work.
The worst part was opening the drawer. One false squeak
could give him away; Paula had ears like a ... like
whatever animal has really, really sharp ears.
But her eyes weren't as keen, and on that knowledge
rested his whole plan. In the morning, before she put
her contacts in -- it just might work. No. It had to
work.
---- ---- ----
Pete, in Paula's opinion, had been quite unreasonable.
He had been the one to bring up the B word; not her
fault if she reacted to it. And certainly no reason to
push her out of the car, naked, throw her clothes out
and drive off with screeching tires.
It certainly wasn't her fault that a policewoman two
blocks down stopped him for speeding -- not even if the
coppette had been alerted by all those alarms.
And Pete had only himself to blame if he had been
unable to calm himself down, compounding the trouble
when the officer discovered him to be uncovered.
If his wife had to bail him out on a charge of public
lewdness, well, it only served him right.
Despite all that, Paula had indicated her willingness
to be forgiving. Pete's response to her offer had been
entirely uncalled for. He had been so crude that she
almost had no regrets about the end of their affair.
Almost. Because there was the matter of being left high
and dry in the sex department. It made her seriously
reconsider the moratorium she had declared just the day
before on relations with Steve. But she was a woman of
principle, and the principle in this case was that
Steve was being an annoying nag. She had warned him not
to keep bringing up the B word, but would he listen? No
-- and the latest even as they were screwing. It might
hurt her more than it hurt him, but she was not going
to give in.
That made her feel quite principled, but also quite
horny. It was true, she thought, what they say: babies
destroy your sex life. Even if you don't actually have
them, apparently. Here she was, a few weeks away from
her wedding anniversary, and she might as well be a
nun.
Being unrequited had left Paula with a great deal of
excess energy. And when she had an excess of sexual
energy, she cleaned. As dry spells in bed were unusual
for her, she had a great deal of cleaning to do.
Dusting knickknacks and rearranging Steve's library to
arrange the books by color took two days. Vacuuming
would have taken ages if she hadn't found a maid
service that agreed to accept cash so Steve wouldn't
get all fussy over the credit-card statement.
But that happy discovery only forced her to find other
chores. Paula was morosely mulling the hours it would
take to sort her shoes by designer -- within the
existing categories of seasons and subcategories of
color, of course -- when her eyes chanced on the attic
hatch.
In a trice she was poking into the boxes and crates
stored up there. She decided it was long past time to
weed out the clutter, and began hauling stuff out to
the trash -- only stuff they didn't need, like Steve's
old school papers, and Steve's old trophies, and of
course Steve's old photo albums, filled with pictures
of Steve's old girlfriends.
Paula was on her fourth trip to the garbage cans out
front when she heard a ratchety thrumming, growing
louder with time. With a smile beaming, she ran back to
the house. A quick swipe across her face and arms with
a hand cloth, a lipstick check, two buttons undone on
her pale orange blouse, a bit of tugging to make her
denim shorts ride lower and a few brushstrokes through
her hair: She was ready.
Pausing at the door to catch her breath, Paula
sauntered out.
Luis was manhandling one of the laden trash cans into
the truck when he saw her. The can made quite a racket
when it hit the ground.
It was even easier than Paula had imagined. She only
had to run her tongue around her lips to make Luis
throw aside his gloves and advance upon her.
Perhaps it was because Luis was no challenge that Paula
improvised an addition to her plan on the spot.
Joe was the other can handler on the truck, a young,
wiry white boy with a fuzz of red hair beneath his
grimy baseball cap. He didn't have to be asked twice.
Karl was the driver. A white-haired black man with a
withered left arm, he shook his head when she asked.
Luis tried to talk him into it -- "Hey, man, this is
the chiquita I told you about" -- but Karl was adamant.
Paula was not used to having men turn her down, and she
wasn't in the mood to accept defeat. She looked up and
down the street; it was dead as usual.
Her blouse came off in a flash; her bra took only a
moment longer. Karl didn't budge, but she saw a gleam
in his eye.
While Luis was scrambling out of his clothes and Joe
was staring open-mouthed, she shucked off her shorts
and panties and kicked off her sandals. Karl shifted in
his seat and leaned into the open window for a closer
look.
Luis tried to paw her, but she sent him in to the
shower, dragging Joe along. Paula spread her legs
apart. Staring directly into the old man's eyes, she
put a carefully manicured fingertip into her mouth,
pursed her lips around it and drew it out slowly.
Keeping just the tip in contact with her body, she
traced a snaking path down to her pink pussy lips.
When her finger brushed the moist folds, the door of
the garbage truck creaked open.
When her finger entered her slit, dipping into its
creamy interior, Karl's work boots thudded onto the
running board.
When her finger emerged, glistening in the sunlight, he
hustled to the ground, almost falling in his haste.
The crotch of his faded green pants tented promisingly
as Paula grabbed the old man's hand and led him back to
the house.
Luis was standing in the bathroom door, buck naked, and
Joe was climbing out of the shower when Paula and Karl
got there. The old man never handled the garbage, and
the Old Spice he used tickled her fancy, so she told
him he could skip the shower and just get naked --
which he did in surprisingly spry fashion, she thought.
Luis asked where she wanted to go, but it took Paula a
minute to answer. She was distracted by the scene
before her. The Latino's muscular body she remembered
well. Joe was taller and skinnier, with a smoothness to
all his features that gave him a boyish appeal. Karl
wasn't nearly in the same shape -- there was a small
roll of fat around his waist, his chest was a forest of
curly white hair and his hands were gnarled. But his
cock took her breath away, a truly stunning howitzer
that thickened to the size of her wrists as she
watched.
The sight of the three men had much the same effect on
Paula as the sudden appearance of three barrels of ice
cream in three tantalizing flavors would on a man lost
in the desert for two days. While her body flushed red
with lust and an overflow of lubricating fluids
dribbled down her thighs, she was paralyzed by multiple
desires.
She might have stood there for hours, indecision
freezing her limbs. But Luis took matters into his own
hands, literally, scooping her into his arms. Shaken
from her reverie, Paula pointed him toward the guest
bedroom.
When he lowered her to her feet there, Joe and Karl
quickly joined him in smothering her flesh. It felt as
if every inch of her body was being nuzzled, caressed,
licked or tweaked, and Paula adored it. With hands
groping her all over, it was a hot flesh shower. She
grabbed a hand at random and pulled it down to her
cunt; soon fingers were plunging deep into her. Other
hands grasped her breasts and her nipples grew stiff.
Someone's lips found hers; a tongue snaked out. She
took it all, greedily, determined to slake her sexual
hunger.
At some point a tongue replaced the fingers in her
cunt. The orgasm that soon followed reduced her knees
to pudding. She would have collapsed to the floor, but
for the trio being so closely bunched around her.
By then she'd already brought Joe off with a hand job.
He crawled onto the big bed and watched while Paula got
on her back on the floor. Luis didn't take long to blow
his load, stroking between her tits. Karl, though, was
another story. Paula's jaw ached by the time his fat
cock spewed cum into her mouth.
The men wanted to follow up with a full assault, each
at an opening, but Paula insisted on a one-at-a-time
rule and said her ass was off-limits.
With the ground rules established, she climbed onto the
bed and spread her legs.
Luis shoved Joe aside and claimed first dibs. Just like
before, Paula marveled at her ability to fit all of him
inside. And just like before, when his monster did
squeeze all the way in, it felt marvelous.
With Luis on top, Paula didn't have the control she had
their first time, and his unwillingness to pump her as
fast as she wanted was a disappointment. But she was
able to dig her fingers into his shoulders and pull his
head down. Some hot and heavy kissing and a tongue in
his ear soon enticed him to pick up the pace. After
that, her heels spurring him on and the shouts of the
other two men were enough to kick him into high gear.
He became so energetic that the bed creaked and
screeched. When he settled into a rhythmic series of
long, fast strokes, the headboard slapped into the
wall, keeping time with crashing thuds.
Once, for a hoot, back in high school, Paula and a
boyfriend had screwed in a motel that featured "Magic
Fingers" beds. That was the only experience that came
close to the pulsating, overall delight of Luis's
performance, she thought.
Finally, with a deep groan and three long thrusts, Luis
came. Paula hadn't hit her own climax yet, but he
impolitely shrank and peeled himself off her.
Joe immediately leaped in to replace him. The kid had
no technique, but his enthusiasm and her guidance soon
had hot waves rolling through her body as she clenched
her thighs around his narrow hips.
Joe couldn't last much longer, shooting his wad and
rolling away.
It was Karl's turn. Paula wondered whether she'd be
disappointed in his stamina, if he could get it up at
all.
The old man grunted as he hopped up onto the bed, and
he crawled toward her slowly. Paula rearranged the
pillows beneath her head, determined that if she
wouldn't get ecstasy, at least she'd be comfy.
Karl kissed her lightly on the lips. She expected him
to turn it into a slobbering attack, but it was only a
kiss. Instead of pushing his tongue inside her, he
planted a row of butterfly kisses down to her breasts.
Again, she braced for an abrupt assault, but Karl was
gentle and deliberate. His broad lips pressed down here
and there around the perimeter of her breasts,
gradually spiralling up. Long before he reached the
peaks, her nipples were fully erect and aching for his
touch.
His tongue flicked out and sizzled against her left
nipple. Paula sighed -- and then, to her shock,
shuddered as an orgasm blossomed. That, she realized
with amazement, had never happened before.
If Karl was surprised, he didn't show it. He continued
to lick, kiss and suckle. Paula floated on a blissful
cloud, losing track of exactly what Karl was doing at
any given moment. All she knew was that she had never
gotten so much pleasure from someone who hadn't even
touched her pussy.
Then he did.
Karl's tongue proved as talented at pleasing her pussy
as it had been at tantalizing her tits. He had a way of
getting her so heated up as he licked her outer lips
and flicked at her clit that his occasional forays deep
inside her were intense releases of tension. If not for
his skill at keeping her on the edge, Paula was sure
she would have climaxed the very first time his tongue
slithered between her folds.
Instead she rode out one rush after another until at
last her senses reeled. The orgasm was so overwhelming
that she completely disconnected from reality. Her mind
burst into a world of bright, hot colors -- red
passion, blue bliss.
Paula recovered slowly, like emerging from a fog. She
gradually became aware that she was soaked in sweat,
with tangles of hair plastered to her face. And Karl
was now on top of her. Through an erotic haze she
smiled, waiting the delights ahead.
It was only after three minutes of uninspired rutting
that she resigned herself to the fact that Karl was a
one-trick pony -- pony, definitely, not stallion. His
cock, though so thick that it made her stretched pussy
lips look like they were swallowing a beer can, was
stubby. His technique was straightforward to the point
of boredom, a drilling that left her plenty of time to
daydream about lovers whose talents were more
multifaceted.
Karl came with much shouting and stretching, but Paula
was as unmoved as if she'd watched it all on TV.
Fortunately Joe had revived, and was eager to oblige
when she rolled onto her knees and invited him to
finish her off.
"Take your time," she urged him, and the kid seemed to
understand. At least his strokes managed to excite her,
and his hands on her sweaty breasts were just the right
mix of sweet and rough. Best of all, his erection was
frozen in place. When he grew tired and had trouble
holding himself up, she pushed him onto his back,
mounted him and used him as a live dildo.
Joe couldn't do much more than lie there and get
fucked, but Luis and Karl provided additional
stimulation, squeezing and teasing as she bounced on
Joe's cock. She came twice more. The first was a minor
eruption, but the last was an all-out explosion. It
roared outward from her sated cunt, enveloping her
entire body, forcing her eyes shut, curling her toes.
---- ---- ----
Belladonna was everything Pete had promised. Even the
candle on their table was secretive, winking in and
out. Its flickers danced like shafts of liquid gold on
Paula's skin. She seemed to be positively glowing.
She looked so lovely that it hurt -- because her pure
beauty made Steve regret his subterfuge. She didn't
deserve to be fooled that way. He didn't deserve her.
But -- but, he reminded himself, their had been no
other way. And he knew that once everything worked out,
she'd be so happy. She just didn't want to let go of
the past, but it was time.
The evening was going so well. There was a gleam in her
eye that hinted at the success of his plan. She
couldn't resist him, not on their anniversary.
Steve reached across, took her hand in his. Paula
smiled. He stroked her arm. It wouldn't be long now.
Paula lowered her eyes for a second, then lifted them
to his. "There's something," she said, "that I have to
tell you. Not that you probably haven't guessed."
She patted her carmine dress. "If you didn't know
before, this outfit certainly made it obvious." She
even blushed, a rosy flush in the candlelight.
Yes, Steve thought, it was obvious. The tight dress,
hugging every curve. The gleam in her eye. Paula wanted
him. That silly sex moratorium would end tonight. And
he would finally reap the fruits of his deception.
It had come to him like a revelation one night when he
watched Paula take out her contacts, then grope for her
cold cream. It took time to find the right pills, the
proper color and shape, close enough to fool her when
she trustingly reached for the beige dispenser every
morning. And, of course, they had to be harmless. Thank
heavens for health food stores.
But then, just when the lingering effects of the Pill
should have faded away, she announced her moratorium.
He'd been afraid that meant she had uncovered his plan.
But she kept taking the phony replacements. By rights,
she should be as fertile as a freshly plowed field. And
his seed was ready.
She was still talking. Steve only half focused on her
words until she patted her stomach.
"I guess --" She closed her eyes. "No, I know. I knew,
I mean. This dress shows every ounce I gain. And, so --
well, what do you have to say?"
"Huh? I don't know --"
"Oh, I was surprised, too. But I guess it's like they
say, nothing's one hundred percent. And, you know, once
I realized, I was so excited. I can't imagine why I
ever thought this wasn't a good idea. How ever did you
put up with me? You were so patient!"
"Well, I --"
"And now there's so much to do. I mean, we've got
months, of course, but still. I know just what we
should do tonight -- there's a perfectly darling cradle
at Nordstrom's, and I got some books of wallpaper
patterns we can pick from for the nursery, and, oh!
Tonight is going to be so special."
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