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From: theGreatxIam <max_wojtylak@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Anniversary Waltz #5 - Part 1/3
Date: Fri, 21 Mar 2003 06:10:06 -0500
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alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam 


Until Death Do Us Part
Part 1 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Paula Oldham glanced at the Caller ID as she flipped open her
cell phone. She smiled. Mummy! Probably calling to invite them up
for the weekend and unveil another wonderful anniversary present.
The gifts almost made it worthwhile to have been married to Steve
for seventeen years.

Not that he was awful, but, well, nineteen years! She certainly
felt she had earned every one of the paychecks he brought home.
Especially since he got that promotion.

Mother's voice sounded odd. Paula asked her to repeat herself.

In cold, flat tones, her mother said, "Your father, Paula. He is
dead."

Daddy! Dear, sweet Daddikins, who always had a kind word and a
blank check for her. She would have collapsed if her still-svelte
body wasn't already flat on a lounge chair by the pool.

Paula wiped away a tear, brushed blonde hair from her eyes and
collected herself. "I'll just throw some clothes in a bag," she
said, figuratively, "and drive over to the house right away."

Her mother cut in. "Whyever for?"

"To -- to take care of things, of course. The funeral and the
cemetery and -- Oh, Mother, just to be with you!"

"If you feel you need to, dear, very well. But don't put yourself
out on my account."

"Mother, are you all right? You must be in shock."

"Hardly. I just can't get very upset by anything that happens to
that awful man. I'm glad, mostly. Glad the charade is over."

Amid expressions of stunned dismay from Paula, her mother's story
emerged. Her parents had stopped speaking eight years ago, when
her mother had walked in on Mr. Noonan in bed with their dental
hygienist. "And," Mrs. Noonan noted, "I had really liked that
dentist. He was very polite."

"But, Mother, all those times we visited -- I never knew!"

"Yes, dear. I did wonder about that."

"But -- you lived together. Why?"

"Why does any couple stay married? For the children."

"I'm an only child!"

"Yes, and so sensitive, dear. We didn't want to upset you. But,
now -- well, I'm just glad I can talk about it at last. Now, if
you'll excuse me, I have to clean out his closets. The Goodwill's
coming in a half-hour."

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve air-kissed his wife and watched her walk to the car. Just
after she started it, Paula rolled down her window and called to
him.

"Be sure to pick up my dry-cleaning. I'll want the black sheath
for the funeral. And don't crease it."

He nodded. "I'll have Nanny pack it. She'll know what to do."

Paula had let the car roll back. She stopped it with a jerk and
poked her head out the window to stare at him.

Steve caught himself just before he would have frowned. He did
not want to have the Nanny discussion at that moment. He just
waved. "I'll tell the kids good-bye for you," he said.

"Whatever." She pulled out and peeled away.

Steve pulled the door shut and padded back into the house. His
slippers slapped against the tile. When he was a teenager,
surfing all summer, he ran. When he was a young man, with good
money and a hot girlfriend, he strode. Somewhere into marriage
and parenthood he started walking. Pushing 40, he padded in
shorts and a T-shirt bearing the faded logo of a concert he no
longer remembered, sucking in the beginning of a paunch when he
passed a mirror.

He flopped onto a couch and flicked on the TV. Three times around
the dial and nothing captured his attention. He looked through
the pile of magazines on the coffee table. They were all Paula's.
He decided he didn't need to know thirty-nine ways to tighten his
buns.

Between getting older, struggling to keep up with his job and
trying to build up their meager savings before the kids got to
college, he had pretty much convinced himself his life sucked.
The only saving grace was Paula, beautiful Paula, and their
marriage. Almost seventeen years, and all of them sweet.

So when Paula was in a bad mood, his world crumbled. And the mess
with her father had her in a very bad mood.

A faint song floating down from the second floor reminded him of
the other reason for Paula's displeasure.

Nanny had been with them for several years, and she was terrific,
but the kids didn't need her anymore. Flame-haired Suzy was a
gangly soccer goalie with one state championship already on her
record. Ricky had been a flop at soccer -- coming from a family
of athletes, his dark skin wasn't the only reason they called him
the black sheep -- but he was so book-smart that he'd been
skipped ahead two grades. He joked that he'd lap Suzy before she
finished college, and he just might.

So, with the kids growing up and out of the house more than not,
it didn't make sense to keep paying a nanny. Paula pouted
whenever he brought it up, though. She seemed very attached to
the girl -- well, woman.

Zosia had matured from the coltish au pair they'd brought in.
Though she still had her delightful accent, she was thoroughly
American. Somewhere she'd picked up a talent with cosmetics to
rival Paula's. Even though she spent most of her time in the
house, cleaning or cooking, Zosia still made herself up every
day, bringing out her high cheekbones and full lips. And her
glossy black hair was always in the latest fashion, as far as he
could tell by comparing it to the covers of Paula's magazines.

Yes, she was a woman, and quite talented. Talented enough to find
another job in a snap, he'd told Paula more than once. But his
wife wouldn't hear of it. And so hearing Zosia sing -- or seeing
her long legs coming down the stairs as she brought down the
laundry -- just reminded him of what they could do with her
salary.

He was still frowning over that when she walked across the
archway opposite him. She stopped, propping the laundry basket on
one hip.

"Mr. Steve, something is wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

She shifted the basket to her other hip. "But you frown. Over
father-in-law? Or missing Mrs. Steve already?"

He forced a thin smile. "I think I can manage until the weekend
when I take the kids. No, I was just ... Just thinking."

"Don't think so hard, maybe?" With a smile, she left the room.

He was still moping a few minutes later when she reappeared,
minus the laundry but with a frosty mug and an ice-cold beer. She
set them next to Steve and sat down across the room.

"So," she said. "My papa always say, 'Drink some, think some.'
Well, it sound better in our words. But idea still good. You
drink. Zosia keep you company."

He had to smile at that, an honest smile. She had been so shy
around adults when she first arrived. So much had changed. She
came with just three dowdy dresses, all of them so poorly fitting
that she looked like a potato. She had built a better wardrobe
than Suzy. His daughter lived in sweats. Zosia was the one who
wore outfits like the loose red shorts and tight yellow tube top
she had on then.

No one would mistake her for a root vegetable anymore. She had a
very attractive figure, and she didn't seem to mind showing it
off. That was one thing that puzzled Steve about Paula's ardent
defense of Nanny. His wife usually didn't like it when he was
around other good-looking women. It was crazy to think he'd
stray, of course -- or, he thought, that he'd even have a chance
after what all those years behind a desk had done to his body.
Still, Paula had a jealous streak.

Yet she didn't mind Zosia. Paula even helped her pick out
clothes, and sometimes those were the ones that showed off her
body the most.

Maybe, he thought as he sipped his beer, Paula had chosen the
outfit Zosia had on. It certainly displayed her body. He could
see her breasts clearly outlined inside the top. And the loose
shorts not only left her shapely legs exposed, but when she sat
with her legs crossed underneath her -- as she was -- he could
almost see all the way to her ...

He almost choked on his beer and tried to cover it up with a
cough. Had he seen what he thought? Zosia's skin was pale and he
could see her thigh clearly disappearing into the big opening of
her shorts. Then she had shifted slightly and he'd seen a dark
patch that -- it couldn't have been. But he was the one who had
to shift around, crossing his legs to conceal his growing boner.

She seemed oblivious, just sitting quietly and smiling at him as
he drank his beer. He was embarrassed. She was Nanny, after all.
Practically a member of the family.

Oh, great, he groaned inwardly when that thought bubbled up. That
only added to his guilt about wanting to let her go.

The silence was becoming awkward. Her smile made him squirm. He
cast about for conversation. It was the same tongue-tied feeling
he had when he found himself trapped in an elevator with one of
the people who worked for him. He had no small talk.

"So," he said leadenly. Zosia tilted her head expectantly. His
brain froze.

"So," he tried again. Nothing came. It was the elevator thing
again. Think, he told himself. What do you say to your workers?

"So -- Do you like it here?"

Inside his head, a bright neon sign began flashing, "Stupid!
Stupid! Stupid!"

Sure enough, her reply only made him feel worse.

"I love it here! Is so good! You very nice peoples, very nice to
Zosia. Give me my own room, pay good so I can buy pretty clothes,
everything good."

Her hands waved around, conducting a symphony of joy. "Is best
job ever. All my friends back home, I write, they say, 'Zosia,
you so lucky!' Is true. I only wish I could -- you say, 'repay?'
Yes. Wish I could repay you for all you do."

She was so excited, she couldn't sit still. Her legs stroked
against each other and she arched her back, pushing her chest
out. Steve felt like a cad for talking to Paula about -- well,
about firing her.

He raised a hand. "You don't have to repay us, Zosia. You've done
more than we could ever have imagined. We couldn't run this house
without you ... Uh, I mean --" His face grew warm. "I mean,
you're -- you're so talented. You could do anything."

A broad smile shone on her face like the sun. "Thank you, Mr.
Steve," she said. "But you are too kind. Zosia can not do enough
for you. I would do anything -- anything! -- to thank you."

She rose from her chair and approached him. Steve was ashamed to
catch himself staring at her jiggling breasts with their
prominent nipples. He stammered and looked away as she loomed
over him.

"Oh, look," he said, pointing to the window. "Suzy and Ricky are
home."

Zosia turned to look. "I will go make snack," she said. Just
before she left, she retrieved the empty beer bottle and took the
glass from Steve's hand. Her fingers brushed his and he felt his
cock twitch. He had to wait a minute to cool down before he could
get up to tell the kids the news, feeling old and dirty.

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula's mother, who had all the beauty money could buy, was
incapable of a frown. So it was with the same rigid, wide-eyed
expression accompanying all her comments that she said, harshly,
"Why are you still married?"

Paula laughed politely. "I love Steve."

Her mother dug her hands into the arms of her chair. "Bullshit.
You're young enough to snag a good looker yet. Dump him before
it's too late. Biggest mistake I made was to stick with your
father after he got old and fat. I should have kicked him out
when I still had prospects. All men are rotten, and the secret to
life is to throw them out before they really start to smell."

"Mother, don't be so bitter. Daddy was a good provider."

"Money? Is that why you're holding on? Give it up. If he isn't
rich by now he never will be. Take half of what he's got and move
on. You'll survive."

Paula shuddered at the prospect of "surviving" on half of what
Steve kept insisting was next to nothing. But there was no
arguing with Mother on that point, she'd already learned. So she
changed the topic. Shopping always cheered them up.

"Put your shoes on," she said. "Let's go look at caskets."

Mrs. Noonan rolled her blue eyes. "They can stick him in a pine
box or throw him in a sack for all I care."

That was how Paula ended up at the funeral home alone. She had
packed for the weather, so she felt slightly out of place in a
summery flower-print dress when the man who greeted her in hushed
tones wore a somber black three-piece suit. Still, she reminded
herself, the dress did show off her tan.

And it made her feel happy, which was a needed antidote to the
cold, gray atmosphere of the place. The generically religious
paintings, the muted colors, how quiet everything was -- it gave
her the creeps.

Even the live bodies around were a little stiff. The man she was
talking to -- Eric, he said -- could have replaced Disney's
animatronics, although he looked less like Abe Lincoln than
Denzel Washington. His voice was as monotonous as the thrum of a
distant train. She wanted to pinch him just to see if he was
real.

But she just sat back into the leather chair as he droned on
about perpetual care. It seemed selfish of her father not to have
taken care of such arrangements himself.

Finally they got to picking the casket. Paula had been looking
forward to it. She imagined it something like car shopping, with
all the colors and options and dickering over the price. And she
loved dickering.

The casket showroom was carefully arranged, she could tell. An
experienced shopper, she recognized that the layout was designed
to draw her toward the most expensive models. That was fine with
her. She always wanted the best. She just didn't want to pay for
it.

The money wasn't even the point. It was the process. Paula hung
bargains in her closet like hunters put up moose heads.

This trophy, she thought, would be more like a lion. Eric was a
worthy opponent, with smooth patter and a deft way of steering
the conversation away from prices. His monotone was gone, and he
made "mahogany" sound like a symphony. His description of the
satin pillows made her knees weak. When he rubbed his hand across
the bronze handles she felt as if he were rubbing her thigh.

Yes, he was good, she thought. But she was better. Subtly she
laid the foundation for her bargaining. "And the inlay -- oh,
that's right, no inlay. Yes, I see. And so, this is your very
best -- I mean, the best YOU have?"

Eric didn't ruffle. His brown eyes tracked her face, homing in on
her. It took all her control not to betray her emotions. She
danced the discussion to money, but he sidestepped her again and
again.

Paula allowed herself a ghost of a smile. She was enjoying this,
having such an estimable foe.

With her guard lowered for just that second, he moved in. "Then
we can definitely say you prefer the Regency Ultima. Would you
like that in gold, claret or black?"

It was an old trick: Move the customer quickly past the big
decisions and get her committed to options. She could counter,
but he deserved the moment. She went along. "Black," she said,
caressing the dark wood. "I believe black is always the best
choice." She looked into his eyes. "Don't you?"

He looked flustered for a second. Paula awarded herself a point.

"Yes," he said, "black is best. Though I myself sometimes like
lighter shades."

Paula gave herself two more points. "Variety is the spice of
life," she said. "And we all need spice, don't we?"

That got a ghost of a smile from him. Paula pressed her
advantage. "Now this is a fine specimen," she said, grasping a
handle and rubbing her thumb along its length slowly. She glanced
down shyly. "But I have to wonder if I could afford to ..."

"This model is only twelve thousand dollars," Eric said.

Paula looked up and caught his eye. She saw the flicker of
defeat. It was no longer a question of whether she'd get a
discount, only of how much. She thought she could knock a
thousand or two off easily. But she scented bigger game. And she
always like big game. The bigger, the better. Eric looked like a
big cat indeed.

The casket had a split lid; only the upper piece was open. She
asked him to lift the other side, which meant he had to step
between her and the box. Paula didn't move aside, so her leg
lightly pressed his as he picked up the lid.

She reached around him, her breasts just barely touching his
back, and ran a hand across the lining. "I like the feel of
that," she said, moving infinitesimally closer to him.

With such dark skin, Eric could be blushing like a crazy and she
wouldn't know. Paula suspected she had him going, though. Just to
be sure, she leaned in and whispered, "What do you think?"

Her breath in his ear made him shudder. He got out a standard
line about quality, but she knew she had him.

Time to move in for the kill.

"I wonder," she said, staying close to him, "I -- but this is
naughty of me ..."

She heard him suck in his breath.

"This is naughty," she repeated, "but -- Could I, ah, try it
out?"

His head whipped around to face her.

"Try --" He stopped, got his voice under control. "Try it out?"

"Yes -- the casket. It's just -- well, I bet you have. Just to
see how it feels? Just for a minute."

Eric looked around nervously.

She plucked at his sleeve. "There's no one else here, is there?"

"No," he said, drawing it out into three syllables.

"Well, then." She lifted a leg up to the casket stand, letting
the hem of her dress fall back to reveal most of her thigh, and
made what looked like an effort to jump up. Instead she slipped
back, clutching at him for support.

"Oh, dear. That won't work. Do you think you can lift me?" She
grabbed his hands and put them around her waist. "You look strong
enough."

She put her hands on his broad shoulders and he hoisted her up,
depositing her inside the casket. Paula let her rear slide down,
folding her up like a jackknife with her high-heeled sandals high
in the air.

"Whoopsie!" She giggled, then put a hand over her mouth.
"Shouldn't laugh in here, should I? Ah, could you -- I'm a little
stuck."

He grasped the bare skin of her legs and swung them around and
down. She lay back, hands at her side, blonde hair draping over
the small pillow.

"Comfy," she said, wiggling around. "But the mattress is a little
harder than I prefer." She smiled. "But then hard is good, I
guess -- to keep them in place, I mean."

He was leaning over her, a hand on the side of the box. "Yes," he
said, "it provides excellent support, although sometimes you get
an exceptionally floppy -- uh -- Do you think you're ready to get
out?"

"All right." Paula hooked a leg onto the side of the box and
heaved upward. The only thing that accomplished was to make her
dress fall to her waist, exposing a pair of white thong panties.

"I guess I need you again," she said, taking hold of his arms.
But instead of pulling herself up, she somehow dragged him down.
As she flopped back on the mattress, his head landed on her
chest. He tried to get up, but her hands were tangled in his
jacket and he was stuck with his face just an inch or two from
hers.

He hovered there, so close she could feel his breath. Her body
was on full alert, nipples erect, warmth flooding her groin. She
parted her lips and looked deep into his eyes.

He bent down and kissed her. Nothing tentative, a full, lusty
kiss. Paula wrapped her arms around him and held tight.

Their mouths crushed together. She felt an urgent need to feel
his naked flesh, but she couldn't even get his suit jacket over
his shoulders. He had the advantage and he took it. His large,
soft hands explored her body, caressing her, fluttering over her
thighs, cupping her breasts.

Paula unbuttoned the top of her dress, pulling it open. He kissed
his way down to her nipples, sucking first one, then the other,
tugging at them gently with his teeth. She felt her temperature
rising. She clawed at his clothes, managing to yank his tie loose
and pop several buttons on his shirt, but his vest still defeated
her. She was wild with lust. "I need you," she sighed. "I need
you in me."

Eric straightened up and offered her a hand to climb out. "No,"
she said, a gleam in her eye. "Let's do it here. If you dare."
She reached down and pulled off her panties, flinging themaside.

His eyes grew wide, but his broad nostrils flared. He stood over
her for just a few seconds before he started taking off his
clothes.

First into view was his chest, as smooth and well-muscled as she
had hoped, glistening like a chocolate bar. As his pants came
down, she poked her head over the edge of the casket and whistled
at the bulge in his brown satin boxers. At last they came off and
she licked her lips and let out a soft moan. He was as long and
thick as she'd ever had, a solid rod of dark flesh. She couldn't
even wait; just the sight of him drew her hand to her slit,
frigging herself in anticipation.

Paula's dress was bunched up around her waist. One leg was hooked
over the edge of the casket; the other stretched high, leaning
against the satin lining of the upturned lid.

He climbed into the far end and knelt there, stroking his cock.
His eyes roamed over her body, making her feel wanton and wanted.
"Take me," she growled.

He bent over her, not quite touching but so close that she could
feel his body heat everywhere. The tip of his shaft made contact
first, rubbing her inner thigh. She hissed in pleasure as the
rubbery tip rolled along her slit, but he pulled back.

Her eyes narrowed. Tease her, would he?

She drew her legs tight around his waist and pulled him down. He
slid into her like she was melting butter. She sank back into the
casket as he pushed in deep, deeper. She felt filled, but he went
deeper. When she finally felt his groin grinding against hers she
was so stunned she couldn't move.

He slowly withdrew. Paula looked down, surprised to see his cock
wasn't pulling her inside out.

Then he began to stroke, faster and faster, long driving strokes
that buried his rod inside her before almost leaving her
completely. At first she tried to ride with him, bouncing on the
thin mattress. But he had incredible staying power. His arms like
steel columns held him above her while his ass pounded away
without a break. She gave up and lifted her legs, toes pointing
to the ceiling, just reveling in the feel of him inside her.

Their bodies grew so covered in sweat that she began to slide
back and forth. She had to grab hold of the sides of the casket
to keep from smacking her head into the end on every stroke.

There were no words, just moans and grunts. What they were doing
was beyond words. She felt as if she were divided into twowomen.

One was experiencing the fuck of her life, filled up as never
before, losing track of the orgasms that flashed past like trains
in a subway tunnel, ecstatically out of control.

The other was outside that body, watching everything, fascinated
by the contrast of light and dark flesh, mesmerized by the rhythm
of the strokes.

The two sides of her blurred together and rolled apart as minutes
rushed by. Eric had finally slackened his speed, though not his
hardness. His strokes were slow, and they felt even slower to
her. Time was stretching like taffy.

She was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Her legs had
long since wearied and fallen back against the casket, her heels
propped along either side. Her hair was matted to her head, her
thigh muscles aching. She knew she'd be paying for it for days of
stiffness, but it had been worth it.

Eric's body slipped lower and lower until his elbows crushed the
mattress on either side of her. His hot, sweaty body eased onto
hers. He kissed her deeply, tongues tangling.

And then he pulled back his head and let out a roar that echoed
off the walls. She felt his cock become impossibly thicker, drive
into her. He roared again, arching his back.

Paula's weary body responded as well. She writhed under him as
one wave after another seized her, flooding her.

Eric knocked three thousand off without her even asking. She
pointed out some scratched from her high heels and got another
thousand. "And," she said, "make sure they put in a new mattress.
A softer one." 


To be continued ...



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