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From: theGreatxIam <max_wojtylak@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Anniversary Waltz #6 - Part 2/2
Date: Fri, 21 Mar 2003 08:10:04 -0500
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alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam 


25 Years of Foreplay Is Just About Enough
Part 2 (of 2)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Paula got through the ceremony somehow, but she was rattled. She
could think about nothing but sex. Her hallucinations continued.
When they were at the altar with the new minister, Paula even
thought she smelled sexual musk.

She spent the whole time sniffing. It so distracted her that when
time came for the renewal of the vows, Steve had to poke her
before she blurted out her "I do."

I do? I might as well, she thought. She had married Steve because
it seemed about time. She stuck out the middle years because of
the kids -- and the money. And through the worst of the last
years, it came down to money.

For richer or for poorer, the minister had said. Well, it
certainly hadn't been for richer. For as much as she'd done to
push him ahead at work, he was always complaining about how hard
it was to make ends meet. She couldn't get away from it, even on
vacation. There they'd be in the suite she'd picked out on top of
the cruise ship, and Steve would be whining over a few bottles of
champagne for the friends they'd met at dinner.

Her father hadn't complained. But fat chance of getting his
money. Mommy was burning through it so fast she'd even started
hinting about moving in with them! Had her eye on the guest
bedroom next to Steve.

Why didn't Mommy just marry into more money? Paula admitted to
herself that she knew why. The same reason she was standing in
front of a church while a minister nattered on about the
sacredness of marriage.

Because old -- oldish -- women have virtually no resale value.
Sure, she could spear some poor schlub who didn't have the money
to afford a young wife, but what was the point? She had that
already.

And her schlub was hovering in her face. What's his problem,
Paula wondered.

"I said," the minister whispered, "he may now kiss the bride. If
that's all right with you?"

So Paula kissed him. Even gave him a little tongue, give the guy
a treat.

Then she pushed her tongue in deeper. Her right leg rose and
curled around him. Her fingers slid through his thick black hair.
She felt her pussy tingle.

"Ahem!" Rev. Garretson tapped Paula on the shoulder. Then harder.
Then she pried them apart, turning them to face a shocked
congregation.

Paula felt everyone's eyes on her, including her husband's. Shit,
she thought: she really needed to get laid.

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

Steve was breathing hard by the time they got to the reception.
Even in a van filled with other people, Paula had virtually
attacked him. She seemed to have a dozen hands. He'd push away
one and another would sneak in.

It wasn't just the audience that freaked him out. There was the
little matter of what had happened with Amanda -- and what
happened after what happened with Amanda.

The minister had just slipped on her robe and walked out. But
Steve had to scramble back into his tux. No time to clean up, and
that was one concern. No time to think, that was the other. He'd
barely got his pants zipped when Rick had knocked to bring him
out for the ceremony.

Something had seemed odd when he stood by the altar, but Paula's
bizarre behavior had distracted him.

It was only on the way out, when he reached into his pants pocket
to toss Rick his car keys, that Steve realized something was
missing.

His briefs.

He couldn't remember seeing them after his episode with the
minister. They must have fallen under a chair or -- with a
sudden, sick feeling, he remembered seeing a flash of white up
the minister's sleeve.

No sooner had the thought come than they were bundled into the
van and Paula was groping him.

He was so loaded down with guilt from all his infidelities that
he knew he'd blurt out a confession the second she discovered
that he'd lost his underwear. At their anniversary celebration,
no less!

It was just so shameful. He loved Paula, truly he did. There had
been some unfortunate incidents -- he blamed Pete, but it was
hard to hold a grudge considering how sick his old friend was.
Yet Steve had, he reminded himself, remained as faithful to his
wife as she to him.

Until that awful scene with Zosia, their nanny. Steve had gotten
quite a fright when he'd seen her in church. She seemed to be
with Bobbi Jo. A strange pairing. Zosia certainly had been very
hetero with him.

He winced again at the memory. His fatal flaw -- almost fatal; he
thanked his stars Paula had taken him back. And that she hadn't
found out about her mother.

But he had gone on, vowing to make it up to her, to never stray
again. Understandably, she'd been distant. Even before her
surgery, they hadn't -- well. Could it really have been two
years?

But there he was: married for twenty-five years, wife
recuperating, and suddenly he turns into Casanova! Steve felt
like a cad.

Could Paula know what he'd done? Was that why she was so
suddenly, uncharacteristically amorous?

Or had she at last forgiven his past transgression? Was she
trying to welcome him back into her good graces?

He didn't know which possibility made him feel worse.

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

Paula would have been furious if she hadn't been so miserable,
and she wouldn't have been so miserable if she weren't so very,
very drunk.

But who, she thought, who could blame her? Over the hill, she
was. So far over that even her husband didn't want her.

She demanded another martini of the very cute bartender and gave
him what she thought was an alluring look. He all but ignored
her, slapping the drink down hastily and then going back to chat
with those actor friends of Rick's. They were ignoring her, too,
even when she flashed them a bit of leg. That used to never fail,
she told herself glumly.

She made a wavering circuit of the tables. It only made her
sadder. All her friends -- and a fair sampling of her former
lovers, an overlapping set -- they all looked so old.

The only young people in sight were friends of Rick or Suzy. And
two or three of them even had children of their own.

That was a depressing notion, she thought. If Rick or Suzy -- oh,
god. A grandmother? She could just shoot herself.

At least she felt safe for the time being. Rick was always too
busy with school. He hadn't had a girlfriend; he hadn't even gone
to prom. Suzy had been the social butterfly, but even she hadn't
brought a man home in months -- and she certainly was around the
house enough. She'd been over so much recently that it was as if
she'd never left.

Suzy had volunteered to house-sit, too, during the two-week
vacation they were flying off to early tomorrow morning. Which
was silly; Billy would still be there. Her cousin Billy, their
live-in housekeeper.

Paula tossed down the rest of her martini with that thought.
Billy had been her fall-back lover ever since he'd moved in. A
good one, too. But thanks to the damn vacation in damn Fiji, it
would be two weeks before she could find out if he was willing to
pick up where they'd left off.

No, she thought. No reason to wait. He was there, somewhere.
She'd find him and fuck him in the middle of the dance floor if
she had to.

Even the voice in Paula's head was slurred, so it took some
effort to track down Billy. Some guy in leather -- another of
Rick's group, he said -- finally said he'd seen someone looking
like Billy going off to the coat room.

She staggered from wall to wall down the long corridor, the
hubbub of the party fading away.

The coat room was empty -- or so it first looked to her. Then she
noticed a scrum of woodland animals in one corner. Holding her
head still and squinting, she was able to make out that it was
actually a pile of furs.

Oh, she thought, that's right. Several of her friends would wear
their stoles to hell if they thought people would notice.

But the furs were ... moving? Paula wondered just how drunk she
was.

In ten seconds, she sobered up.

The furs boiled and fell away, revealing a nude couple fucking
like bunnies.

Billy, her cousin and housekeeper.

And her daughter Suzy.

Paula slumped against the doorframe, too aghast to speak. She
stared in horror and fascination.

Suzy, her dear Suzy, had her athletic legs wrapped tightly around
Billy's long frame. Paula noted that, just as when he had fucked
her, Billy was taking the lazy approach, mostly keeping still and
letting her daughter do all the work.

Suzy didn't appear to mind in the least. She was bucking
energetically. Her whole body got into it, so much so that her
auburn hair was flying around as her head thrashed among the
minks and ermines.

As the couple began to roll around, Paula retreated back into the
corridor. But she held the door open just enough to see.

Billy's nakedness she knew well. Her daughter's was almost as
familiar; Suzy's bikinis didn't hide much. But seeing her
daughter's breasts swinging free was still a shock. They were so
firm, so springy, so ... so youthful.

Paula was jealous. But more so, she identified with Suzy. Yes,
the hair was different, the facial structure altered. But those
were her eyes. That was her body, twenty-five years ago. Those
were here moves, when she could move like that. That was her
drive, taking sex wherever and whenever she could.

As she watched Suzy roll on top and take complete control, Paula
imagined herself inside the room. That was her fitting Billy's
cock into her slick pussy. Her twisting and shimmying with each
stroke.

Paula felt her body respond. Even before her fingers slipped
under the waistband of her skirt, her cunt grew hot and wet. As
Suzy rose and fell, Paula's hand dipped in and out.

Her nipples rose. A flush spread on her chest. Her breathing
became ragged.

Inside the room, two bodies merged. The pace quickened. Sighs
turned into moans, moans into strangled screams.

Outside, Paula's hand flew faster and faster. Her thumb twiddled
her clit while her fingers pushed deep within. She choked back
her own shouts as her body trembled.

Suzy's body was well past trembling. Her hair was a halo of flame
around her jerking head, her fists pounding into Billy's chest.
"Fuck yes!" she screamed. "Oh, fuck, so good, so fuckin'gooood!"

Paula frantically frigged herself, desperate to get off. So
close, so close ...

"Paula?" Her mother's voice echoed down the corridor. "Paula, is
that you? It's time to go, honey. The limo's here to take you to
the airport hotel."

Just another minute, she thought. Just forty-five seconds. Just
...

"Come on, Paula? Are you coming?"

Not now I'm not, she thought, pulling her hand out and walking
back.

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

Just to be safe, Steve waited until Paula had gotten into the
limo's back seat, then jumped into the front.


"To make sure the driver knows the way," he said. To keep away
from Paula's hands, he really meant.

She seemed -- he wasn't sure: Antsy? Angry? Definitely on edge,
all the way to the hotel. Like she was on a hair-trigger.

Even on the way out of the reception hall, she'd practically run
over some boy from the wedding next door. And then she'd clung to
him, apologizing, until the kid had torn himself away and raced
back to his mommy.

In the limo, she was on the edge of her seat, head snapping from
one side to the other. Just the sight of a couple of homeless
guys had her nose pressed to the glass.

At the hotel, she insisted on dragging her own luggage. That
really, really worried him. Paula never carried her own bags. Was
she sending him a message? Was it her way of saying she didn't
need anyone's help, she didn't need a philandering husband?

That had to be it, he thought. He dreaded going up to the room.
She must be waiting to have it out with him when they werealone.

Steve dawdled as much as he could at check-in. Finally he had to
go. He persuaded the bellboy to take the luggage cart up in the
elevator with them, so they wouldn't be alone.

As soon as they got to the room, he stuffed a five into the kid's
hand. Grabbing his overnight bag, Steve ducked into the bathroom
and locked the door.

If I just stay in here long enough, he thought. Maybe she'll fall
asleep. Maybe he would be safe for a little while longer.

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

The bathroom door clicked closed. Paula spun toward the sound and
then caught herself. She did not like feeling out of control.

She took several deep breaths and calmed down enough to stow
their bags away. Steve was still in the bathroom.

She grabbed the remote and sat cross-legged on the bed. The TV
came on and she dashed through all the regular channels. Nothing
interested her. She flipped to the pay-per-view movies. Seen it,
she mentally chanted. Seen it. Seen it.

Oh.

A woman with improbable breasts and a man with an unlikely cock
were screwing on a couch. Paula sat transfixed for a minute,
growing hotter and hornier, before tearing herself away. She had
to hold the remote with both hands to steady it enough to shut
off the set.

Steve was still in the bathroom.

She felt as if she were going to burst out of her skin. Searching
for something to take her mind off sex, she spied a painting
above the bed, a still-life. Good, she thought. The painting
showed a banana. Not good.

He was still in there. Had he fallen in? She decided to change
for bed. She stripped and reached into her overnight bag for the
baggy flannel nightgown she'd packed. She came out with a set of
men's pajamas instead. She threw them back and glared at the
bathroom. Bright idea, getting matching luggage.

Naked, Paula flopped onto the bed. Her feet kicked at the
mattress. She got up and snatched the guest folder from the desk.
She read through the amenities twice and the room service menu
three times. Steve was still holed up.

She prowled the room, opening drawers. She opened the Gideon
Bible at random. The Song of Solomon. She slammed it shut.

In one side of the armoire she found the mini-bar. She was
sorting through the cans and bottles when the shape of a tiny
whiskey bottle atop the fridge intrigued her.


Glancing at the bathroom door again, she squatted on the floor
and experimentally inserted the bottle in her cunt. It slid in
easily -- too easily. It was too small.

She was about to replace it on the rack when she paused. With a
shrug, she cracked the seal and drained the bottle.

She tried another bottle. Bigger, but not quite big enough. She
polished it off and tossed the empty in the trash.

Rummaging through the fridge, she found a mini-bottle of
champagne. She held it an inch from her nose and squinted. The
metal cage holding the cork was a problem. With shaky fingers,
she removed it.

Tentatively she touched the glass to her pussy and shivered.
Rolling the bottle between her hands, she warmed it up. She tried
again. Better.

With the bulbous cork poised at her slit, Paula stopped. Vaguely
she pictured the cork exploding inside her. She frowned and drew
the bottle back.

She got up on the bed and sat cross-legged, staring at the bottle
in her hand.

Suddenly her face broke out in a crooked smile. She twisted the
cork until it came loose with a muffled plop. She clamped her
lips on top, letting the bubbly spume fill her mouth. She
swallowed, giggling so much she almost choked.

She took another swig. Some of the champagne overflowed, dripping
off her chin onto her breasts. She rubbed it in, feeling her
nipples harden under her palms.

Three more swallows emptied the bottle. Paula eased the neck
between her cunt lips, hissing in pleasure at the fit.

She pushed it in, so far she had to use her fingertips to prise
it out. In. Out. In. Out. Her ass dug into the bed. In. Out. She
fell back, spreading her legs, holding on to the bottle with one
hand as the other played with her tits. In. Out.

Faster she went, bouncing on the bed. In. Out. InOutInOutIn ...

The bottle, slick with her juices, shot out of her pussy. It
caught the edge of the armoire with a sharp report and clanged
into the garbage can.

Paula scrambled off the bed and reached into the can, then yanked
her hand back and stuck her finger in her mouth. Sucking on it,
she bent over and peered into the garbage can. A jagged edge
showed where the top inch of the bottle had broken off.

Paula frowned. She pulled the finger from her mouth and stared at
it, watching a tiny bit of blood bead up. She licked it off; no
more appeared.

She glanced at the garbage again. Her frown deepened.

A noise made her look up.

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

Steve sat on the toilet lid, his head pressed to the cool tiles
of the bathroom wall.

He was naked, his clothes piled beside Paula's overnight bag.

He had spent the last ten minutes arguing with himself. Should he
keep waiting for the noises from the bedroom to stop, in hopes of
Paula falling asleep? Or was he only making it worse by delaying,
probably getting her even angrier?

A sharp noise startled him. His forehead bounced painfully on the
tile.

Squaring his shoulders, he got up and walked out of thebathroom.

His eyes met Paula's. They stood like statues, naked, a few feet
apart.

She had a wild look in her eye. A look that took him back more
than twenty-five years, to the hot, unbridled passion they'd
known before they married.

He had prepared several versions of an apology speech, but all of
them vanished from his mind.

In his head, he saw her as she was. Young, vibrant, mad for him.
A blonde goddess.

His body responded. His lips parted.

"My god," he said, "you're ... you're so beautiful."

Paula was on him in an instant, her lush curves fitted to him.
Her lips sought his. Their arms wrapped around each other
tightly. They kissed wildly, tongues wrestling. His hard cock was
trapped between them, spreading sticky pre-cum on her still-flat
stomach. Her fingers entwined in his hair, pulling him closer.

He lost track of time and space. Without knowing how, he found
that they had ended up on the bed. She was on her back, legs
bent, one arm extended toward him with its fingers curled in
invitation.

Steve crawled to her. His kissed travelled up her smooth, slim
legs. She purred in delight as he nibbled on her soft inner
thighs, his fingertips already fluttering over the wet folds of
her entrance.

As his tongue neared her pussy, she began to growl. Her hands
clutched at the sheets, tugging them loose. "Oh, damn," she said,
"don't tease me. I need it now. Suck my pussy! Suck it, please!"

His nostrils flared. It had been ages since he'd seen her like
that. He felt the years fall away and he was a young man again,
in a continuous state of arousal and a continuous state of
astonishment that he had landed such a sexy treasure.

Steve curled his tongue and pressed it into her, finding her clit
on the first try.

"Yes." Paula whispered, "yes, lover!"

His fingers pushed into her cunt, plunging deep as he tongued her
love button. Her musky juices slathered his face and hands as she
writhed beneath him.

"God, just a little more," she said. "Faster, it's almostthere!"

His finger flew like a sewing machine needle and his tongue
flitted over her clit.

Her orgasm lifted her ass off the bed. Her hands closed on his
head, clamping him in place as she shuddered through the
aftershocks.

Scarcely had she stopped shaking than she was pulling on his
shoulders, dragging him up. He suckled her breasts on the way,
but she urged him on. "Put your cock in me. I need it so bad. I
want to feel you inside me, deep inside me!"

He knelt in place. She grabbed his dick and pointed it at her
slit, humping up at it like a treat held just out of reach. He
slid into her.

His breath flew out. She was so wet and ready for him, his rod
drove all the way in, one smooth stroke.

He paused, savoring the sensations, but her pussy was clutching
at him insistently, the bedsprings already beginning to squeak.
Steve withdrew almost completely and then plunged in again. It
was as good as the first stroke -- as good as the very first
time, too.

They rode together for forty minutes. Too lost in lust to care
about the subtleties, they never changed position. Paula had to
twice grab pillows and stuff them behind her head as a cushion
against banging into the headboard; the first pillow had been
driven down into the narrow space between the mattress and the
wall. Steve's arms ached; he leaned first on one, then the other,
finally ending up on his elbows, his body half-resting on
Paula's.

Sweat matted his hair and lent a salty tang to every kiss. He
frequently had to turn his face aside, nuzzling her neck while he
gasped for air.

Paula shouted, whispered, sighed to him. "Fuck me, Steve. Just
like that -- nice and slow. Ohhh, yesss. That's just the way."

He had no words, just groans of ecstasy. So many times he felt
close but still his cock was hard, driving into her, matching her
thrust for thrust.

At last, at last, a keening moan his only warning to her, Steve's
cock swelled and then spurted hot jets of cum into her
overflowing pussy. Fluids oozed out, soaking the sheets even
more.

Paula came with him, her breath growing choppy, her legs wrapping
around his ass to hold him inside her.

After several more minutes she released him. He rolled off onto a
dry part of the bed. She followed, snuggling close.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

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

Paula awoke and looked around her. It took a minute for her to
remember where she was.

As memory returned, she stretched and felt tired muscles protest.
A glance at the clock radio told her they had plenty of time to
make their flight. The movement of her head, though, set off a
wave of nausea.

She crawled out of bed and found her bag of pills and ointments.
Heavily medicated, she spent the next thirty hours in a haze,
being led from one place to another, nibbling at whatever food
was put in front of her, dutifully shuffling through checkpoints
and down ramps. At some point, without noticing the transition,
she slipped into bed and fell asleep again.

She awoke the next morning refreshed. As her eyes tried to focus,
a perfumed breeze drew her attention to an open window.

Even without her contacts, she could make out the glories of a
tropical sunrise. A word floated up from the recesses of her
mind: Tahiti.

She stirred and felt the sheets on her naked flesh. Her arm
brushed her husband, still asleep beside her.

Grinning to herself, Paula ducked under the covers and put her
lips to his soft penis. As she suckled it, his cock grew hard and
long.

She licked and nibbled, covered it with her mouth and stroked it
with her hands. Steve awoke, kicking aside the sheet.

She climbed atop him, put his rod inside her.

They spent the whole morning in bed, trying out every position.
She came twice. He came inside her; she sucked him back to life
and got back on top.

They did it fast; they took their time. She rediscovered the spot
just below his right earlobe that drove him crazy when she licked
it. He remembered that corkscrew maneuver that made her grit her
teeth in ecstatic agony.

They finished side by side, legs entwined, lazily stroking to
mutual climax.

When they showered -- sneaking in a few more hungry kisses -- and
got dressed, they discovered their breakfast tray warming in the
midday sun. The coffee was flat and the milk curdled, but they
munched on dry cereal and fed each other bites of croissant and
peach, washed down with lukewarm orange juice.

After a swim in the ocean they sat side by side on the porch of
their hut at the edge of the beach.

Paula looked at Steve. His recent exercise and diet really
showed, she thought. And with the kids paying their own way, he
said they'd be able to afford more vacations like Tahiti.

Her pussy tingled, adding its vote.

My husband, she mused. I think I'll keep him.

The End (of the story and of the Anniversary Waltz series) 





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