The Widow At Number 56 Chapter One
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The Widow At Number 56 - Chapter 3 free porn video
Chapter Three
The house was quiet. All the stress and noise of Monday morning’s pantomime was over. And now I could finally afford myself the luxury of my first hot cup of coffee in the now peacefully empty kitchen.
In truth, the morning’s routine plays out like Groundhog Day, with every day pretty much the same, even down to the daily fight with my son to clean his teeth. It’s a good thing it does too because I’m pretty much a zombie. Since the audio encounter with Michael and Sofi, my mind has been elsewhere. My body is working on autopilot, while my mind is all but absent. On Friday I received a text.
Hi Claire
I’m home and bored.
If you’re free I could come up to you.
How does next Saturday sound?
Let me know.
Michael
I wanted it. Or at least I think I did. But this sudden smack of reality had stunned me. I was free, of course, I was, but my nerve had gone. As always, I turned to my best friend and sister in law Karen. We talked it over most of Sunday morning, and I was pleasantly surprised by her positivity and open-mindedness.
She convinced me that although Michael was young, maybe too young, I wasn’t quite an old maid yet, and my ability to enjoy life to the full shouldn’t stop. I confessed to her that I wasn’t looking for a new partner or a new father for my children.
I had absolutely no intention of replacing Jason, but I did miss a man’s attention, the feel a man’s touch, and yes, I admit it, I missed the sex. After a couple of soul-searching hours, and many cups of coffee, it was decided. And so, with Karen virtually holding my hand, I replied.
Hi Michael
Yes, I’m free.
Claire
I blew out my cheeks like a 100-metre runner at the Olympics. The relief was huge, and his reply was immediate.
Hi Claire
That’s great.
I’ll come up at the weekend.
Keep Saturday night free.
Michael xxx
We both sat in silence, staring at the words on the laptop. It was done, as easily as that. There was no backing out now; at the very least I would have to meet him. He messaged me a little later in the day to say that he’d booked into the swanky Lakeside country hotel.
“Wow Claire, that’s not cheap. Who is this guy?” Karen said, barely hiding her envy. I shrugged my shoulders in reply. I had absolutely no idea who he was or where this was all going to lead. But I liked it. I liked the uncertainty. Sofi had mentioned something about his family having money and him being spoilt, but that was all the information I had.
After Karen had left and the dust of the morning’s activities had settled, I looked around the front room of my cosy three-bedroomed house. It might not be the biggest or grandest house in the world, but it was mine. We’d worked hard and saved for it. If things had been different, we would have probably moved on to something bigger but right now it suited me fine.
I gazed at all the framed family photographs, the smiley faces on high days and holidays all carrying a special memory. My eyes settled on a framed picture of Jason and me taken on our wedding day. It suddenly occurred to me that although it had been ever-present in this room for twenty years, the photograph had moved from a place of pride on the mantlepiece to be almost hidden behind a group of other photographs on a corner table.
Had I subconsciously been slowly pushing him out of my life? I started to wonder how much longer it would be until it was replaced altogether, hidden in a drawer somewhere, to gather dust. We both looked so happy, without even an inkling about what lay ahead for us. It had been a wonderfully warm May afternoon, the cherry and apple trees around the churchyard in full bloom, their blossom caught in the breeze, mixing perfectly with the guests’ confetti.
For the first time in years, I felt the urge to look through my old photo albums, turning the thick paper pages containing the memories of Jason and me behind the protective transparent film. Jason had been there for as long as I could remember. I was friends with his younger sister Karen and had been since my very first day at primary school. He was the annoying big brother, always spoiling our games and generally just being silly around us. It wasn’t until much later that an attraction grew. And then the inevitable happened.
It was at a summer barbecue party, held by the local rugby club. I was acutely aware that he was paying me a lot of attention, never straying too far away from us and I could sense him watching me. I thought he’d lost interest as the evening wore on, but he’d waited until the last of the slow dances of the evening before finally making his move. And as we danced amongst the flashing neon lights, to Luther Vandross’ “Endless Love,” he kissed me.
I felt a little lightheaded and unsteady on my feet as our lips met, my mouth opening involuntarily to accept his tongue. As the party ended, we all shielded our eyes from the sudden brightness of the club’s harsh fluorescent lights. My eyes immediately searched the room for Karen. I found her sitting at a table and she was smiling at me with an expression that told me that she knew all along that this was going to happen, and that she approved.
I felt Jason’s hand resting on my bottom as he guided me towards the exit. My head was swimming as we walked past the line of kissing lovers outside the club. As we reached the shadow at the unlit far end of the clubhouse, we were greeted by the sound of a chorus of zips being lowered, along with the inevitable moan from one of the girls as she was rutted against the wall.
This environment scared me a little as it was all moving too fast. I was twenty and still a virgin, and apart from a few fumbling encounters I was completely inexperienced. My most significant moment so far being against a wall, outside the village church hall with Joe Miller. It was at a New Year’s Eve party, where he’d lifted my skirt, and I’d felt his fingers nervously trying to part my legs. I had stopped him as he as he came perilously close to venturing inside my knickers, my mother’s advice calling out to me.
“Never let a boy take advantage of you too early. He won’t respect you and it won’t last,” she’d said to me. Adding, “take control, Claire. You don’t want to get a reputation like some around here.” Her words echoed in my head again as Jason’s hand cupped my breast through my thin cotton top. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I did. I was more than ready in-fact. It seems strange now, looking back, how her advice stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t want to appear cheap like some of the other girls, but I also didn’t want to lose him. It’s a fine line, but in the end, I went with my mother’s advice.
The following Saturday night we had our first proper date. I’d spent much of the afternoon anxiously going through my limited collection of clothes. A trip into town earlier had eased my agitation as to what to wear underneath. For the first time in my life, I’d bought underwear purely on how it looked rather than for its practicality, in the end plumping for what I considered to be a rather expensive but sexy black lacy bra and knickers.
I remember my dad being impressed that Jason picked me up in his van rather than meet me in town. We had arranged to go to the cinema where he was taking me to see “Titanic,” still one of my favourites. It’s weird sometimes, the things that stay in your mind, but as we walked through the town afterwards, I felt safe as he put his arm around me.
I always felt like that with him, he was my protector. As we began the journey home, the tension in the van was palpable. He’d taken the longer, scenic route home through the winding county lanes. I kept looking over at him as he drove, waiting for him to make his move. I’d already made my mind up that unless things went really badly, I was his.
The butterflies danced a jig in my stomach as eventually, he turned into a quiet lay-by. As the engine died, the stillness of that summer night was blissful. Not a sound. This was it. The moment I’d played over and over in my head. I was aware that unlike me, Jason had already had sex; Karen spilled that secret to me over a year ago. But strangely that knowledge made me nervous. It scared me that I wouldn’t know what to do, and my inexperience would spoil the moment.
His hand stroked my hair, before drawing me in. Our kiss was hard and awkward. I could his sense his eagerness as I hoped that he could sense mine. His other hand impatiently unbuttoned my blouse and found its way under my bra.
“Yes?” he half whispered, confusing me. Was it a question or was he asking me to do something? I chose to ignore it, but my moan as he pinched my erect nipple must have given him the answer he was looking for.
“It’s a lot more comfortable in the back,” he whispered before I willingly let him lead me in the dark, along the side of his van. By the time he’d opened the back doors and helped me in, I was in such a state of sexual tension that I thought I’d explode.
He threw a blanket down over the plywood floor and I laid back in a space surrounded by his work tools, with the overwhelming smell of diesel and brick dust invading my nostrils. He reached under my short, Miss Selfridge skirt, and tugged at my knickers, rolling them down my legs and over my left foot, before coming to rest around my right ankle before putting them in his pocket.
It was at that point that I started to feel a little anxious. I had a vivid and haunting memory of Terry Andrews, driving around the town in his beat-up Ford Escort with a pair of Ann Taylor’s red knickers hanging like a souvenir from his rear-view mirror, humiliatingly advertising to the world that he’d taken her virginity.
I heard a sharp crack as his belt buckle snapped open, and the rustle of his jeans being lowered as he stood outside in the dark. With my eyes wide open, I caught the occasional glimpses of his features silhouetted in the half moonlight before he joined me.
I felt his hands on my knees, pushing my legs apart, my skirt bunching around my waist as he raised them. I was desperate for a kiss, and as he leaned over me, I thought that it would happen, but instead, he balanced his weight on one arm while his other held his erect cock. He was nervous and agitated too, I could tell that. His hard flesh impatiently pressing, searching.
I lay still, listening to his breathing. An almost unbearable tension built up inside me. I’d heard horror stories of the first time, as girls spread rumours of the excruciating pain when he first puts it in. My hands reached out to touch his face as I felt him enter me.
“Jason.” My voice was shaking. I didn’t want him to stop, but I feared for what came next.
“Relax Claire. I know. It’ll be fine.” His voice was calm, comforting even. At last, he leaned in and kissed me, as his hips pushed forward, and I screwed up my eyes as I waited. But there wasn’t any pain as such, only mild discomfort that was soon overtaken by the euphoria of what was happening to me.
“Okay?” he asked, pinning my arms above my head. I couldn’t talk. All I could manage was a groan. Every thrust of his hips seemed to knock the air out of my lungs. It didn’t feel as awkward as I thought it would, and in fact, it felt good. I could feel his steady rhythm increase as his breathing became heavy.
The sound of a car approaching alerted me, its headlights illuminating the trees as it rounded the bend, sounding a horn as it passed.
“Where?” he barked, and the urgency in his voice startled me.
“What?” I was more concerned about the passing car outside, wondering if they would stop and investigate.
“Where do you want it?” It’s amazing to think now, but I had no idea what he was asking me.
“I’m cumming.” Suddenly the mist cleared as I felt him cum with a groan in my ear as he released himself inside me.
There were no fireworks or breathless climax and in truth, it was a bit of a disappointment. An anti-climax. I could feel his erection quickly deflating, and soon he’d withdrawn and was standing outside the van, zipping up his jeans.
“Have you got my knickers?” I said, aware that my vulnerable and embarrassing position hadn’t changed, and that I was still lying on my back with my legs open.
“Yes. Yes sorry,” he answered, reaching into his pocket and handing them to me.
The journey home was uncomfortable with only the radio breaking through the awkward silence. All sorts of thoughts raced through my head. Was I no good compared to his previous girlfriends? Had I done something wrong to annoy him? I was at a loss, and it came as a huge relief when we finally made it home and he parked outside my parents’ house.
I could see the front room curtains twitching telling me that we were being spied upon. I was close to tears and couldn’t wait to get out of his car, realising that what I’d hoped would be a fairy-tale evening had turned into a nightmare. As I reached for the door handle, I felt his hand touch mine.
“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, taking me by surprise.
“I Don’t know. Why.”
“Well if you’re not doing anything we could go out. Take a drive somewhere.” I looked over at him puzzled. He was asking for a second date. Quickly I regained my composure; it wasn’t over after all.
“Okay.” And with that, I leant in and kissed him, tasting his anxiety on my lips, before sliding out of the car.
My mother was sitting at the kitchen table as I walked in through the back door. Her expression told me everything. Did I look different? Was there an aura around me, signalling my crossing from a girl into a woman? Whatever it was, my mother detected it. As I walked past her, she grabbed my arm.
“You okay?” she asked with a slight look of apprehension on her face, “were you sensible?” I sheepishly nodded in response. I knew what she was asking but I somehow couldn’t find the words and turned to leave the room, but the look of concern on her face touched me and I knew that she needed reassurance.
“I’m on the pill mum,” was all I could muster to comfort her. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” I smiled. I was okay. In fact, I was more than okay, I was jubilant. The memory of that excruciating journey home was now distant and forgotten.
In the safety of my bedroom, I could immediately smell him on my clothes, and on my skin as I changed. I looked at myself in the mirror, somehow expecting to see a change in my body. Something to show that I’d crossed over, but there was nothing. The only change being to my mind, my confidence. Under the covers I explored between my legs, feeling the matted pubic hair and his now dried semen.
Inside I could feel him, his slippery cum, sliding between my thumb and forefinger. I held it to my nose, breathing in his scent before licking the fluid from my fingers. Its taste was hard to describe, a little salty with a weird, almost metallic aftertaste. Not unpleasant but not delightful either. I was to discover over the years, it was an acquired taste. One that depended on the moment and level of desire.
Looking back, we were so close it was scary. From that day until the day he died he was all I wanted. I can still feel his unshaven skin on my face as he kissed me. That dreamy look in his eyes when he wanted me. I could never refuse him. I’d count the minutes, waiting for him to come home, so we could be together.
Once the children arrived, things immediately changed. I know how much this frustrated him, having our sex life suddenly reduced to stolen moments when the rare opportunity presented itself. But I couldn’t relax. I was always listening for footsteps on the landing. Waiting for one or maybe both of them to interrupt us. Many was the time where he’d almost reached the point of no return, only to hear a voice at the bedroom door. Believe me, nothing kills the mood quicker than that.
To relieve his exasperation, I’d occasionally gamble, and join him while he soaked in the bathtub. Washing his body with scented bubble bath before reaching under the water. Letting his wet hands unbutton my blouse and slide under my bra, feeling the softness of what was once his but had now become the property of my feeding child.
I knew that he loved the fact that pregnancy had made them grow outrageously big but hated the fact that he had to share. To my surprise, I also revelled in my new-found attractions and the attention they suddenly drew. My 36D breasts grew to a 36F, a size I thought only porn stars and models achieved, and only then through surgery.
So, for the only time in my life, I turned heads and actually received wolf whistles in the street. I would tease Jason about it and was bemused to find that it actually appeared to turn him on. While he soaked, I’d examine his facial expressions as he closed his eyes and listened while I invented scenarios. Teasing him and his cock as I drew him near, asking him how he felt having his wife ogled in public and telling him that his wife was now a figure, that other men wanted, and then taking it further.
I would question whether he would want to see me take their cocks between my huge breasts and watch the cum explode all over them. Would he want to watch as I opened my legs for them and have their big cocks fuck me? His contorted features signalled his release as all his pent-up sexual frustrations shot into the air, landing on his chest, my hand and into the bath suds.
Like a clearing fog, the memories started to fade, and I found myself alone and staring at the pages of the photo album. It suddenly occurred to me that, like a Sofi’s husband, the thrill of imagining his wife with another man, never failed to arouse Jason.
I hadn’t thought about it before, and in fact it had never crossed my mind, but the events of the last few weeks unexpectedly made me wonder if, like Sofi and her husband, that’s where we would have also ended up: him wanting me to sleep with other men and return with the details.
I guess I’ll never know, but it somehow it excited me. I couldn’t escape the notion that I was missing out somehow and it lit something deep inside me. I was aware that I was changing. Yes, it was baby-steps, but it was most definitely happening.
I began to take pride in my appearance again. Gone were the cheap, daggy jogging bottoms and oversized sweat tops, that had hidden my body from the world, and I started to explore my wardrobe and rediscover all the bright skirts and dresses hidden at the back. To my children’s delight, I also began wearing make-up again.
“Hello mummy, you look very happy today,” Rosie greeted me with one morning. And I did feel happy. For the first time in years, I had a purpose. Okay, the clothes weren’t the low-cut tops and short skirts that Jane and her friends wore. But as I said, baby steps.
I spoke to Jane about the men that visited her and listened as she told me about her need for something more than her husband could give her. The more I listened, the more I began to understand my own predicament. Her husband was aware of her extra-marital activities, which surprised me, but apparently, he understood her needs and was prepared to accept it to save their marriage.
She revelled, with a glass of wine in hand, regaling me with what delights a well-endowed man could give. She told me that, although her husband insisted that he didn’t want to know who they were or when they visited. His curiosity always gets the better of him, and eventually, he will capitulate.
He pressed her to divulge little snippets and with only small details at first, she said, he chipped away at her to get to the prize he was searching for. I slowly began to comprehend this strange and mainly hidden part of the male psyche, as it began to unravel before me.
Some men crave to be cuckolded, to be dominated by a stronger, younger and more virile man. This whole concept was completely alien to me, but slowly I could see a pattern of behaviour and almost a way of life, that until recently I didn’t know existed. It seemed crazy to me now that I hadn’t noticed it before as I was almost surrounded by it.
I felt like a schoolgirl that had never received an invitation to the party, but now unexpectedly found herself the centre of attention. I’d found the keys that opened doors that before had stayed stubbornly locked. The only question now was. Did I have the courage to enter?
Lesley
- 13.02.2020
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