The Partnership aka Bad DeaconChapter 7
- 2 years ago
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I held her pussy in my hand and stroked it. Cupping my hand over it and running it down its length.
Sarah had just removed the kettle from the stove and put it on the hot-plate. She appeared in the doorway between the kitchenette and the living room. “Put the cat down.”
I glanced at her and then looked back at the cat. A smirk filled my face, “I thought you liked me stroking your pussy.” I caressed the cat a few more times before looking back towards Sarah.
A pout had appeared on Sarah’s face, “Put the cat down,” she reinforced, “you know why you’re here and it’s not for the cat.”
Sarah leant against the door frame; her medium length brunette hair flowed around her charming face, emphasising her cheeks. She was cute, very cute; her lips were soft to the touch and the crumpled white cotton blouse did little to hide her breasts. Her skirt was knee length; anything higher would have the community raising alarm bells, demanding that she be expelled for wanton behaviour. If they knew that I was there, and what her intentions were, her feet wouldn’t touch the floor as she would be marched away. She would be damned in every church and chapel, placed on a stake and burnt. The words, “God help these pagans,” would emanate from every minister’s mouth.
I’m a valley’s boy. That’s just the term. I am in fact born and bred, and still live in a coal mining village in South Wales. I am a middle aged man. Fifty five to be precise, perhaps middle aged is a little conservative, but I have aged well, considering. Although my hair has waved goodbye, and my beard is grey with flecks of black, I consider myself reasonably good looking. But I think the term good looking is someone else’s personal choice, and not mine to make.
I met Sarah through unusual circumstances; a coal mining accident at Llandroes colliery. I was a good friend and workmate of her late husband, Mike. There had been a few accidents recently; too many for my liking, but I had somehow managed to avoid them. I was on a day’s unpaid leave when the accident that took Mike’s life, happened. I should have been there with him. In fact, it should have been me and not him. I never had the strength to ask anyone whether Mike had volunteered for that shift while I was away. It would have hurt too much to know the truth.
Sarah and I got to know each other from the grief we both shared. Eventually the grief led to friendship and then something else started to materialise. Something that neither of us realised was happening until it was too late. At twenty five years my junior, I didn’t understand what she saw in me. It didn’t occur to me that such a young woman would be interested in me. What could I possibly offer her that no other, younger man, could offer?
Sarah saw through all that, she saw through all the problems that age, health, circumstances and the community would throw in our faces. She saw me, for me. But this was the valleys and this sort of age gap was unheard of. People would be talking behind our backs. Curtains would be drawn back so that the nosey parkers could watch us when we walked past the rows of terraced housing. In the valleys, everyone knows everyone else’s business. It was how we lived. Children would end up giggling and pointing their fingers at us; ridiculing us without knowing why? The reason why, didn’t matter to them.
Fortunately we hadn’t reached that position yet. We were careful and courteous to each other while out and about, and careful not to raise suspicions as to what we did indoors. We still had our own houses and I visited her about three times a week, just to see if she needed anything. We soon found out that Thursday was Sarah’s favourite day.
Once a month, I would treat her to a trip to the seaside. The train would wind its way down the valleys and through the mountains; smoke billowing out of the front as it powered ever onwards. It was a fair distance away, but everyone seemed to make the effort to go somewhere different and exciting. It was the only bit of brightness that seemed to enlighten the harshness of living in constant danger. Believe me, working underground in the coal mines was a constant danger to most of us. I would watch Sarah’s face light up when I handed her the bright pink candy floss or the six doughnuts for a penny. We could be ourselves at the seaside, there would be little chance of meeting someone you knew, after all the seaside and promenade is a big place.
I was brought up to treat women with respect; to be courteous and polite to them, in public as well as in private. When it came to sex, men should be loving and gentle, and respect any limits. ‘No’ meant no, as did the words ‘tired,’ ‘not now,’ and ‘headache’. No self-respecting man would ever lay a hand on a woman. It was unheard of.
Sarah changed all that.
She was not normal, or perhaps she was, she was certainly the first to corrupt me in this way. All I know is that I was corruptible, and I don’t regret one minute of it.
Sarah was still leaning against the door frame, waiting for me to obey her. It was not like her to be firm like this. Not with me. Not since…
I placed the cat on the floor and turned to her. “Strip!”
Sarah smiled at me as she slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, one by one. As the fabric gaped, I could see her breasts come into view, each button revealing more bosom, and more cleavage, but it wasn’t until the last button was undone that she pushed the tattered fabric to one side; cupping her breasts with both hands, she offered them to me.
I stood there and waited. She eventually let them fall and pushed the blouse over her shoulder and dropped it on the floor. Her full breasts hung from her slight shoulders; her nipples already engorged and eager to be sucked into a hot, waiting, mouth. Not today though.
I pointed at her skirt and then the floor. Sarah reached behind her and unzipped the skirt. She let it go. It slipped over her child-bearing hips and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Sarah was not tall, but she had the most perfect figure, at least to me. She was now standing in the door way, as naked as the day she was born. She took one step towards me and I instinctively glanced behind me for the settee. Along with a single chair, the two seater settee was the only other place to sit in the whole house. Both faced the black and white television that stood proud in the corner of the room; a mighty symbol of extravagance in our simple and humble world.
I stepped backwards as Sarah came towards me. Every step she took was closer to what she wanted and closer to me. My calf muscles touched the edge of the settee and I slowly sank into it.
A visible bulge appeared in my trousers and was growing with every step she took. Her hips swayed from side to side as she neared. She was doing it deliberately, I could tell. I wanted to unzip my trousers and take my cock out but not today, not on Thursdays.
A voice was heard from next door, muted by the paper thin walls of these terraced houses, “Malcolm, stop doing that.” I shook my head in despair as we heard the next door neighbour correcting her son. He was always doing something wrong. A proper trouble maker was Malcolm.
Sarah uncurled her hand and offered me its contents. I took her soiled knickers and placed them beside me.
Sarah approached me, and slowly but deliberately, she draped herself over me. Her hands reached over my legs and she silently rested her stomach against my growing erection. Her hands stretched out to the side of the settee. I could hear her let out a sigh of relief as she presented her bum to me; like a symbol, worthy of praise. Something to be cherished.
I caressed her buttocks, stroked her flawless flesh, and then I raised my hand.
Sarah let out a muffled cry against the settee. “Yes, spank me,” she uttered through her clenched teeth. “Spank me hard!” The last word was forced out with her last breath before she gulped in fresh air.
My hand fell once more onto her round buttocks. Finger-shaped red marks spread from the contact with her bare flesh. Sarah moaned with each smack of my hand. The blows were deliberate and timed so that she could recover before the next one forced the air out of her lungs.
Sarah started to sob, her bum was bouncing up and down on my lap as she absorbed every smack of my hand. It was the seventh blow that made her cry out a little too loud.
Experience had taught us to be prepared. I reached for the knickers and pushed them into her mouth, making sure the juicy area was first to go in. After all, I thought, she shouldn’t get them so wet, especially on a Thursday.
My hand came down on Sarah a few more times. Her body squirmed under me. She was constantly shifting her bum in some strange way; trying to relieve the pain. With every stroke, I could tell that her orgasm was building.
My cock was also straining underneath her body. Her stomach was pressing into it. Every time she forced herself downwards, I clenched my own buttocks; forcing more blood into my cock and making it grow. I made a point of pulsing my cock with every blow I struck.
Sarah bounced her body on my cock. Her whole bum was glowing red. She expertly rode every stroke of my hand, anticipating the strike, allowing her body to accommodate its force and revelling in the heat that spread through her. Sarah clenched her pussy when she felt the pain; which would be just after my hand contacted her. It intensified the feelings in her pussy, or so she told me.
I could see from her movements and the way she panted through her knicker filled mouth that she was close. I reckoned a few more strikes would do it and she would be overwhelmed with pleasure. I waited for her to respond; Sarah always let me know when the time was right. I could see her nearing that time. My hand spanked her like a metronome. Not letting up, not for one minute.
My own cock was straining like mad. I really wanted to push her off me, tear my cock from its confinement and fuck it into her – but this was Sarah’s day, not mine.
Sarah cried out as my hand struck her. This time it was different, there was a rhythm to her sounds, a signal to me that she was getting closer. It was a desperate plea for me to try harder; to spank her harder and faster. I increased my pace in time with Sarah’s moans. Every moan was louder and higher pitched than the previous. Her whole body was arching as my hands came down in force upon her bare bottom.
Then it happened. Sarah’s body went rigid. She fell silent. Nothing escaped her mouth. Not because of the knickers, but because of the intense orgasm she was experiencing. She wasn’t breathing – in or out. Her body finally started to twitch and with that I felt her push down on me and rub herself against my erection. She finally let out a loud cry and gulped in air as fast as it was released. She was panting.
I felt my trousers save the settee from being soiled once more. The heady aroma of her juices filled the room and I found myself sucking in as much air as I could to savour them.
She rubbed my cock with her body – it was all I needed. I was controlling myself up to the point when Sarah started to pant and gasp for air. Seeing and hearing her pant always took me over the edge. Generally I would have my cock inside her, but right now it was firmly inside my trousers.
I could feel my own wetness spread. I too let out gasps as I felt my own spasms push out the silky liquid into my waiting underpants.
I looked at her body as it draped itself over me. She looked so beautiful, totally spent but beautiful.
I didn’t really understand what buttons were being pushed in her brain. All I knew was that they were being pushed, to the extent that she loved me for it.
This was Thursday. This was Sarah’s day.
When I think back to the start, when she first encouraged me to spank her, playfully at first, I never realised it would lead to this. Now I understand what strength she must have had to trust me and encourage me to do this. Sarah was certainly, one of kind.
Finally, it was time for me to go. I got up and watched as Sarah dressed herself. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry and I guess that was because I was leaving for my own home. She accompanied me to the door and hugged me as I struggled into my jacket.
I didn’t want to leave, but if I stayed, tongues would be wagging by the morning.
She kissed me as I made a move to the door. “Think of me tonight, won’t you?”
I smiled and nodded at her, “Who else would I be thinking of?” I kissed her forehead and opened the door.
It was a bitterly cold evening as I left Sarah’s house. My thighs nearly froze as my juiced up trousers seemed to suck in all the cold air around them like a magnet. The smell of coal invaded my senses as I breathed the powdered filled air pouring out of a thousand chimneys. I pulled my donkey jacket close to me and stuffed my hands into its pockets.
I looked around me. I loved this place. I loved Sarah. I walked home to the twitching curtains of the nosey neighbours. I risked a cold hand as I doffed my cap to Mrs. Jones at number 31. She was the boldest of them all. Her curtain was wide open and she made no pretence at watching my every move as I passed by. If only she knew the truth.
My hands shrunk back into my coat pockets. I felt something in the bottom. I picked out Sarah’s soiled knickers. I raised them to my face. The intense aroma made me smile before I replaced them. The smile never left my face the whole evening. I knew, that in the morning, by the time the bell rang to signify the lowering of the cage, to plunge me one thousand and thirty feet below the surface into pure darkness, it would be gone; but the smile would return, it always did.
Sarah had just removed the kettle from the stove and put it on the hot-plate. She appeared in the doorway between the kitchenette and the living room. “Put the cat down.”
I glanced at her and then looked back at the cat. A smirk filled my face, “I thought you liked me stroking your pussy.” I caressed the cat a few more times before looking back towards Sarah.
A pout had appeared on Sarah’s face, “Put the cat down,” she reinforced, “you know why you’re here and it’s not for the cat.”
Sarah leant against the door frame; her medium length brunette hair flowed around her charming face, emphasising her cheeks. She was cute, very cute; her lips were soft to the touch and the crumpled white cotton blouse did little to hide her breasts. Her skirt was knee length; anything higher would have the community raising alarm bells, demanding that she be expelled for wanton behaviour. If they knew that I was there, and what her intentions were, her feet wouldn’t touch the floor as she would be marched away. She would be damned in every church and chapel, placed on a stake and burnt. The words, “God help these pagans,” would emanate from every minister’s mouth.
I’m a valley’s boy. That’s just the term. I am in fact born and bred, and still live in a coal mining village in South Wales. I am a middle aged man. Fifty five to be precise, perhaps middle aged is a little conservative, but I have aged well, considering. Although my hair has waved goodbye, and my beard is grey with flecks of black, I consider myself reasonably good looking. But I think the term good looking is someone else’s personal choice, and not mine to make.
I met Sarah through unusual circumstances; a coal mining accident at Llandroes colliery. I was a good friend and workmate of her late husband, Mike. There had been a few accidents recently; too many for my liking, but I had somehow managed to avoid them. I was on a day’s unpaid leave when the accident that took Mike’s life, happened. I should have been there with him. In fact, it should have been me and not him. I never had the strength to ask anyone whether Mike had volunteered for that shift while I was away. It would have hurt too much to know the truth.
Sarah and I got to know each other from the grief we both shared. Eventually the grief led to friendship and then something else started to materialise. Something that neither of us realised was happening until it was too late. At twenty five years my junior, I didn’t understand what she saw in me. It didn’t occur to me that such a young woman would be interested in me. What could I possibly offer her that no other, younger man, could offer?
Sarah saw through all that, she saw through all the problems that age, health, circumstances and the community would throw in our faces. She saw me, for me. But this was the valleys and this sort of age gap was unheard of. People would be talking behind our backs. Curtains would be drawn back so that the nosey parkers could watch us when we walked past the rows of terraced housing. In the valleys, everyone knows everyone else’s business. It was how we lived. Children would end up giggling and pointing their fingers at us; ridiculing us without knowing why? The reason why, didn’t matter to them.
Fortunately we hadn’t reached that position yet. We were careful and courteous to each other while out and about, and careful not to raise suspicions as to what we did indoors. We still had our own houses and I visited her about three times a week, just to see if she needed anything. We soon found out that Thursday was Sarah’s favourite day.
Once a month, I would treat her to a trip to the seaside. The train would wind its way down the valleys and through the mountains; smoke billowing out of the front as it powered ever onwards. It was a fair distance away, but everyone seemed to make the effort to go somewhere different and exciting. It was the only bit of brightness that seemed to enlighten the harshness of living in constant danger. Believe me, working underground in the coal mines was a constant danger to most of us. I would watch Sarah’s face light up when I handed her the bright pink candy floss or the six doughnuts for a penny. We could be ourselves at the seaside, there would be little chance of meeting someone you knew, after all the seaside and promenade is a big place.
I was brought up to treat women with respect; to be courteous and polite to them, in public as well as in private. When it came to sex, men should be loving and gentle, and respect any limits. ‘No’ meant no, as did the words ‘tired,’ ‘not now,’ and ‘headache’. No self-respecting man would ever lay a hand on a woman. It was unheard of.
Sarah changed all that.
She was not normal, or perhaps she was, she was certainly the first to corrupt me in this way. All I know is that I was corruptible, and I don’t regret one minute of it.
Sarah was still leaning against the door frame, waiting for me to obey her. It was not like her to be firm like this. Not with me. Not since…
I placed the cat on the floor and turned to her. “Strip!”
Sarah smiled at me as she slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, one by one. As the fabric gaped, I could see her breasts come into view, each button revealing more bosom, and more cleavage, but it wasn’t until the last button was undone that she pushed the tattered fabric to one side; cupping her breasts with both hands, she offered them to me.
I stood there and waited. She eventually let them fall and pushed the blouse over her shoulder and dropped it on the floor. Her full breasts hung from her slight shoulders; her nipples already engorged and eager to be sucked into a hot, waiting, mouth. Not today though.
I pointed at her skirt and then the floor. Sarah reached behind her and unzipped the skirt. She let it go. It slipped over her child-bearing hips and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Sarah was not tall, but she had the most perfect figure, at least to me. She was now standing in the door way, as naked as the day she was born. She took one step towards me and I instinctively glanced behind me for the settee. Along with a single chair, the two seater settee was the only other place to sit in the whole house. Both faced the black and white television that stood proud in the corner of the room; a mighty symbol of extravagance in our simple and humble world.
I stepped backwards as Sarah came towards me. Every step she took was closer to what she wanted and closer to me. My calf muscles touched the edge of the settee and I slowly sank into it.
A visible bulge appeared in my trousers and was growing with every step she took. Her hips swayed from side to side as she neared. She was doing it deliberately, I could tell. I wanted to unzip my trousers and take my cock out but not today, not on Thursdays.
A voice was heard from next door, muted by the paper thin walls of these terraced houses, “Malcolm, stop doing that.” I shook my head in despair as we heard the next door neighbour correcting her son. He was always doing something wrong. A proper trouble maker was Malcolm.
Sarah uncurled her hand and offered me its contents. I took her soiled knickers and placed them beside me.
Sarah approached me, and slowly but deliberately, she draped herself over me. Her hands reached over my legs and she silently rested her stomach against my growing erection. Her hands stretched out to the side of the settee. I could hear her let out a sigh of relief as she presented her bum to me; like a symbol, worthy of praise. Something to be cherished.
I caressed her buttocks, stroked her flawless flesh, and then I raised my hand.
Sarah let out a muffled cry against the settee. “Yes, spank me,” she uttered through her clenched teeth. “Spank me hard!” The last word was forced out with her last breath before she gulped in fresh air.
My hand fell once more onto her round buttocks. Finger-shaped red marks spread from the contact with her bare flesh. Sarah moaned with each smack of my hand. The blows were deliberate and timed so that she could recover before the next one forced the air out of her lungs.
Sarah started to sob, her bum was bouncing up and down on my lap as she absorbed every smack of my hand. It was the seventh blow that made her cry out a little too loud.
Experience had taught us to be prepared. I reached for the knickers and pushed them into her mouth, making sure the juicy area was first to go in. After all, I thought, she shouldn’t get them so wet, especially on a Thursday.
My hand came down on Sarah a few more times. Her body squirmed under me. She was constantly shifting her bum in some strange way; trying to relieve the pain. With every stroke, I could tell that her orgasm was building.
My cock was also straining underneath her body. Her stomach was pressing into it. Every time she forced herself downwards, I clenched my own buttocks; forcing more blood into my cock and making it grow. I made a point of pulsing my cock with every blow I struck.
Sarah bounced her body on my cock. Her whole bum was glowing red. She expertly rode every stroke of my hand, anticipating the strike, allowing her body to accommodate its force and revelling in the heat that spread through her. Sarah clenched her pussy when she felt the pain; which would be just after my hand contacted her. It intensified the feelings in her pussy, or so she told me.
I could see from her movements and the way she panted through her knicker filled mouth that she was close. I reckoned a few more strikes would do it and she would be overwhelmed with pleasure. I waited for her to respond; Sarah always let me know when the time was right. I could see her nearing that time. My hand spanked her like a metronome. Not letting up, not for one minute.
My own cock was straining like mad. I really wanted to push her off me, tear my cock from its confinement and fuck it into her – but this was Sarah’s day, not mine.
Sarah cried out as my hand struck her. This time it was different, there was a rhythm to her sounds, a signal to me that she was getting closer. It was a desperate plea for me to try harder; to spank her harder and faster. I increased my pace in time with Sarah’s moans. Every moan was louder and higher pitched than the previous. Her whole body was arching as my hands came down in force upon her bare bottom.
Then it happened. Sarah’s body went rigid. She fell silent. Nothing escaped her mouth. Not because of the knickers, but because of the intense orgasm she was experiencing. She wasn’t breathing – in or out. Her body finally started to twitch and with that I felt her push down on me and rub herself against my erection. She finally let out a loud cry and gulped in air as fast as it was released. She was panting.
I felt my trousers save the settee from being soiled once more. The heady aroma of her juices filled the room and I found myself sucking in as much air as I could to savour them.
She rubbed my cock with her body – it was all I needed. I was controlling myself up to the point when Sarah started to pant and gasp for air. Seeing and hearing her pant always took me over the edge. Generally I would have my cock inside her, but right now it was firmly inside my trousers.
I could feel my own wetness spread. I too let out gasps as I felt my own spasms push out the silky liquid into my waiting underpants.
I looked at her body as it draped itself over me. She looked so beautiful, totally spent but beautiful.
I didn’t really understand what buttons were being pushed in her brain. All I knew was that they were being pushed, to the extent that she loved me for it.
This was Thursday. This was Sarah’s day.
When I think back to the start, when she first encouraged me to spank her, playfully at first, I never realised it would lead to this. Now I understand what strength she must have had to trust me and encourage me to do this. Sarah was certainly, one of kind.
Finally, it was time for me to go. I got up and watched as Sarah dressed herself. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry and I guess that was because I was leaving for my own home. She accompanied me to the door and hugged me as I struggled into my jacket.
I didn’t want to leave, but if I stayed, tongues would be wagging by the morning.
She kissed me as I made a move to the door. “Think of me tonight, won’t you?”
I smiled and nodded at her, “Who else would I be thinking of?” I kissed her forehead and opened the door.
It was a bitterly cold evening as I left Sarah’s house. My thighs nearly froze as my juiced up trousers seemed to suck in all the cold air around them like a magnet. The smell of coal invaded my senses as I breathed the powdered filled air pouring out of a thousand chimneys. I pulled my donkey jacket close to me and stuffed my hands into its pockets.
I looked around me. I loved this place. I loved Sarah. I walked home to the twitching curtains of the nosey neighbours. I risked a cold hand as I doffed my cap to Mrs. Jones at number 31. She was the boldest of them all. Her curtain was wide open and she made no pretence at watching my every move as I passed by. If only she knew the truth.
My hands shrunk back into my coat pockets. I felt something in the bottom. I picked out Sarah’s soiled knickers. I raised them to my face. The intense aroma made me smile before I replaced them. The smile never left my face the whole evening. I knew, that in the morning, by the time the bell rang to signify the lowering of the cage, to plunge me one thousand and thirty feet below the surface into pure darkness, it would be gone; but the smile would return, it always did.
Virginia
- 18.05.2021
- 5
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- Category:
- Historical
