Love Never Dies Pt 02
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Love Never Dies - Chapter 2 free porn video
It had been another warm Tuesday and I’d played a reasonable round of golf, followed by a steak meal in the clubhouse. The company was good and the conversation, as usual, light. Occasionally, politics and finances reared their ugly cantankerous heads but, generally, we steered away from contentious topics. Our ingredients were mainly golf, other sports, sex and jokes. Never anything really personal.
My old friend Mick was a member of the group which regularly played on Tuesdays. We’d kept in spasmodic touch over the years and, in fact, when I retired and decided to move back close to my old stamping ground, it was Mick who introduced me to the club and proposed my membership.
On this day, our group gradually dwindled away after the meal until Mick and I were alone, relaxing in leather armchairs with a couple of beers on the table in front of us.
“And how’s the good lady keeping these days?” he asked.
“She’s well,” I said. “Today she was going to the gym but I’ll bet she didn’t exercise much. A few minutes on the bike or on the cross-country walker is her limit. As soon as a bead of perspiration appears on her brow, that’s it, workout over. And she heads off to the beauty room for a massage and manicure or some such pampering nonsense.”
Mick smiled at my withering summation. “Well, she keeps herself looking good for you, Richard. Don’t knock it.”
“Hmmm,” I said, thinking that it had been years since Veronica and I had indulged in sexual congress. “That may be so, if you subscribe to the view that women still dress for their man and all that. I reckon it’s a bit of old hat in these days of the emancipated woman and sex equality. I think they do all these things more for themselves rather than a spouse or partner.”
Mick raised his eyebrows at me but I was on a roll now. Don’t know why, but I felt grumpy, curmudgeonly even, when I thought about Veronica’s social life. I carried on, “Keep fit classes, Pilates, yoga, whatever. Most of the time it’s just an excuse for women to gather and natter.”
My phone vibrated in my trouser pocket. I fished it out, looked at the screen and said, “There you go, she must have heard me. It’s a text from Veronica.”
Mick took a swig of his beer as I read the message: Guess you’re eating at the club. I’m out with Helen. Be home about 9 xx
I tapped a reply: OK, enjoy, c u later xx and put the phone on the table, next to my beer.
“Everything, okay?”
“Yes, Mick. Veronica’s out with Helen for the evening.”
“Right,” he said and then shook his head. “My Karen never goes out. Well, not without me. She’s very much a home bird. Leave her with the TV or a romantic novel and she’s happy as a pig in muck. But you know that, anyway.”
I nodded and reached for my glass. “Not a lot of high maintenance with her,” I said crisply.
“That’s true and a good job at that. You know, Richard, car sales are in a slump at the moment. I have to watch the pennies.” He exhaled loudly and looked at my glass. “Want another drink?”
“You salesman are always pleading poverty. You make me laugh.” I managed a smile. “Yes, okay, if you can afford it, I’ll have one for the road. Then I must be getting home.”
~~~~~~~
It was 7:30 when I got home and, after pouring myself a generous slug of brandy, I went upstairs to my office and switched on the computer. It had been four days since I’d sent a message to Gaynor and I opened up my e-mail account, hoping that she’d replied. I had thirty-seven messages, most of them from on-line shopping (cut-price flight offers, golf equipment, menswear, books, DVDs etc) and a few from friends with the latest internet jokes.
And one which said: Facebook, Gaynor Reid sent you a message.
Ignoring the others, I quickly clicked to open it and leaned forward to read:
Subject: Retirement
Hi Richard, I didn’t think you would retire early. You were such a career-driven man. Anyway, hope you’re enjoying it. Still married, I guess? Me, I never married and gave up full-time nursing some years ago. Work a few days in a hospice when needed but, like you, I’ve virtually retired. Little surprised you’ve forgotten about retiring to the coast. You talked about it when we had our first week’s holiday by the sea. Still, it was a long time ago, love’s young dream. So, where did you retire to? Still up north? Right, at the end of this note, I’ll leave my e-mail address and, if you want, no pressure, we can have longer cyber chats instead of these little bites. Okay? Meanwhile, take care. Byee, Gaynor (aka Petal).
I copied the e-mail address into my contacts and then sat back. I removed my spectacles, sipped some brandy and wondered why such a beautiful girl had never married. I read the message again, slowly, letting each word sink into my brain. And then I stared at the last word: Petal.
Oh my, that hit me like a bolt from the blue. My Petal…
THEN
THE Water’s Edge Hotel was, in fact, separated from the beach by the busy coastal road. It was set-back, quite high behind a well-manicured lawn. I drove up the incline of the driveway and parked in a vacant space close to reception.
I got out of the car, stretched my back to relieve the tiredness in my bones and muscles from the three hour drive, and walked around the car to open the passenger door. Gaynor beat me to it. A long left leg appeared and then she was out, standing and arching her back, hands on her waist. I blinked as her pelvis thrust forward and her huge breasts stretched the sleeveless blouse to button-popping point.
“What?” she said, noticing my staring eyes and gaping mouth. Six months into our relationship, I was still enthralled by Gaynor’s curvy, sexy body and melted at the sound of her husky voice.
“Just waiting for your shirt to burst open,” I said and licked my lips.
“Pervert. And it’s a blouse.”
She stopped stretching and turned to look towards the beach. I looked, too. Gulls swooped and “caw-cawed” and I could smell the brine, wafting on a light breeze. The sky was blue, dotted with puffy white clouds, and the sun was hot. A perfect summer’s day to start our first holiday together.
“Lovely,” she said and then switched her attention to the small hotel. It had once been a family mansion and was now a private business with fifteen bedrooms. “Shall we book in, see what sort of room we’ve got?”
“Okay,” I said and removed two small cases from the car. We walked up the flight of steps and into the cool of a small lobby. The reception desk wasn’t manned but Gaynor spotted a bell-push and pressed it with a thumb and we heard it ring in what I presumed to be the back office.
“Good afternoon, how may I help?” The woman who appeared through the archway was medium build with striking red hair that flowed down to her shoulders. She wore a purple blouse, buttoned to the throat, and dark-rimmed glasses. Her lips were vermillion.
“We have a reservation for a week,” I said. “The name is Johnson.”
“Ah yes, Mr and Mrs Johnson,” she said, opening a register and glancing at Gaynor standing by my side. Gaynor smiled, revealing glossy white teeth, and nodded at the woman.
I completed our registration and was handed a key. The red-head wore a simple gold band on her wedding finger. Perhaps the wife of the owner. She hadn’t introduced herself or offered a name.
“Room ten,” she said. “It’s on the front with a lovely sea view. Straight up the stairs,” she pointed to the right and I noticed a diamond-studded gold bracelet drooping off her wrist. “It’s the second door on the left. Breakfast is from seven till nine-thirty and dinner’s at eight. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
We said our thanks, I handed the key to Gaynor and picked up the cases. I sensed the receptionist watching us on our walk towards the stairs. I paused to let Gaynor go first and glanced back at the woman and smiled. She briefly nodded, nervously brushed her hands down her skirt, spun on her heels and returned to the back office.
Room ten was clean and adequately furnished, dominated by a double bed with a wood headboard. The cramped bathroom had a shower, toilet and a hand basin.
I put the cases on the bed as Gaynor walked to the window. “Good view,” she said and turned back to face me. “Fancy a stroll along the beach before we unpack?”
“Yes, good idea. Let’s get out in the sunshine.”
We didn’t actually venture on to the sand. Hand in hand, we walked along the promenade, people watching, admiring the architecture of some large buildings and hotels and breathing in the fresh sea air, scented by seaweed. After about twenty minutes, we came across a cafe which had two tables and chairs set up outside. A pleasant, grey-haired grandmotherly-type lady, who beamed a radiant smile at us, served up two mugs of coffee and a plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches with salad garnish.
I was the happiest man in the world.
I studied Gaynor as she relaxed back in her chair: hands clasped behind her neck, elbows jutting out, face upturned to the sun and eyelids shuttered. Apart from pink lipstick and customary pale blue eyeshadow, she wore no makeup on her caramel skin. The breeze gently rustled her black curls, her chest undulated sensuously with each regular breath and, with legs extended and crossed at her ankles, her mini-skirt left her naked thighs exposed.
“I know what you’re looking at and I know what you’re thinking,” she said without opening her eyes.
I smiled and drank some coffee, looking at her serene face. “I’m not the only one looking.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to look at me. “Is that right?”
“Hmmm, it is,” I said. “All the men and a lot of women as well. They can’t help ogling you as they walk past.”
She resumed her posture, eyes closed, head back and smiled. “Bet the women are looking at you, really. You’re a hunky man, Richard. I mean, why else would I be here?”
“You flatter me,” I said, laughing.
“Uh, uh,” she said, barely shaking her head. “My panties are getting damp just thinking about you.”
For a few seconds I was speechless. I still couldn’t believe that this beautiful young girl found me so attractive and desirable. It was all a dream and one day I would wake up.
I regained the power of speech. “I noticed a few guys glancing at me. I could tell what they were thinking.”
“Mmm, and what would that be, honey?”
“Lucky bastard,” I said. “How does he get to be with a gorgeous girl like that?”
It was Gaynor’s turn to chuckle, deep and throaty. “But they don’t know what I know, do they?” she said and suddenly sat upright and reached across to smooth a palm against my cheek. “As the song says, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Give me a kiss.”
We leaned towards each other and our lips merged, briefly but sweetly. I tasted her lipstick and, cheekily, she stabbed her tongue in-and-out of my mouth to conclude the kiss. My cock twitched as I gazed into her chocolate eyes.
“See, I told you … I am one hell of a lucky bastard.”
Gaynor’s eyes roamed over my face for a few seconds, searching deep into me, her lips pursed. Then a smile creased the corners of her mouth. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s have a little look around this place before we go back to the hotel.”
I paid for our food and we wandered inland, away from the beach, and explored the narrow streets and window shopped. It was then that I bought Gaynor a gift, my very first present for her.
“Oh, look at those, Richard.” She pointed at a display in a jeweller’s window. “They’re fabulous. See them, there, look…” I looked as she pressed a pink-painted fingernail against the glass. “Those gold hoops.”
Now I saw them. “Ah, yes,” I said and felt her hand squeeze mine. She was clearly enthralled and my heart was captured. I wanted to please her, show that I cared and she mattered very much to me. “Would you like them?”
“I’d love them,” she gushed. “But they’re gold, real gold. Can you see the price?”
“No, but we can find out. C’mon,” I said and tugged her hand and led her into the shop.
The soberly uniformed assistant retrieved the hoops from the window. “These are the only pair,” she said, handing them to Gaynor. “Would you like to try them on?”
Would she? Gaynor replaced her gold studs with the hoops and looked into the mirror. She turned her head this way and that, setting the hoops oscillating and caressing her jaw bones. “Oh my,” she muttered, breathlessly. “They’re fabulous.”
Then came the serious moment. “But how much are they?” she asked, looking apprehensively at the sales assistant.
“Never mind that,” I said, withdrawing my wallet from my pocket and producing a credit card. “When you’re old and wrinkled, these will be a reminder of our first holiday together.”
Gaynor’s throaty chortle and “cheeky sod” as she punched my shoulder even had the assistant grinning
Five minutes later, after some serious persuasion on my part, Gaynor exited the shop with the golden hoops dangling and swaying from her earlobes. Outside, she faced me, draped her arms over my shoulders and did a little excited bounce up and down off her heels and on her toes. As shoppers weaved around us in the middle of the street, Gaynor pulled me in for a sizzling kiss: mashing lips as eager tongues flickered and swept around panting mouths.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gasped as we finally stopped kissing. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had.” She squashed her chest against mine and planted another firm but brief kiss on my lips. “I’ll never take them off till the day I die.”
“Whoa,” I said with a big grin. “Steady on, that’s a bit strong.”
“No, I mean it,” she said and pulled me back towards the shop window so that she could look at her reflection. “They do suit me, don’t they?”
“Yes, they certainly do,” I agreed, caught up and amazed at her almost childish excitement.
“Oooh, Richard, c’mon let’s get back to the hotel so I can thank you properly.”
Clutching hands, we swept along the promenade, Gaynor’s ear-rings swinging with every stride of her long, shapely legs. In fifteen minutes, we were back in room ten and, as I closed and locked the door, Gaynor lifted the cases off the bed and placed them on the floor before wrapping her arms around me in a passionate hug.
Gaynor was like a tornado, swirling all over me: intense and powerful, steamy and ardent. She pushed me backwards onto the bed and swiftly clambered astride me, knees at my waist. She tugged at my shirt, drawing it out of my trousers and up over my head. She tossed it across the room and it was rapidly followed by her blouse.
She bent to kiss my cheek and breathed a command into my ear, “Unclip my bra.” Her fingernails razed over my chest, thumb pads brushed hardened nipples, and I unleashed her majestic bosom. Our lips mashed again and Gaynor wriggled her torso, sweeping and pressing her heavy tits against me.
My cock was straining and tenting my trousers. My erection became even harder when Gaynor fed me a nipple and then switched to the other teat. “Can’t let one get jealous of the other,” she giggled. My hands caressed the fleshy, hanging globes as I licked and flicked my tongue around the protruding nubs and surrounding dark aureola. I sucked and nipped with my teeth. Gaynor gasped and moaned. “No, no,” she whispered, almost to herself. “This is my treat.”
She sat upright, her fabulous tits wobbling and jutting. She dismounted me and stood between my dangling legs. She unzipped her skirt, let it fall and deftly kicked it to one side. With thumbs hooked in the waist of her white satin panties, she wriggled and drew them over her hips, slowly lowering them down her thighs until I could see the beginnings of her dark curly bush. Teasingly, she dipped her right hand into her panties at the cleft of her lean thighs and a sigh hissed between her lips.
Staring into my eyes, Gaynor let her panties slide to her feet. I looked from her face, down over the undulating swell of her breasts, the flat stomach and rounded hips to the V of her pubic hair. “You’re beautiful,” I said.
Gaynor smiled and squatted. She removed my shoes and socks, unbuckled my belt, popped the button at the waist and unzipped my fly. She tugged my pants down and off, flinging them across the room to join her discarded clothes. Her right hand smoothed across my throbbing cock, still contained in my briefs. She kissed the bulge before finally releasing it with a swift tug of my underwear.
My cock sprang free and slapped against my abdomen. Gaynor cupped my sac in her left hand, rubbing the thumb gently over my balls, and circled my swollen cock shaft with the fingers of her right hand. She tightened her grip, stroked my engorged length and brought my flared dome to her mouth. She licked and lapped the pre-cum and then swallowed me into her sweet mouth. She bobbed and sucked, lapping her tongue under my fat, sensitive mushroom.
I placed my hands on her shoulders, her skin cool and silky smooth to my touch. With my swollen cock end between her lips, Gaynor’s big, brown eyes looked up at me and I couldn’t help but notice the gold hoops bouncing alongside her sucking cheeks.
My balls briskly tightened and Gaynor’s lips squeezed my head while her fingers rolled up and down my length until I gasped, “I’m gonna cum… Gaynor, I’m coming.”
I thrust my hips, curving my lower back, and held my breath. Gaynor withdrew her mouth. Resting my balls in the palm of one hand, she employed long, slow strokes to my rapidly expanding thick cock. I closed my eyes and relished the gradual surge of mounting excitement, the pressure building until my first load dramatically spouted and splashed. “Oh yes, oh yes,” said Gaynor, tugging and extracting spurt after spurt of my cream until I was spent. I shuddered, exhaled loudly and let my body and legs sag into the bed.
Gaynor rested my wilting tube against my thigh. “Don’t move, I’m gonna get a cloth to clean us up. Just look at this lot,” she said and I opened my eyes to see her peering down and holding up her wonderful tits awash with my fluid.
I watched her rear end sway the few steps to the bathroom, listened to the sound of running water, and waited for her return. Minutes later, she was back, obviously cleaned up, and carrying a towel and sodden washcloth, which she wiped over my sticky, glistening cock and balls.
The careful way she attentively cleaned me was somehow exotic and I felt life returning to my soft love stick. “Is this how you give bed baths, nurse?”
“Only for my favourite patient,” she said and swooped to kiss my clean and dry dome. “How’s that feel?”
“Mmm, good,” I said and twitched within her hand.
“Wow, Tiger! Already?”
I edged up on both elbows and Gaynor stood between my knees, holding the towel and cloth. “Change places,” I said. “You lie here and let me look at you.”
She placed the washing gear on the nightstand. I got off the bed and we embraced, my warm body against her cool, soft flesh. We kissed deeply, murmuring and whimpering as tongues roamed. My cock, seemingly with a mind and will of its own, pulsed against Gaynor’s thigh.
We held hands as Gaynor lowered her delightful buttocks on to the edge of the bed and slowly reclined, her feet still on the floor. I released my hold and knelt between her open legs, elbows resting on her knees and my hands running along and around her firm thighs. My fingertips were feather light against her silken caramel skin. She murmured, “Nice, very nice, Richard.”
I teased high up on her inner thighs, almost touching her vulva. On the backs of my hands, I could feel the heat billowing from her sex. I concentrated my gaze on her hair-covered mound and tickled my fingertips through the curly bush, prompting more husky mumblings and sighs from my love.
I sat back on my heels and looked at the pink slit, exposed below the curly camouflage. I ran a finger along the wet, warm length and used both thumbs to gently pry her open. Gaynor instinctively reacted, spreading her thighs wider to allow access. My tongue lapped, kissed and sucked the outer lips, tasting the aromatic juices which seeped there. With my right thumb, I found her clit already peeking from its hood. I rolled my thumb around it, only lightly pressing, and that brought a tummy tremble and quick inhale of Gaynor’s breath.
I probed the now slightly open crack with a forefinger, seeking her vagina entrance. She was wet and receptive as I slid into her hole, beyond the knuckle, and worked my finger gently in circles, polishing her walls. Gaynor’s inner muscles tensed, trying to tighten on my lone finger. I responded by adding a second finger, stroking and exploring along the tunnel. Now, Gaynor could grip my fingers and the moist alley became even wetter.
Gaynor’s breathing was uneven and she cupped her breasts, arms crossed on her chest, as I continued to stroke inside. Her pelvis rocked rhythmically up and down and she sighed loudly when I retracted both fingers. With my thumbs I again caressed her labia and she slowly, magnificently opened up.
“Good God, Gaynor,” I said barely above a whisper. “You’ve got a gorgeous pussy. It’s like a flower in bloom, your lips are like petals.”
“How poetic, mister,” she said, placing a hand on my head. “They’re your petals now. But what I would really like now is for you to bury your cock between them. Can you manage that?”
I was already throbbing. Reluctantly, I stopped admiring Gaynor’s pussy. “Oh yes,” I said, standing and bringing my proud, horizontal member into view. “I’m ready and at your service.”
Gaynor scooted backwards along the bed, sprawled with arms and legs akimbo and waited to welcome me. I crawled into position, and she raised her knees, feet flat against the bed. I held my cock head momentarily against her flower and pressed through the entrance into her depths with one easy movement. We both gasped and I remained motionless for a few seconds, savouring the moment of insertion, feeling my length and thickness so hard and tight inside her drenched cavern.
“Kiss me and make love to me.” Oh my, those melting husky tones.
Propped on rigid arms, I looked down into Gaynor’s eyes, sparkling and pleading with desire, and we both sighed as I buried my quivering cock to the hilt. “Oh yes, my Petal, I’ll make love to you with the greatest of pleasure.”
NOW
I reached for the brandy glass and raised my eyebrows in surprise at finding it empty. I rubbed my eyes with the knuckles of both forefingers and focused on the clock at the top right of my computer screen: 8-10.
I read and absorbed Gaynor’s message once more and then clicked on compose and entered her e-mail address. I sat back in my chair and thought: What to say? How far and personal do I go? She did sign off ‘Petal.’ That’s about as personal as you can get. Better refill my glass.
I went downstairs and poured another generous measure of brandy. Veronica said she’d be home about nine. That would be nine-thirty at the earliest.
Back in the office, I put on my spectacles and pulled the keyboard towards me. In the subject box I typed Hello Petal and then wrote this message:
Dear Gaynor
Thanks for supplying your e-mail address. I agree that we can be more expansive via this method. For my part, I think we have lots of things to catch up on.
First of all, though, I must tell you I was gobsmacked and totally stunned when I received your first message. It’s been years and years since we last talked - but, stupid me, you know that. What I must tell you, though, from the outset, is that I never forgot you and many times during these thirty-plus years, I thought of you.
Perhaps you’ll find this hard to believe but there are certain things that trigger my memory of you, of us. For example, Gladys Knight singing You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. That hits home, particularly the bit about pain and glory. I truly regret so much about what happened (or didn’t happen) and I’ve come to recognise what a fool I was. I just want you to know that, whatever happens (or doesn’t) via this cyberspace link.
Okay, what now? Well, I’ve got two grown daughters, they’re twins and married. I see them irregularly but it’s a good relationship. In truth, they’re more connected with their mother - phone calls and such like and occasional “halfway house” meetings when they go shopping in some outlet and have lunch. Both of them live some 200 miles in the north. Ah yes, I’m no longer in the north.
When I retired, I decided after about a year that I’d like to return to my roots. I’d kept in touch with several people and, while my parents have passed on, something drew me back. Not all the way, in fact about twenty-five miles out of town.
I still keep quite active, playing golf three or four times a week (even through the winter) so you can take it from me, the Facebook thumbnail pic that had me looking ill was misleading. I feel very fit for someone approaching fifty-eight.
Anyway, time is getting on and I think I hear Veronica (my wife) coming up the drive. Sounds grand that, the drive - but it’s only a short one!
So, I’ll say, night night - oh no, not yet, one other thing: You signing off as Petal. That really did provoke some exceedingly pleasant memories. Still a naughty, Gaynor!
Okay, think I’ve said enough for now. Please reply when you can, let me know what you’re up to, and I hope I haven’t written (said) anything out of place.
Take care,
Richard
PS: Of course, you’ve got my e-mail address now.
I read through my typing, corrected a few errors and then sent the message into space, before forwarding it from the ‘sent’ box to a newly-created GR folder. That completed, I started to work my way through the other e-mails which had increased to forty-one - and another six in Spam.
Most of them I just deleted without opening and, not for the first time, pondered how much junk is sent out. In the Spam box, I had two offers of cheap Viagra. I chuckled to myself. If only they knew what a waste of time that was.
Below, I heard Veronica open and close the front door.
“I’m home, Richard, where are you?”
“Up here,” I shouted. “Just finishing off, be down soon.”
That’s it, I thought, back to normal, back to reality. Until Gaynor makes contact again…
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