The Winsome Widow - Part 3 free porn video

Chapter 7 – Evelyn
“Aleeeeeeeeex.”

I looked around, startled from my contemplation of the idol by the voice, a female voice, whispering my name; soft, sweet and enticing.

“Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me.”

Breathy and sexy, it seemed directionless; all I knew for sure was that it wasn’t any of the men around the table calling me; they couldn’t even hear it; they all remained absorbed in Johanssen’s narrative. He had closed out his Bridge night adventure with Evelyn and was now explaining how Adley had confided his wife’s love of erotic fiction and how their Bridge night had slowly morphed into Storytelling Night; where the men would take turns to tell an erotic story while Evelyn hid beneath the table, eavesdropping and voting on the quality of the stories with her hands and her lips.

 “Use the idol, Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me.”

That disembodied voice should have been terrifying, but it felt calming, even soothing. I wanted to ask its owner where she was but clearly I was the only one who could hear her, and speaking up, especially in my own voice, would definitely NOT go unnoticed around the table.

Following her instructions, I leaned over to touch the idol and felt that familiar erotic warmth once again flooding up my arm; I tipped my head back, nostrils flared, revelling in the ecstasy that buzzed through my body.

I leaned harder against the table and with a weightless, roller-coaster lurch, it became insubstantial beneath me and I … slipped … that’s the only way I can think to describe it; I slipped INTO the table; it’s oaken surface penetrating the middle of my stomach, painless and bloodless. With the ghostly table now no longer responding to my touch, I threw out both hands to arrest my slide and they both passed through its surface as if through smoke; and with nothing to hold me up, I spilled forwards and fell to the floor with a sickening sense of vertigo as the table passed harmlessly through my head.

“Hello Alex.”

Disoriented and gasping with fright, I cast about with wild eyes so see a young woman with chestnut hair kneeling next to me in a long evening gown. Her full, ripe breasts; the slim curve of her waist; her tiny, round bottom perched on her heels; all were all lovingly outlined in sleek, clinging, black satin. With delicate features and glowing, flawless skin, she was every bit as beautiful as Johanssen had described.

“Hello Evelyn,” I smiled, making the connection instantly and sounding far more casually accepting than I felt.

I expected some kind of response from the men; if not to my dramatic fall through the table, then at least to the sound of my voice, my woman’s voice, from beneath the table. Staring into Evelyn’s luminous eyes, I listened to Johanssen’s deep, sonorous tones as he described yet another sexy tryst with the woman kneeling beside me. Were they so absorbed that they hadn’t noticed?

The impossibility of the moment was breaking into my thoughts; my eyes saw a beautiful woman, surely no older than thirty-five and radiant with youth; but my ears listened to the story of her deeds; adventures of more than fifty years ago.

“Who …?” I began, unsure what I was asking. Who was she? I didn’t need that one answered; I knew this was Evelyn; I could feel it. But how could she be so young, so beautiful?

She understood my question with the same intuition that told me the truth of who she was, and by way of an answer, she passed a hand in front of her face; her image shimmered like a heat haze and for a moment I saw the features of an old woman, still beautiful in a stately, elegant way; but with deep lines down her cheeks and around her eyes, her glorious hair still long and vibrant but now silver rather than the glossy chestnut of her youth.

The shimmering image stabilised and she was young again and full of radiant life. In the darkness beneath the table, the legs of those seated around us were all colourless shadows; but Evelyn was vibrant with soft, milky skin and red painted lips; she simply shone; not a luminous inner glow like a ghost in a movie, but as if from an external light source that didn’t exist. The table legs and the pattern in the carpet beneath her were shrouded in gloom, but Evelyn was just … simply … visible!

Looking around at the unbroken circle of chairs and legs, some important piece of information was trying to assert itself on my consciousness, but it was like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t remember. I cast about again, trying to orient myself; which seat was mine?

Got it! There are NO EMPTY SEATS! Holy fuck, I’m a ghost! Am I dead?

I turned back to Evelyn with a constricting feeling of panic building in my chest. “Where am I?”

It was another stupid question, but as before, she understood my meaning as though telepathically and in answer, she reached out to touch the person behind my left shoulder. As she did, I felt a soft hand close around my own calf and gently squeeze the muscle there. I jerked my leg in fright, but the sensation persisted even though I could see that there was nothing touching me.

Oh my God! That’s my chair! Those are my legs!

The figure in the chair was me and Evelyn was stroking my real body; the ME beneath the table was just my consciousness, and studying my body more closely, I saw that I glowed with the same light as Evelyn. I felt my face; the fake beard and eyeglasses were gone; I was no longer dressed in a man’s suit and tie but in the pencil skirt and blouse I had worn to work earlier that day. And joy of joys; I was wearing a comfortable bra instead of that painful strapping to hide the swell of my breasts.

I watched as Evelyn stroked higher on the motionless form at the table and I shivered as the soft sensation of her touch crept invisibly past my knee and under my skirt. I had only ever been mildly curious about the idea of intimacy with another woman, but my heightened arousal combined with the sublime beauty of the woman stroking her way slowly up my thigh washed away any reluctance I might have felt. She paused and looked into my eyes questioningly; as if asking whether I wanted this. My tongue darted out to lick my dry lips and with a breathless nod I parted my legs and bid her to continue.

The ghostly eroticism was captivating; I was watching Evelyn touch the form in the chair (I couldn’t yet think of that person as me); but to feel her every touch on my own thighs whilst crouched beside her left me dizzy with passion and mounting desire.

I held my breath as she moved her thumb to the junction between seated Alex’s thighs, and then gasped with mingled disbelief and passion as her ghostly fingers passed straight through the trousers and panties to touch the wet entrance of her (my?) womanhood.

I couldn’t see what Evelyn was doing with her hand, but I could feel the effects as she stroked the tip of her thumb slowly through my steaming slit, avoiding direct contact with my clitoris for the moment as she teased apart my soft inner folds with her thumb tip.

Entranced by the vision of Evelyn’s fingers disappearing into the crotch of my real-self’s trousers, I moved towards her; partly for a better look at that impossible sight, and partly just to be closer; like the idol on the table, Evelyn was radiating a magnetic eroticism that made you want to reach out and touch her.

I was slowly coming to terms with my dual nature. Being curious, I reached to touch real-Alex’s knee only to watch agog as my ghostly hand passed straight through her real flesh without touching.

“Concentrate,” Evelyn whispered in my ear, taking my hand in hers. “You can do it, but you need to focus on what you want to touch.” She interlocked fingers with me and placed our joined palms over the top of real-Alex’s pants leg, stroking softly so that I could feel that ghostly touch beneath my skirt, even though it was only Evelyn’s hand I could feel and not my own.

“Focus on your hand, Alex,” she breathed in my ear; then she softly brushed her lips against mine, both of us gasping lightly at the moment of contact.

Like a fluorescent light flickering on, I felt the suit trousers beneath my hand gain substance while a new sensation materialised on my knee down at floor level. To say it felt surreal is a huge understatement; the only remotely comparable experience is when your touch yourself with a hand that has gone to sleep from a lack of blood flow. When that happens, you can see the contact but only feel half of it; but in this case I expected to feel half of the contact but instead I felt all of it. My mind was still reeling but now I felt the connection with the seated woman; she really was me!

I was surprised at the feelings that my own foreign touch aroused; it was so intimate, mystical … it was SO FUCKING EROTIC! I felt Evelyn toying at my entrance again with her free hand and untwined our fingers, moving up that seated girl’s thigh to meet her, only to be thwarted by the trousers that Evelyn’s hand was able to magically pass through.

Our cheeks were almost touching. “Show me,” I breathed, knowing she would understand without an explanation.

Placing her free hand over mine once again, she drew it back down the seated woman’s thigh and then with her fingers slightly ahead of mine, she slid slowly forwards again, her fingertips disappearing beneath the fabric as I felt the delicious skin-on-skin touch slide up my kneeling leg towards my pussy.

“Let yourself go….” she whispered in my ear, and then as she took the lobe between her lips in a soft kiss, I felt my own hand melt through the trouser leg to glide along my real self’s smooth thigh. The sensation was beyond any earthly experience, certainly beyond masturbation, to have another body so utterly at your mercy, but to have your every touch reflected back at you; the erotic possibilities were beyond my power to resist.

“Why do dogs lick their privates?” The old joke goes. “Because they CAN! Har, har har!” It was years after I first heard that one as a child that I finally understood it, but now I saw the deeper truth; we masturbate with our hands because that’s all we CAN use. Another image entered my mind; a pornographic picture I saw on the internet of a gymnast; a contortionist, I suppose, naked and balanced on her hands with her body curled over her head so that she could pleasure herself with her tongue. I remember looking at that photo jealously, wondering what it would feel like to lick myself and to come on my own face.

Evelyn sensed my need and backed away, allowing me to move forwards and kneel between that seated woman’s open legs, my hands on her thighs stroking the fluttering muscles up towards her sex. Disconcerted by the sight of my eerily lit, ghostly hands passing through the fabric of her trousers, I closed my eyes and going by feel alone the mental vision was complete; I imagined this as a threesome, with me pleasuring the seated Alex while a third person lay between my open legs copying my actions stroke for stroke.

Beyond foreplay now, I made my hand into a gun and slid first one and then two fingers into the tight embrace of my pussy, stretching my opening with a delicious ripple of parting muscles as I drove all the way in to the webbing between my fingers. The feeling was electric; as much as I love to use my fingers on myself, it’s all but impossible to get the angle necessary for a deep penetration without uncomfortably twisting your wrist. But this? I stroked effortlessly in and out of my soaking hole, building up a rhythm and fucking myself harder and faster as my confidence grew. Adding a third finger I pushed hard, roughly stretching my cunt wider, teasing the hard nub of my clitoris with the tip of my thumb as each stroke bottomed out on my engorged, swollen pussy lips.

The feeling of that ghostly hand between my crouching legs, mercilessly stretching my poor pussy open beneath the sheer nylon of my panties, was bringing me closer and closer to a climax as it pounded into my wanton sex. I didn’t want to finish until I had felt everything this experience had to offer, so with an animal cry of passion, I pulled my dripping fingers from my slit and immediately dove back in with my tongue, tasting my naked essence at its source for the first time.

That heady, womanly taste in my mouth and the wild, exploring ghost tongue in my pussy brought me to the brink of climax. Teetering at the edge- ah, ah, ah, like a sneeze that just won’t come, I strained forwards with my tongue, trying to go deeper and feeling a brief pang of guilt for lovers past whom I had silently condemned for similar shortcomings.

“Free yourself, Aleeeeeeeeex,” Evelyn’s voice came from beneath me, between my legs where the ghost of my loving tongue had my pussy lips splayed wide open beneath my panties. “Don’t be constrained by your physical body.”

And then with an explosion of pleasure I felt her suck my clitoris between her lips, teasing it with her tongue, the sensation overlayed the tongue-fucking I was giving to myself and delivered a magical doubling of the ecstasy in my sex as I quivered madly on the brink of release. As before, where Evelyn’s erotic kiss had given me the power to control my astral state, with her lips on my love button I strained forward again and my tongue simply … GREW!

Oh, good lord, it felt like a giraffe tongue; long and thick and prehensile, driving into my core, probing and searching every corner of my womanhood, stretching and licking and filling me up with its thick heat until I was sure I would burst. And then I did. With Evelyn between my legs compressing my clit and my pussy straining to contain my throbbing, licking, magical tongue; my orgasm finally erupted with an explosive release that pounded out from my pussy and set my nerve endings ringing with the shock wave. For a moment I felt a flood spilling down my chin, but by the time I had reeled in my tongue my face was dry, despite the fact that I could still taste the sweet essence of my sex.

Chapter 8 – The Winsome Widow
“You need to listen to this,” Evelyn whispered.

We knelt together and listened; Johanssen was still telling a story and even though I hadn’t been concentrating, I still understood where he was up to; perhaps the seated Alex who just got the tongue-fucking of her life had been listening on my behalf.

He was re-telling David Adley’s tale of the stone idol; he and Evelyn had honeymooned in South America and sought out a local mystic; a witch woman, the locals claimed, who was said to dispense aphrodisiacs. Just married and still discovering the joys of sex, the couple were enchanted by the idea and sought out the old woman, keen to try any concoction that might allow them to fuck all night.

As Johanssen told the story, Evelyn took my hand and I saw it all with the perfect clarity of her recollection.

~~~
Upon crossing her palm with the requisite silver, the crone produced a leaden box containing the stone idol and allowed David to hold it, instructing him to cradle her in his palm and stroke her hair with his thumb. Just to be near it, Evelyn felt its power and reached out to touch it with her husband.

“Noooooo!” croaked the witch woman. “This magic is for men; not for the likes of us.” Grasping Evelyn’s wrist in her claw, she moved the young bride away from the idol while David continued to absorb its erotic energy. “The goddess, she turns the man into a stallion.” The witch closed her gnarled fist and brandished her bony forearm, just in case there was any doubt as to which feature of a stallion bore the most relevance to her metaphor.

“But the woman,” she hissed, her ancient eyes twinkling with dark knowledge “she become a …” and then she paused, looking for the right word. “I do not know the English; she become EQUITADOR; it is cowboy, but not the same …she become the master of the horses. She control them.”

~~~
“That first night,” Evelyn said, her eyes moist with fond recollection, “oh, the things we did, Alex. It was wonderful and frightening and by morning neither of us could bear to face the future with that experience forever in our past.” She took my hand in both of hers, as if pleading with me to understand. “David went back to the woman; God knows what he paid but he returned with the idol, and that’s how we … that’s how I come to have it now.”

My head was still spinning with questions; but it was also spinning with unsated lust; the release from my astral-orgasm was only transitory and in a moment I was insatiably horny again. No wonder the men came home from The Widow every month with their cocks bursting from their pants; even if they experience one of those ghostly orgasms, they’re still horny and ready to go all over again; it’s only the real sex away from the idol that gives them any lasting release.

I tried putting together what I had learned:

Fact number one: like the “me” beneath the table, the Evelyn I could see was not the real one; she was an astral projection. Where was the real Evelyn? Probably somewhere in the house.

Number two: Evelyn owned the house and the idol. Did the others know she even existed? My private investigator didn’t find out about her and Johanssen mentioned her in a very “past-tense” fashion, so probably not.

Three: Evelyn was responsible for dishing out at least some of the pleasure around the table; although some of it also seemed to be radio signals broadcast among the men.

The men … THE MEN… That’s the bit I didn’t get. Why did we have these seemingly God-like abilities to manipulate our astral forms while the men were just cattle? Wait … No! Not cattle, what had the witch said? Stallions! Their time was still to come; after they had fuelled up on the idol’s mysterious power they would go forth and pour it out with a vengeance into the nearest waiting pussy.

“What did she mean?” I asked Evelyn. “Equi…?”

“Equitador,” Evelyn said gravely. “Master of the horses.” She seemed to consider her explanation for a moment, and then: “Maybe it’s easier to show you.”

Turning to one of the pairs of legs around the table, she held out her hand and with a look of concentration on her face, she made a beckoning gesture, like a stage magician drawing some object across the table.

After everything that had happened so far, I didn’t think that I could be surprised anymore; but my jaw fell as I watched Evan’s astral form stream from his seated body and reform in front of Evelyn, completely naked.

“Evan!” I gasped, my hand over my mouth with shock and a ridiculous (considering the circumstances) fear of discovery, sitting as I was beneath the table with no disguise. But oddly, he didn’t even look at me; he just knelt there, his cock thick and hard and pulsing with promising intent, calmly looking at Evelyn.

“Evan?” I snapped my fingers at him, but he still ignored me.

“He won’t respond to you in this state,” Evelyn said. “He’s mine alone for now, although afterwards he won’t remember me, just the feelings we share.” I watched jealously as Evelyn beckoned with her hand again and Evan leaned down and kissed her softly, matching her movements as she opened her mouth to him. Without breaking the kiss, she took his erect cock in her hand and slowly lay back on the floor, drawing him along with her.

Evelyn lifted her knees and the black satin swam down the length of her thighs to pool at her waist. I saw a flash of panties and then with a tiny flourish of her free hand they disappeared as Evelyn brought the thick head of Evan’s cock to her entrance; touching it once, twice to her pussy lips to part them, her juices glistening on his throbbing purple head. With a third touch to her open sex, she seated him in her steaming hole and released his shaft, and then clasping both hands around his backside, she drew him into her, gasping and voicing a low moan as Evan’s thick, pulsing rod glided all the way to the hilt in a single, fluid movement.

Touching down softly on her smooth, shaved labia, Evan pulled most of the way out and thrust gently back inside, withdrawing once again at the gentlest of touches of his hard pubis against her softly glowing pussy lips. I could tell from Evelyn’s mounting cries at the bottom of each stroke that his cock head was probing her cervix, breathlessly teasing her to a higher state of arousal.

My jealousy of Evelyn taking my ex boyfriend, the man I still loved, had melted away instantly with the erotic joy of voyeurism. I had never watched a couple having sex before and was surprised at how erotic it felt. Spellbound, I gaped at Evelyn’s tiny opening stretched rudely around Evan’s thick manhood; her pink folds rippling over the bulging veins and ridges that glistened with her juices. At the top of every stroke I could see Evelyn’s opening contract as she flexed her muscles; closing up her soft sheath and holding it tight for Evan’s iron manhood to open anew with the next thrust.

Without thinking what I was doing, I moved behind Evan and closed my arms around his broad chest, hugging him to my breasts and resting my chin on his shoulder. With an extra squeeze, I felt the power of the idol coursing through me and joining us; first mentally, as I channelled his manly lust, and then physically as with another dizzy lurch my body melted and merged into his.

I could feel Evan in there with me; we both heard Evelyn’s soft cries as she approached orgasm and we both felt the hot paradise of her love canal squeezing down on his cock; but it was me in the driver’s seat for now.

And oh, the ecstasy! Evelyn’s wonderful heat tightly gripping what felt like a billion nerve endings in his cock … MY cock, making them sing in a harmony of lust; the sublime friction as I pulled out of that silken sheath and the feeling of conquest as I drove back in, touching down on her cervix and making her cry out in mounting desire; it was so raw and powerful and animal and utterly unlike a woman’s experience of being fucked.

Still fucking her slowly and deeply, I brushed the gown’s strap off her shoulder and pulled down the bodice to expose a full and perfect breast; I kissed around the nipple, feeling goose bumps rise beneath my lips, and then gently sucked her nipple into my mouth, compressing and nibbling the tip to Evelyn’s obvious delight as she ran her hands up my powerful body and twined her long fingers though my hair.

“I’m ready, my love,” she gasped, her back arching and legs quivering with the galloping approach of her climax. I felt Evan’s cock swell to the sound his lover’s voice and he took back some of my control with a low, animal grunt; pushing into her more forcefully and mashing his pubis into her delicate labia. Oh my goodness; now THIS is fucking! With thrusting hips we drove Evan’s eight inches into her tiny, tight canal; his knob pounding mercilessly into her cervix and his balls now coated with glistening pussy juice and slapping wetly against the tight cheeks of her ass as he (we?) lifted her off the floor with the sheer force of the impact on her poor, battered pussy lips.

Evelyn quivered and finally came, her mouth open in a silent scream as she wrapped her heels around Evan’s muscular thighs; fighting against his final thrusts and greedily trying to keep his cock deep inside her as she shook with the intensity of her climax. His breath coming in ragged gasps, Evan jerked and strained forwards, his thick glowing muscles twitching along his arms and down his back; and then with a cry he was coming, WE were coming, too. Like a trough before a powerful wave I felt his balls contract up towards the base of his cock, and then bulge outwards again as he delivered thick ropes of creamy seed deep into the hot core of Evelyn’s womanhood. With her own climax winding down, Evelyn softened against him and released her locked heels from behind his thighs, allowing me to stroke Evan’s cock slowly in and out, basking in the fading heat of our coupling as the combined juices of our lovemaking pumped weakly out around our junction and coated Evelyn’s glowing labia in a sticky, beautiful mess.

~~~
Evelyn dismissed Evan with a wave and his astral form melted back into the physical body sitting at the table, leaving us together in a lovers’ embrace with me back in my own astral body again.

She smiled at me without the least sign of self-consciousness. “Do you want to try now?” she began.

“God, yes!” I breathed. The thought of sex without consequences was too delicious not to try. “How do I do it?”

“Just concentrate on the one you want,” she said, pulling her evening gown back down over her thighs. “And then take him.”

She made it sound so easy. We disengaged and, sitting up, I concentrated on the chair facing me, raising my hand in the same beckoning gesture as Evelyn had used.

“No!” she cried desperately, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away. “Not that one! We never take the men in tweed!”

Aha! This made perfect sense; the guys who wanted a more sedate evening at The Winsome Widow wore a tweed jacket as a signal to Evelyn to leave them alone. That’s why Riley wanted me in tweed! He didn’t want me to get the deluxe treatment. Little did he know that Evelyn couldn’t be fooled, she knew from the outset that there was a woman at the table.

Now that it was pointed out, I could see the tweed flaps of Johanssen’s jacket hanging by his hips and looking at Evelyn I saw a deep sadness in her eyes.

“What is it?” I asked with genuine concern.

“It was David,” she whispered sadly. “He was wearing a tweed jacket when I … when he...”

She touched my hand and I felt that electric transfer of knowledge as she had done earlier; I saw Evelyn using her astral form to pleasure her husband and his friends; David begging off early and going to bed, rubbing his chest; and then Evelyn crying out in the night, holding her husband’s lifeless form in their marital bed.

Oh my goodness, the poor woman. After all these years she blames herself for her husband’s death, which was doubtless nothing more than a heart attack; very probably a defect that could have erupted at any time.

She took both of my hands in hers and leaned her head close to mine, kissing me softly on the corner of my mouth. “Don’t favour just one,” she said. “Use them equally … and be careful.” And with a final kiss, her image faded and disappeared.

Alone now beneath the table, I paused for a few minutes to tune back into the end of Johanssen’s story (actually it was Adley’s story) about the origins of the idol and their use of it in the house that was to become The Winsome Widow.

It was becoming clear from the narrative that the men really were like cattle; they had no idea of its true power. Johanssen knew of Adley’s death, but were ignorant of Evelyn’s continued presence in the house; as far as he knew, she disappeared weeks after her husband’s death and the evergreen Stevens appeared as administrator of the Adley Family Trust … the very same Stevens who still appears to be a young man after all these years. Another mystery!

My libido was decidedly cooler after learning of Evelyn’s tragic loss and the thought of all the years she had spent as a widow. As tempted as I was to summon one of the men to fuck me (hell, I was tempted to summon all of them for a gangbang) I resisted and like Evelyn, I felt myself fade and rejoin my physical body at the table just as Johanssen was winding up the story.

~~~
“And there you have it gentlemen: the known history of The Winsome Widow, as incomplete as it is.” Johanssen sipped his water and looked around the table with a knowing smile. “Mr Farrer, I perceive that The Widow has been kind to you tonight; perhaps you can add an extra chapter when you re-tell the story fifty years from now.” He turned his gaze to me and I acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. “Mr Barrow. I trust that you are past any earlier misgivings. Your maiden visit wasn’t too unsettling, I hope?”

“Fine, thank you,” I croaked, covering my mouth. There were a few sniggers around the table from men mistaking my disguised voice for a kind of overwhelmed surprise.

“Well then,” he continued. “I think that is all I can tell you. I’m quite certain I shan’t see The Winsome Widow again. I fear that I am not too far behind poor Waterhouse; so gentlemen, when my time comes, I hope you will all drink to my memory and continue to enjoy The Winsome Widow’s many mysteries.”

~~~
On our way out, Stevens appeared at the door with our jackets and coats, dressing each of us in turn and farewelling us with a formal “Goodnight.”

Stevens held out my tweed jacket and I turned my back to him to slip it on. I was just thinking to myself how very visible he looked in the dim lighting of the vestibule and then he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Thank you Alex; it was lovely to have company.”

“Ev…?” I almost blurted her name but managed to stop myself as Stevens tipped me a wink.

“Goodnight, Mr Barrow,” he said in his usual manly voice.

I nodded politely in response, too surprised to make an attempt at my own man’s voice.

Evan walked past me as I waited for Riley and I instinctively reached out to touch his elbow as he passed.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked politely as he turned around. “Did you say something?”

“No,” I husked, shaking my head and suppressing a smile.

“Huh! Could have sworn I heard a voice,” he said, mostly to himself.

~~~
Riley dropped me off at my apartment. He wanted to come up and I knew why; part of me wanted it too, but I sent him home to his wife with an apology; hopefully it would save me my job.

Standing in front of the mirror, I peeled off my beard and my wig, unpinned my hair, unwound the strapping to release my poor, aching breasts, and finally became a woman again.

I heard the doorbell ring as I stepped out of the shower and shrugged into my robe to answer the door.

“Alex, I … I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I called you, honey,” I smiled. “Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve been to the club tonight,” he said, his face still a mask of confusion. “I remember leaving … and then suddenly I was here. Are we still fighting?”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, taking his hand and leading him inside. “You don’t need to tell me about the club. Just love me.” I took him into my arms and we kissed, slow and deep; and with a snap of my fingers our clothes all fell in a heap on the floor. Oh, I could get used to this!

Epilogue
“Alex Wheeler?”

“Who’s asking?” I said; the man at my door wasn’t someone I recognised. He looked a bit like a lawyer and countless episodes of TV legal dramas had instilled an irrational caution against the possibility of being subpoenaed, regardless of how unlikely that was to ever happen to me.

“My name is Hugh Riversdale,” he said, producing a card. “I’m the executor of Evelyn Adley’s will.”

“Oh?” I didn’t know what to say. “Yes, I’m Alex Wheeler.” Now I was really curious. “I only met Evelyn once. I didn’t even know she died.”

“Ms Wheeler, I have some exciting news for you,” he explained, brandishing a manila folder of papers. Geez, this guy really missed his calling as a grief counsellor! “You have been appointed sole trustee of the Adley Family Trust.”

I think my mouth was hanging open.

“What?”

“It entails a generous salary and a private residence in Potts Point,” he smiled. “There are a few conditions regarding the use of the residence, but it’s only once a month; I don’t think you’ll find it too onerous.”

“Evan!” I called, turning around with a smile. “I have some good news!”

~~~ THE END ~~
Acknowlegements
Hello readers, I hope you enjoyed The Winsome Widow. These words in no way impact on the story, so feel free to scroll down to the comments section, safe in the knowledge that you have missed nothing of import.

The title for this story came from @sirhugs who posted that and nothing else in the Story Ideas forum on the Literotica Discussion Boards.

My own inspiration came from two sources: in response to @sirhugs title, @Hypoxia suggested that “The Winsome Widow is a pub with a lurid sign and regulars telling lascivious tales”. That was all it took for my mind to connect to a wonderful Stephen King short story: The Breathing Method. In King’s story, the characters gather at an unnamed Storytelling Club where the members tell tales of mystery and macabre. It includes two stories: an inner story told by one of the club’s members and the outer story of the narrator’s arrival at the club as a new member, where he discovers that everything is not entirely as it seems; the club holds a dark secret of mystery and macabre to rival any of those told within its walls.

I don’t claim the talent of Mr King, but I wanted to tell an erotic tale that captured the occult essence of his Storytelling Club. I doubt that The Winsome Widow will ever find its way into Stephen King’s hands, but if it did I would want him to understand that this story is an act of homage, not one of mockery or plagiarism. In service of that homage, I freely admit that I have borrowed the wonderfully austere Stevens from his club for just one night; as well as a few names from his storytelling club, including Johanssen, which I thought was a perfect fit for the last of The Widow’s founding members, as well as Evelyn, David Adley, references to Waterhouse, and one other famous name from the pen of Stephen King that I will allow fans to discover for themselves .. if they haven’t already.

Lastly, this is the first of my works that attempts to tell a real story. My previous writing couches erotica in just enough context to allow the reader to connect with the characters; that is not so much a ‘story’ as a deliberate attempt to dial up the erotica by appealing to more than just the carnal senses. By telling what I hope is a (more) real story here – albeit one that is derivative of a much finer storyteller – I hope I have brought something new to the table.