Freeing Kirsty
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Freeing Kirsty Ch. 09 free porn video
THE FINAL: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick foils a retriever sent to return Kirsty to New York and then travels to Manhattan and wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple are now in Los Angeles married. Merrick is incapacitated, suffering two knife wounds when defending his ex brother-in-law’s wife Margaret. Marg’s suppressed sexual interest in Merrick re-emerges and her husband Brian has committed adultery for the first time, it didn’t go well for him and left him cleaning unclean and remorseful.
*
The next day Brian Raymond and Merrick Jamieson walked into the house. Kirsty’s mother Bess Fallon greeted them, thrusting a hand over her mouth to suppress her excitement. She called, ‘Kirsty, you better come in here.’
Kirsty in white trousers and a multi-colored shirt was on a sun lounger on the terrace reading. She rose, stretched and went in to find out what Bess wanted.
Merrick and Brian were standing with Bess grinning at her. There was no wheelchair.
‘Darling, you’ve graduated,’ she screamed. ‘Whoopee!’
Brian told Kirsty the surgeon was happy. Merrick’s cleared but was warned to take it easy for the next six months. No violent movements, no undue stress at all on that leg — and definitely no kick-boxing. He was to use a walking stick for the next ten days when negotiating stairs and steep slopes. Medically he was in excellent condition and there was no sign of weeping around the femoral repair. The stitches would be removed next week.
‘He’s to have another check up with a specialist in Auckland and a final one in six months and that’s it!’
When the excited chatter died, Bess said: ‘Listen you guys — take off to San Diego in my car and catch up with the others. I have the address of their hotel. Get Marg to stay down there with you — Linda and Bella can come back by bus in time to board their plane — we’ll meet them at the bus terminal. It’s lovely down there. You can be back here in time for us to head off to San Francisco on schedule on Saturday morning.’
‘Go on, off with you!’
An hour later Brian, Kirsty and Merrick were on their way south.
Following the San Diego reunion, Merrick was pleased to see Kirsty and Bella so well bonded but was disappointed that Bella made no mention of wanting to live with them.
When the group returned to Los Angeles to farewell Merrick’s mother and her granddaughter, Bella kissed everyone goodbye, leaving her father and Kirsty till last. As she prepared to go through for final passenger processing for her Qantas flight, she and Kirsty had a very emotional hug — both sobbing freely. Then Bella and Linda were gone.
‘Bella had such a lovely time,’ Bess sniffed. ‘According to Linda she arrived as a girl and in going home a teenager. Bella and Marg related extremely well but poor Marg (Marg was in the other vehicle) dropped out of the picture when you arrived Kirsty. Young girls get excessively romantic — she thinks of you as a film star.’
‘That’s not excessive, Bess, that just good judgment,’ Merrick grinned.
Kirsty squirmed. ‘I was hoping she would say she wanted to come to live with us, but she stopped short of that.’
‘What — then she made a hint?’ Merrick asked, suppressing excitement.
Kirsty had known it would please him to hear her comments. ‘Her final words to me were, ‘I’m going to talk to mum about my future.’ She then kissed me and was gone.
‘That’s fantastic,’ Merrick crowed. ‘The initiative has to come from her. I’ll do the negotiating and, if it’s necessary, the battling.’
‘You’re taking it for granted that she wants to live with you.’
‘Yes, Bess. Why else would she say such a thing?’
‘Here’s a bar — signal to the others behind us and pull over, Brian. The drinks are on me,’ Merrick said.
‘No — I’m picking up half the tab,’ Kirsty insisted. ‘I also have cause for celebration — she likes me.’
Five days later the bride and groom were back in Epsom, Auckland, enjoying the end of summer — the season changing full circle on the ‘down under’ side of the globe. The only communication from Bella was a lovely card, thanking them for a wonderful holiday and wishing them a great start to married life.
Merrick and Kirsty organized a post-wedding party for friends and neighbors. Merrick had suggested there was no need to bother while Kirsty was adamant that all the women would want to hear full details.
‘Well, why don’t you just have a ‘do’ for the girls and I’ll act as wine waiter,’ Merrick offered, earning himself the first dark look since his marriage.
Kirsty’s preference was for an outdoor function, starting at 4:00. Merrick favored that but was mindful of the fickleness of Auckland’s weather which often defies the best efforts of meteorologists to produce accurate forecasts. The city is smack on the narrowest section of the North Island, less that a half mile across at one point of the isthmus between the Waitemata Harbor on the east coast (Pacific Ocean) and the equally deep penetrating Manukau Harbor on the west coast (Tasman Sea) between New Zealand and Australia. It’s not uncommon for the region to have three of more weather turns in a day when seasons are changing.
Merrick explained this to Kirsty, describing the influence of the two harbors on Auckland’s weather. He kindly converted the distance from metrics to imperial but Kirsty didn’t require that, being already familiar with both measurements in terms of speed and distance through driving on New Zealand roads. With logic, she was not quite so precise, asking, ‘Why can’t I have a fine Saturday evening when I need it?’
That problem for Kirsty began soon after first landing in New Zealand almost a year earlier.
‘This weather here,’ she’d complained. ‘It is so unpredictable — it’s like a woman trying to decide what color and style of shoes to buy.
Merrick had stood speechless — an unusual vocal state for him. But it was such a shock Kirsty conceding that women might sometimes have difficulty in making up their minds. Normally no such concessions came from her,
The current situation was too serious for bantering.
‘We’ll wait until the last minute before deciding whether to have it outdoors or in the house, Merrick said wisely.
But Kirsty came up with even a better idea.
‘I’ll ask Mrs Stewart.’
Merrick could only shake his head in wonder.
Mildred Stewart the cleaning lady arrived at 7:00. Merrick had left to perform a small photographic job in Tauranga — a wealthy client in Sydney had an option on an apartment penthouse he’d found on a website and had commissioned Merrick to fly down and produce ‘some decent photographs’ of the place. The photographs the prospective buyer had received from the real estate agency apparently appeared to have been shot on a $50 digital camera.
Mrs Stewart had arrived excitedly with flowers and a small sleeping suit for an infant, Kirsty told Merrick as soon as he returned from Tauranga. ‘I held up the tiny suit in surprise and Mrs Stewart said, ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’
Kirsty related the conversation in full as she and Merrick sat out on the lawn, he drinking coffee, she preferring orange fragrant herbal tea. ‘I nodded dumbly and thanked her and said the gift was so lovely. She looked very pleased. I asked why she had chosen blue instead of a neutral color — that is could be a girl. She just tossed her smiled and said that it would be a boy. Them she looked at my hair and swore: ‘Christ, look at your hair. It looks like a wig. Those American hairdressers are like their male counterparts with military weapons — an overkill of firepower.’ She told me that she needed to get some of the stiffness out of my hair to
get it flowing freely again, that she’d go out to her car to get her box of tricks. She is full of funny sayings like that.’
Merrick’s yawn was ignored.
‘When she started working on my hair, she rather embarrassed me. She said, ‘Right, now tell me about the wedding night. I want a blow by blow description on how you coped and what it felt like considering you would have mentally transported yourself back to being a virgin’. How could she know that I had tried to picture myself like that at the wedding? She wasn’t even there?’
Merrick had no idea, and said so. It surprised him to find she’d been playing mind games at the wedding. He’d been too preoccupied about getting through the ceremony and out of the spotlight, feeling such an idiot being wheeled in and then being helped to stand up as if he had been knee-capped and emasculated. A few people, Kirsty and his mother included of course, seemed aware of his predicament — his embarrassment — but actually it was only Marg who had whispered encouragement and focused him on the fact that it would soon be all over. Marg really was a brick.
‘Are you listening?’
‘Yes, dear,’ he said dutifully.
‘Well, Mrs Stewart was appalled to hear about your near-death experience. Then she wanted to know how we got on in bed on our wedding night.’
Merrick braced himself.
‘But I avoided any description whatsoever. Then she said, ‘Oh God, I can’t imagine which was worse — Merrick being so badly wounded or you missing out on wedding night stars and rockets roaring overhead as you had that first wonderful orgasm as a bride.’
‘She said what!’
‘Shut up, Merrick. As she said that we looked at each other in the mirror and we both began to weep.’
Merrick jumped to his feet — ‘Gotta get a whisky to steady my nerves. More tea?’ Kirsty asked for tonic water on ice, no gin.
Waiting patiently for Merrick to settle, she resumed, with a sly grin.
‘I told Mrs Stewart that my friend Marg had offered to hold me on…’
‘Marg what!’
‘Steady on, Merrick. That’s the sort of kindness that makes good friends great friends.’
Suddenly Merrick was all ears. ‘Mrs Stewart then shocked me, asking had I even had a threesome or been involved in a foursome. I asked how could a woman of her age know about such things? She positively smirked at me, saying, ‘You young things think you invented sex, don’t you. If only you knew.’ She then worked away with a dreamy expression on her face. She was quiet for almost a minute, which must be some sort of record for her. I was tempted to ask her to elaborate but then the thought of a woman at her age describing how she’d engaged in sex with multiple partners seemed rather depraved, so I asked her about her garden.’
‘Oh, dear. You shouldn’t have become shy — you should have pressed her.’
‘Shut up, Merrick. How was your day?’
‘I really like your hair, darling. Looks far more natural.’
‘Oh darling,’ Kirsty responded, feigning surprise. ‘You noticed my hair! But then writers always describe how husbands never notice such things about their wives. Good boy.’
‘Oh, I notice, like your butt is beginning to spread a little — I rather like the new shape.’
‘Merrick! If you can’t say nice things about me, then don’t say anything!’
He walked over to her, kissed her below the right ear — he called that his sucker kiss as it almost invariable melted her. However, this time she shook her head and held out her empty glass.
‘Tonic and ice please.’
When they resettled — Kirsty sitting on the window seat with her arms around her legs in her virginal pose, as Merrick liked to call it while he slouched on the sofa — Kirsty told him they could proceed with preparations for an outdoor party.
Looking at her doubtfully, Merrick sat up straight, concerned.
‘So you’ve decided to take the risk.’
‘No risk. Mrs Stewart told me we’re in a south-westerly flow that will hold until at least Monday, so the fine spell will continue.
‘Oh, so Mrs Stewart had added weather forecasting to her multiple talents?’
Merrick hadn’t realized that Kirsty could look so steely-eyed, so he coughed, patted his chest and with Kirsty now looking concerned, beamed at her.
‘Right, outdoors Saturday evening it is. Mrs Stewart is never wrong.’
Saturday dawned in a drizzle. Merrick didn’t even bother pointing this out to the dozing darling because he knew it was going to be fine, Mrs Stewart had said so.
Removing a sleeper from his eye he stood in his long T-shirt. Both had worn T-shirts to bed for years and continued to do so, although for the wedding night Merrick had requested that Kirsty wear the hugely expensive French-label black satin and lace night dress that Spiro had once given her to patch up after a quarrel.
Already Merrick had taken almost four hundred photos of Kirsty, ranging from extremely formal to rather ribald. One morning he woke her at dawn. She was still intoxicated after the previous night’s party, so obliged him — that is allowed herself to be persuaded to dress up in that nightgown and go out on to the lawn.
Her blonde hair — being grown long for her wedding — was a mess, all over the place. But he demanded she leave it as is, in fact he asked her to mess it up a little more . After taking several photos, using a tripod, Merrick asked to yawn and stretch. The digital ‘check exposures’ looked good. She asked to be allowed to go back to bed. Just one more — he urged. Only one more.
‘All right, but hurry. I need to go to the bathroom.’
‘OK, just allow your right nipple to show, then stretch, yawn and think of bathing in your favorite perfume — really think of wallowing in it, with me in the kitchen preparing you your favorite desert — coffee pear Alaska.’
‘Y-u-u-u-u-m-m-m,’ Kirsty genuinely yawned.
‘Right, thank you madam. You may retire.’
Kirsty no longer asked him why he was always taking photos of her, knowing the difficulty of getting a straight answer. She trusted him that the raunchy ones would not be displayed to friends or sent to a girlie magazine. It was possibly that she didn’t even wonder why he’d spent so much time over the nightdress shoot.
It hadn’t been clear in Merrick’s mind why he took that series, either. He’d seen the nightdress in her drawer which had been left open. Then just before dawn he came wide awake knowing it was the thing to do.
As Merrick looked at the transparencies he’d collected from the film processing lab he was rather pleased. As he went through them they seemed to get better and better. His hands were shaking at he put the final set on to the light box. They shook because he knew that if the focus was right, her eyes were open wide enough and her mouth was a crooked yet tight yawn without showing too much interior it would be a great photo.
It was. He looked at it again and again and finally announced to himself, ‘Exquisite!’
The golden dawn had toned her face and done magical things to her hair. Kirsty looked so fresh, so womanly, so beautiful.
Merrick took the single tranny in and had two copies of professional quality taken from it. The original went to his personal archive in a commercial vault, one of the copies went into his filing system at home after he had a large print taken off it and the third was mailed off to an agency he occasionally supplied in London.
Three months later to the day — which was yesterday — Merrick’s submitted tranny was no more, it had been purchased by a French fashion magazine and with the rights for exclusive use, Merrick received after deduction of agency fee, $2434.00 when the payment was converted to New Zealand currency.
At 8am Merrick arrived at the bedside with apricot juice, two dried figs, a pot of fat-reduced yoghurt and lightly minted lemon tea for his darling. She sat up, inappropriately dressed in a T-shirt emblazoned ‘Diet
s Suck’.
‘Oh darling, what’s the special occasion? Come here and give mummy a kiss.’
The mummy thing didn’t unnerve Merrick. She’d used it in dirty talk to him from the outset in Manhattan so he was used to her, although now realizing that with her pregnancy the name had taken on proper meaning. As yet she’d not called him daddy, and neither had he.
‘Got something for you to look at — here you go.’
Kirsty opened the envelope and looked at the amount on the check. She blinked, saying that’s a handy amount to have in kitty.
‘I’ve earned it from your body, your glorious body.’
‘Oh dear, have you being removing parts while I’ve been asleep,’ she joked — a terrible joke, Merrick thought.
He reminded her about the nightdress shoot weeks earlier.
‘You sold one of those photos to a slut mag? Oh, I wish you hadn’t.’
‘Keep calm. I sent the tranny to my agent in London and he had the nous to email me to get the brand name on your nightdress. He then sent a rough print to the advertising agency of the French manufacturers and they raved about it. It’s coming on next month as the cover shot on a leading magazine doing a feature on boudoir apparel.’
‘Ooh. Very nice — but I’m too old to go on a cover.’
‘Older women — older than you — have the money to spend on luxurious bedroom gear and apparently many French men think the perfect age for a mistress is thirty.’
‘Well, I do approve, but I think you ought to have cleared it with me first. After all, it’s my body.’
‘True, but you might have said no. I couldn’t take the risk.’
‘My, you do have a devious side to you.’
‘Want to see the photo?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Right, close your eyes for two minutes while I swap pictures. This new one is bedroom material par excellence.’
‘OK — you can look now.’
Kirsty gasped.
‘Is that me? How did you do it?’
‘No tricks, though I did use a special filter. It’s just you, beautiful you, and particularly the golden dawn light of that morning.
‘It was meant to happen. Remember — I work you up at 5:00 am and you didn’t mind, which was surprising, and you co-operated throughout.’
‘Yes, I think I was a little drunk.’
‘Not really drunk — perhaps well-imbibed.’
‘Go on.’ ‘ I’d seen the night dress in your open drawer before we went out, and thought how beautiful, now sexy. And that was it. I awoke just before 5:00 with a premonition — something was telling me the time had arrived, I had to get you outside and start clicking. At that stage I didn’t even know if there was sunrise outside or rain. It’s just one of those things — my subconscious mind had worked it all out for me.’
‘That’s a truly wonderful photo, Merrick, ever so flattering of me. Come here for your reward.’
‘No, I think I will go out and do some gardening.’
‘Merrick!’
‘Hush, just joking. But first the money.’
‘What do you want to do with it?’
‘I asked you first.’
‘A big awning over the back terrace — then we can eat out under in the summer in rain and sunshine. What are your thoughts?’
‘Establishing an investment account for our son. If we contribute to it fairly generously over the years he may be a wealthy young man by the time he turns twenty.’
‘Oh, Merrick. What a wonderful idea. Let’s go in an open a bank account this morning — I believe we can do that, naming ourselves as signatories for an infant who’ll probably have to be named as a nominee at this stage because he has yet to be born.’
‘Right, sounds great, now, what about my reward?’
‘OK, just let my have my juice — could you put the tray somewhere safe. I feel like giving you a real treat.
‘You know, that photograph will in time be a painful memory to me.’
Merrick could see what she was getting at — old and wrinkly looking at that photograph of herself in her prime.
‘Burn it when it no longer appeals to you.’
‘No, I want to keep it as a memorial to my younger self. Very, very few people possess photos of themselves of this quality, Merrick. You have honored me.’
‘For goodness sake, Kirsty. It’s only a snapshot that’s been given a little biff. You shouldn’t get too consumed by it.’
Fawn
- 13.11.2021
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