Written by Bev

10 Nov 2010

As winter draws on and nights are long and cold I think back to last year. The awful snow that kept us almost isolated in the heart of the North Yorks Moors for three months. To get around you needed a 4X4 which my husband Andy has but even then it was touch and go. My little sports convertible couldn’t move! Anyway, the story I am about to share is told for the first time here – I can’t stop reliving it, so I hope you enjoy.

Andy was away on business on in Manchester. About half four I got the call telling me that he had decided to stay overnight – the M62 was bad but passable – the small single track roads coming over the moors would be a nightmare. I understood and told him to be safe and enjoy an evening in the city. Our eighteen year old daughter and twenty year old son were away at University in London and Liverpool. I called them to reassure myself they were home and safe as mothers do. I threw a couple of logs on the fire and went upstairs for a nice hot bath. I love reading and was working my way through the bookcase, full of classics that I had avoided for years, choosing instead the more easily read best sellers of today. I’d just finished Dorian Gray and went to choose my next read whilst the bath ran. I settled on “Lady Chatterley”. I stripped off and slowly lowered myself into the hot bath. Candles lit and the requisite bubble bath completed the scene and I settled down to read my book. It was good. Getting into one of the raunchier passages I found my hand absentmindedly caressing my boobs before venturing under the surface of the water reaching for my pussy. “Approaching forty and having a wank in the bath!” I thought in disgust, put the book down and washed, shaved and got out of the bath in a pink glow. I was still feeling really horny. My after bath ritual of creaming my entire body didn’t calm me down any.

I started to plan how I would welcome Andy back home tomorrow, what I would wear, what I’d cook and what I’d do to him. I appraised my underwear draw and had a try-on session. Finally I chose what I’d wear and sat at my dressing table and applied my make up and straightened my hair. Pleased with the result I put on a skirt and jumper and went down stairs, being sure to take Lady Chatterley with me! On my own I decided on cheese on toast for tea – then rather lavishly opened a bottle of Sancerre. In the lounge the fire blazed, I drew the curtains and settled down on the sofa with my book.

There was a loud knock at the door. I looked at my watch, it was just before eight o’clock. Our house is an old farmhouse which sits a long way off the lane that winds its way along the moor. I could only think Andy had asked our neighbouring farmer, Jim to pop in and see that I was alright. I pulled open the door curtain and put on the outside lights as I fumbled with the keys to unlock the door. I couldn’t tell who it was – they were covered in snow which was blowing a blizzard but I knew it wasn’t Jim. Foolishly perhaps (but you become really trusting in the country) I opened the door and usher the man inside. “I’m so sorry to disturb you but I’ve run off the road about a mile up there on the moor,” he said pointing.

“Are you on your own? Nobody in the car I mean?” I asked.

“Just me” he said.

I told him to take his shoes off and give me his coat and led him through to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and draped his coat over the Aga.

“Tea or coffee?” I offered.

“Tea please. And could I use your ‘phone to call the AA?”

“Of course,” I said handing him the ‘phone.

He explained his situation and they asked him for a ‘phone number they could reach him on as it may take a little time to get to him. He handed me the ‘phone and I gave the lady our number. She asked if he could stay here until they called – eta was four hours due to the weather and number of calls they had received. I said it would be alright, selfishly cross because I wanted to get back to my book and then enjoy an early night!

“Let’s go and sit in the lounge” I said, “Follow me”. I ushered him to the chair nearest the fire. As I bent down in front of him and put another couple of logs on I heard a sharp intake of breath. “You alright?” I asked.

“Wonderful” he replied, “It’s just such a lovely sight,” motioning at the fire. I flopped on the sofa and took a sip of my wine. “You married?” he asked.

“Yes – see that photo on the mantelpiece, my husband and two children.” I twisted around to look at my strange caller. He was tall, certainly over six feet. Most striking was the fact that he hadn’t a hair on his head. He looked a bit strange. Then it dawned on me. He had no eye brows.

“You married?” I asked.

“Yes, to Barbara. She’s a lovely girl, works in advertising at an agency in London.”

“What do you do?”

“I work as a motivational speaker. I’m due in Whitby for a corporate day tomorrow.”

“So what does that entail?”

“You know, building up people’s confidence and enthusiasm. I prefer working one to one rather than en-mass.”

“Why, are you shy?”

“No but I can change the way people see themselves rather than the way they see their employer. That is far more rewarding because it enriches their lives, not just the company they work for.”

“Sounds like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me.”

“No, really it can work.”

My Sancerre was going down well. “Sorry, did you want a glass of something?” I asked having topped up my glass.

“Better not. I’ll have to drive when the AA arrive.”

“Go on then, tell me how you change people.”

“Alright. Describe yourself to me.”

“I am what you see.”

“Perhaps but what do you see?”

“A married woman approaching forty who has brought up two children.”

“Good, but I meant what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“A married woman approaching forty who has brought up two children.”

“OK, what colour is your hair, how long is it, are you happy with your figure?”

“My hair is long, thick auburn and I’d like bigger tits!” I giggled.

“Describe your figure.”

“36B – 24 – 34, size 10 or 12 and yes I’m happy with it for an old woman who’s had two kids.”

“Why do you think your boobs are too small? Describe them.”

This all seemed a bit strange but the warm glow of the fire, the buzz from the wine and yes I was feeling fruity, so I answered. “Pert, firm topped of by long, at least when I’m cold, puffy nipples.”

“Tell me what you like to wear.”

“I like to feel comfortable.”

“Tell me what you’re wearing at this moment.”

“A skirt and jumper.”

“And ……………”

“Yes, I’m wearing underwear!”



“I don’t believe you.”

Then I realised – so relaxed was I that I had forgotten. I was wearing stockings because I’d dressed as though I was welcoming Andy home and hadn’t bothered changing. I must have been getting sloshed! Panicking because of my untruth, I turned the tables. “So what don’t you like about yourself?”

“The fact that after a fall on the mountains when I was concussed, I lost all my hair.”

“Even body hair?” I probed.

“Even my pubic hair.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Show me your legs” he said. I was curious, so I did. “I knew you were wearing stockings. I saw the tops when you swivelled around on the sofa.”

“I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.” Without any argument, he stood and walked over to the side of the sofa. “You sure you want to see?”

“Yes please,” I replied with a sense of excitement. Slowly he undid his trousers and dropped them. He lifted his shirt and said, “You pull them down.”

It was almost like an out-of-body experience as I watched myself sit up, my hands reached up to the waist band of his KK’s and I pulled them down. Not a hair in sight. His dick looked massive and he had a proper set of testicles dangling between his legs that would have better suited a sheep! I reached out and weighed them in my hands, lifting his limp cock, holding it against the flat six pack stomach above. They felt like velvet. One was much larger than the other – and strangely, the smallest one dangled lowest! As if in a trance I slid my head forward and licked his scrotum. So smooth. I took each ball in turn in my mouth and sucked, only just managing to get my mouth around the larger one. He’d undone his shirt and discarded it, his large hands were massaging my boobs through my thin bra having sneaked down the front of my V-neck. His willy was hardening and slapped me in the face as I moved back and surrendered to him so that he could pull my jumper off over my head. “Stand up”, he said and I willingly obliged. He took my face in his hands and held me as he kissed me deeply, earnestly but gently. I ran my hand over his bald head, smooth and shiny – there was no stubble to chaff my skin as he kissed my neck. Two things are guaranteed to get me going – a sensual kiss and having my neck kissed. It triggers the little chap who mans the juice pump in my pussy and I do get very wet. My bra was unclasped at some stage during this – he stepped back from me slightly and pulled the straps down my arms and my bra fell to the floor. His strong arms were around me pulling me to him as we engaged in more wonderful kissing, my nipples erect against his hairless chest (no tickles), his hands on my bottom pulling me closer. I was so aroused I wanted to climb inside him, my stomach ached with anticipation. The button on my skirt was undone, the zip slipped down – we parted for a split second and my skirt was around my ankles. I stepped to one side and flicked the skirt away finding my legs either side of his big thigh. His cock was attempting to drill another tummy button in my chest, just below my boobs, he was that much taller than me. I pushed my pubic bone into his legs attempting to massage my clit. He held my shoulders and pushed me back, “Best get you out of these wet cloths”, he smiled, knelt in front of me and pulled my panties down. I was embarrassed that they parted only reluctantly from my wet crotch. I leant on his shoulder as I lifted a leg and he slipped them over my foot. “Sit”, he commanded, motioning at the sofa behind me. He held my stocking clad legs, his long fingers allowing a firm grip on the back of my thighs, pushing my legs upwards and outwards. He smiled as he went down on my hairless pussy. He licked, lapped and had me in complete heaven, his tongue fizzing on my clit and then departing at just the right moment to ensure I didn’t reach full orgasm – it was like having lots of mini orgasms on a rolling basis. He pushed harder on my legs and I felt his tongue sliding from pussy to my very private hole designed for one way traffic. “No” I objected but his grip on my legs and state of excitement meant he continued to head for my bum with his tongue. I was on such a high, the dirtier the sex the better I guess was where I was at – I was relieved to have been not long out of the bath when the knock at the door came!

This was totally new to me. I had never before experienced anything like it. It was such an amazing sensation and I loved it. It tickled in a lovely sensitive way, it excited and it was so naughty. When he came up for air, I reached forward and grabbed his tool, it felt about the same size as Andy’s but looked a lot bigger which puzzled me until later – I finally worked it out – without hair they look much bigger! I pulled him towards me, he was leaning on the back of the sofa, his head next to mine as he went to kiss my neck and I whispered “Fuck me” as I held his meat, guiding it into me soaking cunt. His buttocks clenched as he pushed deeper and deeper into me, slowly grinding his pubic bone against mine, my clitoris loving every movement. His tongue was busy on my neck and one of his hands on my boob. It wasn’t long before I was moaning and on the brink of a massive orgasm. Suddenly he was gone. My lips were gaping; I was empty and felt forlorn. Before I could speak he’d flipped me around so that I was now knelt on the floor with my torso on the sofa, bum in the air. He was inside me again although doggy doesn’t pleasure my hot button so much. His hands were beneath my boobs, fondling and playing with my nipples. It was wonderful but I wasn’t about to scream the house down in this position. Then I felt a splat of something on my anus. He’d dribbled some spit and was now running his finger around my hole ever so delicately – almost as delicious a feeling as he’d given me with his tongue. Then I froze. He was pushing a finger, slowly but it was still a weird sensation, up my bottom. He kept up his slow rhythmic motion of thrusting his meat inside my pussy, matching the strokes with a finger up my butt. I started to relax and pushed back onto him as I had been doing before. After a few minutes his finger left my bum and I must confess, I’d got used to it and it was adding to my pleasure. His hand was in front of my face, “Give me some spit”, so I spat on his fingers. I felt his at the back door again, this time introducing a second finger. Again I froze and at first it hurt a little but after a few moments I was back in the rhythm. His spare hand reached down beneath me and found my protruding clit and gentled played with it, my excitement mounting, my womb feeling like it would explode – I was moaning loudly, climbing to the zenith of arousal as he pulled out of both holes and without altering his stroke his prick was in my bottom. Again I tensed but offered no objection. Ever so slowly, bit by bit with each thrust he was that bit deeper inside me. His balls were slapping against my juice covered mound as his cock, hard as iron was pounding my bum. I felt him slow his pace, he thrust at me held me and called to his God as I felt a massive spurt. He whipped out of my bum and thrust into my cunt, returning to a slow thrust, his hand busy again on my clit with his other hand fingering around my bum. Again I felt myself coming towards orgasm, slowly the intensity building and then just as I clamped down on him in the throes of orgasm I felt him spurt inside me. I came loudly and it went on for ever, his cock spurting and spurting inside me, I swear I could feel his spunk hitting the head of my womb. We collapsed in a heap. We didn’t speak for some time. His cock withered and slid out of me – I hate that feeling!. I knelt and looked at the fire. It needed a couple more logs, so I crawled over and threw another couple on. I could feel the coolness of out combined juices between my legs, dribbling down my thighs and onto my stocking tops. He came up behind me and we spooned, looking at the flames dancing on the logs.

“Now how do you see yourself?” he asked.

“Like a happy nymphomaniac!” I laughed.

“You’re a beautiful, sexy woman,” he said tenderly. And I felt like that in that moment. We talked a while and as he recovered I felt his prick starting to grow, prodding me in the back.

“You up for more?”

“”Looks like it,” he said. I turned around and lay my head on his thigh. I held his cock and started to move it back and forth, squeezing it and examining it up close. It was beautifully smooth, his purple head gleaming, still wet with out come. Around the base it was a bit crusty with dried juices. I reached over and took it in my mouth, sucking and running my finger around the head of his prick, beneath the rim of his helmet. He man handled me so that I was crouching over him and he set to work on my pussy. It wasn’t long before we approached our second orgasm of the night. His fingers inside my cunt as I took his prick out of my mouth for fear of biting it as I came, I was rubbing his tool, my mouth open if full flow of orgasm as his spunk splattered onto my face, into my hair and onto my tongue. We lay for a few minutes exactly where we came. Eventually I went to make a coffee and when I returned with drinks still wearing nothing more than stockings and suspender belt he was fully dressed.

I handed him his drink and said I should go and get my dressing gown. “No, don’t” he pleaded. So I sat there on the rug in front of him, the flames lapping at the logs on the fire, talking. I was relaxed and not at all self conscious. “I don’t even know your name” I said. He gave me a business card – Steve Brunton – and it had all his contact details. Being based in London I knew I’d never meet him again but it had been a wonderful evening on a drab and dreary night in North Yorkshire. As Steve finished his coffee the ‘phone rang. I had a minor panic thinking it might have been Andy – though why that would have been a problem I don’t know. It was the AA. At the front door I bid Steve a fond farewell with a kiss and he disappeared into the stormy night.

I tidied up and went to bed. Alone with the lights off I reflected that the last time I’d enjoyed sex as much was when Andy had taken me to Krakow just over two years back. He’d bought me the lingerie I‘d been wearing tonight and that I’d planned to wear to greet him home tomorrow. I needed to talk to him, to see if we couldn’t rekindle the excitement that we used to have. We needed to be honest with each other. I pondered that thought and its implications as I dropped off into a troubled sleep.

Next morning I was up, changed the bed, got all the washing done and went shopping. I planned a lovely candle lit meal with Andy. Home, ironed, dinner in the AGA and I went up for a bath, washed Steve’s spunk out of my hair and dressed as I had the previous evening, checked on the dinner and opened a bottle of wine. Andy arrived home just after six – I told him to go and shower away the day and that dinner would be ready at seven.

Over dinner we talked. Honestly. In Krakow we’d shagged four and five times a day for our four day stay – but hardly once a month since. Why? Andy was sheepish and reluctant to tell. Eventually, the truth came out. We’d been to a medieval dinner on our first night – the guests were dressed in normal cloths but the servers, jugglers and other entertainers were all in period costume. Dinner was served at long school dinner style tables and we sat on benches. We were seated opposite our partners. An attractive French couple sat on one side and some fat Americans on the other. The French lady sat next to Andy had made a remark as I sat down – evidently I’d shown my panties and stocking tops as I’d climbed over the bench. “It’s a good job I’m sat here and not my husband or he’d be spending the rest of the evening trying to remove your wife’s panties.” After the meal I’d told Andy that “The French are very tactile” and he’d asked what I meant. “Jean kept stroking my leg under the table. Once he ran his hand up and beneath my skirt to the top of my stocking. I slapped his hand and told him not to do that anymore and he didn’t.” But Andy had spent the next four days thinking about what might have been – me being seduced and shagged by Jean.

I was shocked. I’d not seen that coming. And I was just a little troubled by it – was Andy saying the only way he could fancy me was if he saw – or imagined – someone else with me? His answer was that if it spiced up our sex lives by the occasional extra curricular, surely that was a good thing. I had to agree.

It was something of a dilemma. Should I tell Andy about Steve? I am ashamed to confess that I did not. Instead I took him to bed telling him I’d wished I’d known what he wanted in Krakow because Jean was really good looking and it would have been great to shag him – and have the excitement of two dicks at once!