Now that I had a home and a family I hated being away from them but my job took me to remote places in the world and I had no choice. Usually I was away for only a few days but sometimes for a week or more. The endless hanging about in airport lounges was misery and I loathed foreign hotels. I missed home cooking and it was only when I turned into the home road and drove up to the house was I happy again.
Two years had passed since our marriage and I had become a domesticated husband. I was no longer a heavy drinker and I was in shape. I could now jog a couple of miles without the threat of cardiac arrest and both Emma and I were as trim as any at the local health club.
Even with the passing of time she was still as beautiful and sexy as ever and despite the difference in age I was always proud to have her on my arm. We had acquired some friends and when there were social events or dining evenings I got a kick from observing another husband sneaking a look at her when his own wife was not keeping an eye on him.
Of course Emma was fully aware when men were ogling her and loved every second of it. If the occasion involved dancing she would do her best to induce an erection by pressing herself sensually against the target area and triumphantly report to me later if she achieved her objective. I believe she knew the exact dimensions of every penis in our social circle.
Chrissie was now ten and spent the week away. The school had constructed annex dormitories so the handful of students could live in, and at seventy-five grand a year they could probably have a built a hotel.
She was content to stay at the school during the week and so Emma’s six o’clock rise every morning and the thirty-mile trip in a taxicab was no longer necessary. I was also happy because I could indulge in morning sex with a sleepy partner.
When Chrissie was home at weekends the house was full of laughter and excitement and she remained such a sweet kid it was difficult to remember that her IQ ranked her among the smartest people in the world. She continued to do her best to hide it but it was handy to have her around to settle an argument or have something explained to us. Despite her tender years, she had a mature but quaint personality that was both endearing and often amusing.
The duck feeding ritual was an established routine and we had become regulars at the local pub for a couple of drinks every Sunday lunch time.
My time spent reluctantly away from home was vastly different from my wild years when I would awake each day with a hangover and turn blearily-eyed to see who was sharing my bed. Looking back, I realised that booze and sex had just been filling an empty and purposeless life. I had become a faithful husband and a dedicated parent who would decline the attention of interested females and have just a nightcap before retiring.
I assumed that Emma was also faithful, but could I have been wrong?
Emma and I enjoyed full-on sex and despite the fact that she was a mature woman, she had become even hungrier for orgasms. She admitted that she masturbated regularly when I was away.
When I first became her lodger and before we were lovers, she frequently masturbated after a bath. I knew because whenever she achieved an orgasm there would be a flushed red patch on each cheek of which she was unaware. They quickly faded but were telltale signs that I never disclosed to her.
We constantly created ways to make our sex more exciting and fantasies were an essential part of it. We would sit opposite each other naked and it would be I who would relate erotic stories to excite her and achieve my own orgasm by watching her masturbate to a turbulent climax. But under my influence Emma had become more inventive and she could shamelessly describe a fantasy that was thrilling her while masturbating in full view.
Gradually our erotic creativity became more extreme, encompassing scenes and situations that many would consider taboo, but they were just creations from our inflamed imagination. Extramarital sex, such as swinging, was never suggested for real and I guessed Emma was conscious that the difference in our ages would make it difficult to find a match.
On one occasion when we were both naked and horny in the lounge, Emma asked unexpectedly, “If you were a free man on the prowl, which one of our female friends would you like to fuck?”
There were no secrets between us but I sensed danger. She was a cunning and devious creature and was it a trap? I thought about it and realised that whichever of our female friends I selected, would it mean that I secretly harboured a yearning that I had never disclosed? So I decided to wriggle out by answering, “None, I’m happy screwing you.”
She immediately came back with, “Don’t be such a coward, you won’t make me jealous. It’s just a hypothetical question and I want to know which one you would prefer if you didn’t have me.”
I considered my answer carefully because I still suspected a trap and şişli escort reviewed the choice of possible answers. One of the female wives was both attractive and flirtatious and I knew she fancied me. She wore dresses designed to show maximum cleavage and short enough to reveal tanned thighs when she crossed her legs. But she was the obvious selection so I decided to play clever by choosing the least desirable one.
“Well if you put a gun to my head I guess it would have to be Elizabeth.”
Emma’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Elizabeth? Why her?”
I was gaining confidence and replied, “Because she is not particularly attractive and as her husband is boring, if they have sex which probably isn’t often it’s likely to be a brief and unexciting event. Maybe she has hidden depths that would be interesting to explore.”
She looked at me searchingly for a few seconds and then said accusingly, “You are such a liar. You picked her because you knew she would be the safest bet.”
It was hopeless trying to fool her and there followed a lengthy silence while she stared at me with a ruminative expression. She was playing a game of chess and trying to manoeuver me into a corner. I waited nervously for her next move and it took me by surprise with, “All right then, fuck her.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said go ahead and fuck her. Create a fantasy about having sex with her.”
A clever move and I was trapped.
Most people fantasise when they masturbate and many would fail to achieve an orgasm without doing so, but such erotic thoughts are private and remain locked in one’s secret vault. Emma and I could shamelessly thrill each other with fantasies no matter how intimate or revealing, but the participants in our tales were anonymous. How could I describe a sexual encounter with someone known to us without seeming to enjoy it?
It was check mate.
In vain I protested, “I don’t fancy Elizabeth so I don’t want to fuck her.”
“Yes you do. You’re a man and men will fuck anyone with a pussy if they can get away with it.” Resistance was pointless because once she got her teeth into something she would shake it to death.
Whenever we masturbated together it would be in opposite chairs so we could see each other. I would describe a situation where she would be having sex with one or more partners and might involve bondage, rape, lesbianism or anything that turned her on. My arousal was to see Emma writhing in the throes of an orgasm.
Rarely did I recount a story where I was the main character although sometimes I would include myself if it was group sex. Emma’s fantasies involved only herself when she might be enjoying a liaison with men or women or both. Sometimes she would include me as a voyeur because it would add to her excitement knowing that I was covertly watching. She was never especially aroused if I related a fantasy about just myself having sex.
After a few moments thought and without much enthusiasm I commenced, “Her husband has to leave our dinner party early to collect someone from the airport and I have promised to run Elizabeth home. When we pull up outside her house….”
I was interrupted with a curt, “You are not announcing the nine o’clock news. Tell it in a proper sexy voice, I want to see if she excites you.”
As we were both naked, it was going to be difficult to hide an erection and I wondered if I could relate a story without letting the intimate details get the better of me.
I continued but in a more sensuous voice, “We’ve pulled up outside her house and I anticipated a kiss on the cheek but she has planted one on my mouth that lingered longer than I expected. She has asked me in for coffee and added that her husband would not be home for a couple of hours.
It is obviously an invitation for more than just a beverage so I am returning her kiss with passion and easing up her dress. Her legs have opened invitingly and I’m sliding my hand between them. Even through her panties I can feel that her pussy is wet so I’m lowering them to her ankles and taking them off. I let my hand drift back to her sodden cleft and caress it gently with my fingers. She is responding with gasps of excitement.”
At this point I had begun to excite myself and my penis responded accordingly.
Then I had one of my rare inspirational moments that could perhaps get the better of Emma. As I continued my fantasy, I took hold of my penis and began to masturbate slowly. Through half closed eyes I had been observing her reaction and the earlier supercilious expression had changed to one of mild concern.
Suddenly she interrupted my fantasy with a firm, “Okay you can stop now.”
I ignored her and continued to stroke my erect staff while narrating, “She’s begging me not to make her come because she wants my cock inside her. We are like a couple of high school kids and she is climbing astride my lap with her back to the steering wheel and reaching down to insert my stiff rod inside her.”
With more urgency Emma insisted, “I said stop kağıthane escort now.”
I continued to masturbate with increasing pace and persevered breathlessly, “She’s inserted my cock fully and I’m grasping her buttocks as I thrust firmly into her.”
Emma catapulted from her chair and grabbed my hand. She snapped, “Stop it you pig, I don’t want her to make you come.”
In a hurt voice I complained, “Why have you stopped me, I was enjoying it.”
She snarled, “The goody two-shoes, church-going whore. I’ve always thought that pious air was a front. She’s a two-faced slut.”
I burst into laughter and retorted, “Don’t be stupid woman it was make-believe. Elizabeth is a sweet person and she is very fond of you. She would probably run a mile if I put a hand on her.”
For a few seconds Emma looked confused and then with a sheepish grin admitted, “Okay so you did a good job of convincing me and I was jealous. You won that game but don’t get complacent because I hate losing.”
I cuddled her close to me and then asked, “Have you ever fantasised about sex with any of the husbands?”
In a casual voice she replied, “Of course, I’ve fucked all of them; blowjobs the lot.”
I pushed her away from me and asked, “Are you serious?”
“Of course I am, why are you surprised? When you’re away I don’t want to be fucked by the same guy all the time, it would get boring.”
I was stunned. “You’ve never told me about this.”
“You’ve never asked.”
I pursued the subject with, “Has anyone else been screwing you that I should know about?”
“Oh lots. The pizza delivery kid has had me on the kitchen table a couple of times. And that guy who washes his car every Sunday morning; the one with tattoos all over his back, he’s a good fuck.”
I pushed her off my lap and she fell to the floor with a bump. In an indignant voice I protested, “This is outrageous. While I’ve been away resisting temptations of the flesh, you were being shagged by not just our social acquaintances but half the neighbourhood as well.”
Sitting on the floor she enquired, “And who do you fuck when you’re away.”
“Nobody we know,” I replied emphatically, “that would be a breach of trust.”
She climbed back onto my lap and snuggled her face into my neck. “Would like to know which husband is the best and hear all the details?”
“Not until I’ve had a chance to come to terms with your shocking confession. Tell me about the pizza delivery kid instead.”
I was in Bolivia involved in a dam project that had started and then got delayed but was now going on to completion. My Dutch employers were the contractors and it was a billion-dollar deal. A consortium was providing the funds and there were some disagreements, but as I was my company’s main man I was expected to keep things running smoothly. I anticipated being there for at least six weeks.
The hotel was quite good and the local food was some of the best in South America but I missed Emma, I missed Chrissie and I missed home cooking.
When Bolivian girls are beautiful they are really beautiful and as an English man I was a person of both curiosity and interest. I avoided excessive alcohol that might weaken my resolve but on more than one occasion I was tested to the limit. I called home whenever I was in reach of a landline but if I was halfway up a mountain, some days went by without contact.
I assumed that Emma was also suffering from sexual deprivation.
As I turned into the home road I was at peace with the world once again. There was a small red car in the driveway and I pulled alongside it. Our elderly cleaner had a blue one so I guessed she may have changed it.
I let myself in and called out, “I’m home so get ’em off.”
I expected Emma to come rushing but several seconds passed before she appeared at the top of the stairs and came scurrying down to fling herself into my arms. As we kissed I reached down and eased up the hem of her dress and murmured, “I’m going to fuck your brains out at the earliest opportunity. I’ve been nearly two months without any and I’ve developed RSI in my right hand.”
She pushed my hand away with an urgent, “Not in the hallway you randy bugger,” but not before I had encountered flesh instead of cotton.
I was surprised and observed, “They are already off. Why are you going commando, is this a new trend?”
She replied casually, “Sometimes I enjoy the cool breeze on my hot pussy. I always put them on before I go shopping. Go and dump your bag while I make some tea.”
It seemed a reasonable explanation and knowing Emma it didn’t surprise me. As I was climbing the stairs I asked, “Has Mrs Fitzgerald got a new car?”
She was disappearing into the kitchen when she called back, “No we’ve got a new cleaner.”
I felt a twinge of sadness because our dear little Irish cleaner was a gem. Nothing was ever too much for her and she had a wicked sense of humour. But she must fatih escort have been pushing seventy so I guessed the time had come to hang up her feather duster.
The first thing I noticed was that the bed was crumpled. Mrs Fitzgerald would never have left it so because she liked everything to be neat. Neither had the bathroom been tidied. She would have placed Emma’s herd of bottles, lotions and mysterious potions neatly to the left side of the double basin and my shaver and toothbrush on the right. Everything was spread far and wide.
I swept as much as I could to the left and placed my meagre items in the cleared area.
I stripped and entered the shower to immediately observe that the chrome fittings were not shining as brightly as usual. There was also dried soap scum on the glass doors which Mrs F would never have allowed. I was not impressed with our new cleaner.
As I descended the stairs I glimpsed a young woman exiting the front door. Before I could say anything she was gone.
Emma was sitting at the kitchen table and the tea was poured. As I was sipping from my cup I asked casually, “Was that our new cleaner I just saw leaving?”
“Is she any good?”
Emma cleared her throat with a short cough before replying, “Well there is a slight communication problem because she’s foreign and her English is limited. She is getting there slowly.”
“Getting where slowly?”
After another tiny cough she answered, “You know, getting to grips with the routine.”
“Does the routine involve cleaning?”
In a scolding tone she replied, “Chris Darling, you are being very critical. Leave the domestic affairs to me and you deal with the mechanical ones. It’s worked well so far.”
Sarcastically I came back with, “Darling, I suggest you take a closer look at your affairs. The bedroom looks like there’s been a pillow fight and the bathroom, particularly the shower, would give Mrs F a heart attack. By the way, why did she leave?”
“Her rheumatism was getting the better of her. I gave her a generous leaving present and we both wept a bit. Fifteen years she cleaned for me and she was wonderful when I was carrying Chrissie.”
“Did you get the new one from an agency?”
“I didn’t think so. So where did she come from?”
Emma answered testily, “Does it matter, I hired her and that’s all there is to it.”
“Yes it does, because I want to know who to sue when we all go down with cholera.”
In an impatient tone Emma snapped, “You’re being very childish. If you really want to know, I got chatting to her in the hairdresser salon and she said she was looking for work. She comes from Poland, she’s thirty-two, married and her name is Ewa pronounced Eva. Would you like to know her blood group?”
“What are her terms of employment?”
“Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Three days? Mrs F cleaned the house in two.”
“Well we seem to be using more of it now that Chrissie is growing up.”
Incredulously I replied, “What are you talking about? Chrissie is away for five days of the week. So what time is she supposed to finish?”
I looked at my watch. “Why then has she gone when it’s not yet one-thirty?”
Emma growled, “Because she had to take her car for a fucking M.O.T. check and I said she could, okay?”
“You said her English was limited. So how did you negotiate the contract and did it include technicalities like vacuuming, dusting and wiping away soap scum?”
Emma abruptly terminated the conversation with, “I don’t want to discuss it any more. Just mind your own business and leave it to me to sort things out.”
Something was wrong but I had no idea what it could be. It was so unlike Emma to let things get sloppy because she could be a bitch. The refuse collectors, the postman and the newspaper boy were so terrified of stepping on the grass they walked down the centre of the path like models on a catwalk.
I dismissed it from my mind because it was Friday and Chrissie would be home for the weekend. I looked forward to laughter, fun and excitement.
I struggled to unwrap Chrissie from me as she peppered my face with kisses but she seemed to have more arms and legs than an octopus. I carried her into the lounge still clinging to me.
Emma returned from settling the taxi fare and the room was soon filled with excited babble as we all tried to talk at once.
It was pointless asking Chrissie to tell us how she was doing because she would have been evasive. When you are dealing with a ten-year old who is smarter than Einstein but hates being so, it’s tricky. So I asked a simple question.
“Are you in love with anyone yet?”
She dismissed that with, “You know I’m too young for those emotions, but I am enjoying a relationship with a twelve-year old in Taiwan who has a new slant on the universe. It’s a crazy theory but fascinating.”
“Is there any point in telling me about it?”
“Do you understand quantum mechanics?”
“Then there is no point in telling you about it.”
When we were all settled down and Chrissie had returned from unpacking she asked her mother, “Is Mrs Fitzgerald ill?”