It was rare to get a day off together particularly with Mike’s schedule but today it happened. Angela was determined they would do something with the day, go somewhere, otherwise she would just catch up with the housework and he would stay in bed late and watch sport all day on the satellite. But with the mood he was in, she could see it wasn’t going to be a successful outing. She desperately needed to get some more pictures before the photography class met again, only two days left, maybe just a few more scenes across the village, perhaps after the light had gone . . .
In the end, she settled for a lunch somewhere different, at least a couple of hours in a new environment. She took her camera in with her. She’d seen the tapas bar before and had wondered how they could make it pay on an estate like this and, as they went in, she saw they were the only customers which just reinforced her doubts. Still, that was their problem and it was nice that they had the place to themselves; maybe the service would be fast and efficient. She couldn’t have been prepared for the person doing the serving to be that great to look at though.
He was like a character from an Aussie soap, improbably tanned skin, bleached blond hair, but it was those eyes that made her heart beat faster. A pale soft blue, the contrast between their color and the darkness of the tanned face almost took her breath away. His accent was a bit of a reality check, since it was as local as hers, but while he was asking if they wanted to order, he turned to face Mike, giving Angela the chance to study his body without fearing he would notice the once-over he was getting. Back to Bondi Beach really: a tight-fitting white T-shirt showed off his broad chest – she could see his nipples pressed hard against the fabric – and his light-blue jeans framed long slender legs and, as he turned a little more at an angle to her, she enjoyed how the tight fit emphasized the muscles in his bum. Like a shock wave, Angela felt a vision of the two of them together surging through her mind and body. She could almost feel him inside her, thrusting his rock-hard cock between her wide open legs . . .
She came out of her dream state in time to order a caffé latte and some tapas, but as the vision disappeared normality was soon upon her.
“Do you have to stare at him like that for God’s sake? Act your age, woman, you’re old enough to be his mother!”
Thanks for reminding me, she said to herself, but she went on the attack. “Oh, I see, yes, when we went to Mary’s house and her son was there with his pretty little girlfriend, I just imagined you lusting about her cute body, did I? I mean she must have been at least twenty-one, so for a fifty-year-old man that would be about the right age, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s different and you know it. Any man can appreciate a pretty girl but you make yourself look stupid with your tongue hanging out like that for him.”
The lunch wasn’t a great success. Angela wished she was at work.
She went up to the bar to pay the bill with her credit card and was served by a pretty blonde – maybe his partner, who knows? Lucky girl if she was. Angela guessed he must be having a break in the back of the place as nobody else had come in all the time they were there. How long before they go out of business? she thought sadly.
As she was waiting for the receipt, he appeared at the bar, treating her to a smile that raised her temperature immediately.
“Enjoy your meal, love?”
“Yes, fine thanks.”
“Couldn’t help noticing your camera, are you a professional then?”
Using the eyes that she kept at the back of her head, Angela enjoyed the growing irritation that Mike was showing as she chatted to this likeable, friendly, but most of all gorgeous, young man at the bar. And when she sensed her husband approach them, knowing he was going to be curt and probably ill-mannered, she timed her final comment perfectly.
“Yes, it might be good to get some shots inside a place as cosy and well set out as you’ve got here. Have to get the lighting right but . . . maybe I’ll call again when you’re quiet.”
Mike snorted. “You can’t get much quieter than this, can you? Look if you want me to drive you around so you can fool about with your camera fantasy, let’s go, OK?”
With a final conspiratorial smile at the make-believe Aussie, Angela allowed herself to be ushered out to the car.
It was the final straw really, the thing that pushed her to do it. He knew the course mattered to her, it was her release, her hobby, but it made no difference to him. He only had to make the right noises, just humor her really, he didn’t have to do much.
But no, he had to say it.
“I don’t know why you waste your time when you haven’t got the flair for it. I mean nothing you take is worth looking at. Take up something else and stop fooling yourself.”
Angela didn’t trust herself to speak because she would have said something she’d regret but that was when she knew she was going back to the tapas bar. He’d said she could call any time and he’d let her take shots inside.
OK, she thought as she turned into the parking space later that afternoon, there would be customers there, but if she was seen with a camera they would all think she was a pro, maybe that she was with a magazine or something.
At least if there had been anybody there they might have . . .
He didn’t seem surprised to see her. Was that good or bad?
She looked around and he answered her unspoken question.
“Kerry isn’t here. Monday nights are even slower than the other nights and I can manage these huge crowds all on my own. What do you want to drink?”
The bottle of wine had gone, all too quickly, and suddenly Angela realized she wouldn’t be able to drive home and that meant a taxi bill and another row. But that was for later, for now she was enjoying the conversation, the wine and the view. He was quiet really, it was her that was doing most of the talking but that was OK.
She took a few shots from angles around the tables and the bar; it was beautifully lit, atmospheric and quaint with a Spanish feel that didn’t seem artificial in a provincial British town. His offer to open another bottle was unexpected, unnecessary and obviously she shouldn’t agree. But it was as she drained the first glass from this second bottle that the words escaped from her mouth in a rush.
“I see you’ve got a calendar of Spanish scenes on the wall. Bit dull, isn’t it? Why don’t we work on a calendar together, maybe a hunky pin-up one, pull a few hen night crowds in here?”
God she felt pathetic but the feeling didn’t last.
“Well, you’re the expert, do you want me to be January?”
His smile cut straight through her and it was inviting and intense enough to give her even more courage than the wine had.
“Well, you have to trust my judgement then. The T-shirt will have to go, of course.”
He didn’t need a second invitation; he peeled it off and threw it behind him, striking up a comic pseudo model pose. His chest was as good as her imagination had played it, almost hairless so that nothing obscured the view of his taut, hard-looking musculature. She had to fight not to actually lick her lips at the sight of his broad shoulders, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the line of dark but fine hair from his stomach to where the top of his jeans clung onto him.
Angela focused her camera, her grip was a little shaky, but it gave her the chance to gather her thoughts. God what was she playing at? She was forty-eight, he was possibly no more than twenty-five – he must think she was an old tart! Go home and go home now, she told herself, you’ve done no harm yet.
She lowered the camera and walked over to him. She traced one finger along his chest then began to run it downward along that line of hair. As she reached the top of his jeans, she knew she was at the end of a line in more ways than one. If she went any further . . .
He looked straight at her, his eyes willing her not to stop. It seemed to her he was pleading to be touched more intimately. He was her host after all, he had invited her here . . .
Angela moved her fingers down to his crotch and a shiver of excitement surged through her as she felt how hard he was, felt his bulge grow as she began to stroke him between his legs. She found a voice but it didn’t sound much like her own.
“Of course for the summer months you’re a bit overdressed.”
She pulled almost savagely at the zipper of his jeans and, as she forced it downward, the thick dark mop of hair confirmed he hadn’t bothered with any underwear. Feeling the moisture form between her own legs and a growing tingling in her hardening nipples, she freed him from his jeans completely and gazed hungrily, unashamedly at his nakedness with uncomplicated lust.
His cock was huge now and the purple tip seemed to be straining toward her as it jutted out from the black pubic forest.
“Maybe July I think,” she breathed as he seemed to be waiting for her. It was as if she were in charge of his movements. Angela stepped closer and took his length in her right hand, enjoying the steel-like hardness and then brought her left hand around to massage his silky soft balls. She savored his moans of pleasure, knowing she could do whatever she wanted with this man who was easily young enough to be her son. There was nothing maternal in her feelings for him though. She wanted to feel him inside her, to taste every bit of him, to possess him for the night. She grabbed the camera and focused it below his waist, thinking if she got the right shots she could enjoy reliving this night as often as she wanted.
But there was one more barrier to cross. She was still fully dressed, she had to show him what he was going to get, display her body for him. And he must be used to fit young women with fresh firm bodies and no lines, no signs of years taking toll of them Would he still want to do this when she stripped for him?
Angela discarded the camera again and peeled off her light summer dress as seductively as her nerves and her heart rate would allow, revealing the lacy cream-colored underwear beneath. Still trying to keep a casualness in her voice that she was a million miles away from feeling she said, “It doesn’t seem fair for me to keep all my clothes on. Can you put up with an old woman naked for you?”
He smiled deeper than ever at her and came within inches of her body. “I’ve been thinking about you since you left earlier this afternoon. It’s sort of how I pictured you, but you’re still overdressed to me.”
He moved forward, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, crushing her against his lips, his stomach, his legs. She felt the rock-like hardness of his erection against her stomach and the primitive pleasure of a young man’s body against hers made her sizzle with expectation. She felt him fumble, but eventually unclasp her bra and she eased herself slightly back for a second to allow it to fall to the floor. Then she pushed her now diamond-hard nipples into his chest. She knew her breasts were her best feature but she felt his hands move down to her bum and then they were inside her knickers, massaging her cheeks gently. Pausing for a second to look deep into her eyes, he thrust his eager tongue deeper inside her mouth, exploring and probing. Angela suddenly felt desperate to have that tongue probe her other set of lips – an image of him on his knees in front of her making her pussy melt with pleasure coursed through her mind. Telepathy is a much underrated medium of conversation and, as he broke away again and practically tore off her lace knickers, she just knew he was going to make her wish come true. She saw his eyes widen with excitement at the sight of her thick bush of black curly hair and the last vestige of fear at rejection evaporated. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
And he had a little variety to add to her dreams.
He dipped his fingers in his wine glass and then traced them over both her nipples. It made her tense with anticipation. He ducked his head downward and began to lick the liquid from first one then the other, his hot eagerness contrasting with the cool wine, and Angela felt like screaming for more as the wine trickled down her body. She felt him suck, lick, almost bite her aching points but the pulsing throb of desire between her legs was now overwhelming.
Again, his instincts took over as he dropped in front of her, reached into the glass again and liberally splashed the wine around her lips and her bush. Angela was soaking wet before the red liquid was on her and, as he began his journey around her now gaping tunnel of pleasure, she wound her leg around his neck, capturing him, pushing, encouraging him to give her more. She wasn’t disappointed as he drove his tongue into her, lapping at the raised nub of her clit, slower then quicker, as if he were mapping out a plan of her pussy, making it his possession. She felt as if he was exploring every soft pulsing fold of her labia, drinking her juice as if he were drinking water in a desert oasis. His rhythm became more urgent and frantic and then she came, gloriously, helplessly and she had to release his mouth and try not to collapse onto him. Dripping wet, waves of orgasmic shock still pulsing through her, could this get any better?
She didn’t have to wait for the answer. As she openly admired his athletic young body and still rock-hard cock, he clasped his arms about her waist and lifted her effortlessly up and sat her on the bar. He pushed her legs wide open, her swollen bloated pussy still wet and inviting. She had never felt so completely vulnerable or as completely turned on. He eased his body up so that the head of his shaft brushed against her velvet soft lips. He fingered her clit, teasing it, and hooked two fingers inside her.
She couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Come inside me now. Fuck me hard, I want to feel you properly.”
He placed his hands under her arms and suddenly hoisted her downward as he moved in the other direction. Angela gasped, almost screamed as she sank down onto him, her gaping wet opening enveloping his huge shaft as it drove deep into her, filling her with liquid heat. He began to rock forward, driving inside, and she wrapped her legs around the base of his spine, timing her movements with his. She felt shock waves powering through her body and she reached her left hand down so she could play with the edge of her engorged, shivering lips. He was almost splitting her in two as his thrusts became more powerful. She touched herself as she had done so many times before, but with the urgent thrust of a man’s cock bringing her close to orgasm, she had never experienced such primitive total abandonment in her life. Her fingers sometimes brushed against his shaft, which only heightened her pleasure and she couldn’t stop herself crying out, “More, come on, give me more, please.”
And to her wild delight she found he was reaching forward and twisting, coaxing, and fondling her nipples, which had never felt so hard or sensitive as they did then. Her fingers, his fingers, but most of all his fabulous weapon of pleasure, meant she was being stimulated three ways and she knew she was close to the best physical moment of her life and then . . .
It came, she came, he came . . .
As they dressed, silently, almost shyly, Angela remembered the camera. And as she rang for a taxi to take her home, she thought, for the first time ever it was good to have a husband who wouldn’t want to see the pictures she had taken.
As he’d said, maybe she should take up another hobby.