Thanks Be

'Not really,' I said. 'The house, yes. I own that, or rather them. When I bought them with the money I got in compensation for my injuries they were a short terrace of four, tiny, two-hundred-year-old, derelict fishermen's cottages. Bit by bit I've knocked down a few internal walls, put in bigger windows, generally done them up and converted them all to one studio and home.'

'It looks nice.'

'Well, I like it. Can be a bit isolated during the winter gales, but warm and snug. I also own the field at the back, across which the path from the village runs. So although the beach is not mine I control the access from the land, which means I usually have it all to myself.'

'How do we get in?'

'Round the other side. When the gales come it doesn't do to have doors facing the sea.'

By now Wilful's decided he's hungry and is almost trotting, forcing us to hurry to keep up.

Bea points to what was the end one of the four cottages. 'Why's that top bit missing?'

'Oh, being the cottage nearest the sea it took the brunt of the wind and the roof had completely caved in. I didn't bother to rebuild it, just levelled it into a flat balcony over the bottom room. It makes a place where I can sit of a fine evening and watch the waves.'

Round the landward side of the building I unstrapped the panniers from Wilful and turned him loose in his paddock. Meanwhile Bea was moving along the face of my home peering through each window in turn.

'Here, grab one of these bags,' I called. 'Then you can go inside and explore the whole place.' I found the key where I had hidden it under a loose flagstone and opened the door. 'Studio, bathroom and bedroom downstairs. Living room, kitchen and terrace up top.'

WHILE A CURIOUS BEA WANDERED from room to room, I checked through the house to see that all was well; opening all the windows to blow away the faint, musty smell that comes when a place is shut up for a spell.

One drawback to my wanderings is the trouble needed to keep clean, which means that by the time I return home a long, warm soak is always high on my list of priorities. Thus I was glad to see there was an abundance of hot water; the solar panels I'd fixed on the roof having been working all the time I was away.

'Bea! I'll be in the shower. Shan't be long.' I shouted.

Her reply was muffled so I continued on my way to the wet room, stripping off travel stained clothes as I went. Soon clean, I was luxuriating in the feel of warm, cascading water when the door opened and Bea looked in at me.

'Don't stand there staring,' I admonished her. 'Go and put the kettle on . . . or join me.'

Momentarily she disappeared then reappeared wearing nothing but a happy grin. 'You sure there's room for another one?' she asked.

'If she snuggles up close. Anyway you shouldn't need cleaning,' I said. 'Not after your swim.'

'Not the same thing. Anyway I'm covered in salt.'

'I've got just the answer for that.' I reached for the soap.

She sighed as my hands touched her slight back, gently rubbing soapy lather from shoulder to waist. The gleam of the water slipping down her wet skin had my heart pounding and my cock at attention. I had to restrain myself from forcing myself on her straight away. That I was soon going to take her again was inevitable - a man has only so much control and mine was fast disappearing, but I needed to be patient with her.

Her unfettered breasts sliding gently to and fro in my soapy, circling, rubbing, caressing palms as I made doubly, triply sure to wash away any trace of sea salt. I cupped one and squeezed it, feeling the nipple harden between my fingers.

She gave a soft moan. 'Know me, Captain. Please.'

It was what I'd been hoping for. 'All in good time.' I was going to delay until she was craving for me, until it seemed she was the one setting the pace.

My soap-slickened hands seemed to move of their own volition; trailing lather down to her slim midriff and on to rounded belly, then to cradle her mound. She moaned again as my fingers stroked along her furrow. Bending my knees I slipped my palms to the backs of her legs and up her smooth thighs to her bottom. Cupping the swells of her buttocks I lingered for long minutes kneading and caressing them before sliding my finger to touch in that divine place between her legs.

She cried out in delight.

I stood upright behind her and wrapped my arms about her - one hand determinedly fondling and squeezing a tit and rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. My other hand still touched her, finding and rubbing her erect clit, rousing a thrill that left her trembling.

She was almost crying in her need. 'Now. Please now.'

I pushed the exploratory finger inside her, making her groan with pleasure and thrust her arse back to find my throbbing, reborn cock.

It was time. I could wait no longer.

Hands holding her hips I lifted her on her toes and, pushing with my chest on her back, forced her to lean forward. Her legs spread wide as she tried to keep her balance, allowing my rampant tool to dive deep into her.

It was my turn to groan as her velvet virgina clamped itself around my solid shaft. Shifting my grip to her pendant tits, I stopped for a moment to savour the feel of her tight, young depth.

'Don't stop,' she begged and, frustrated, started to rock forward and back on my rigid rod.

It was too much. In my book it's the man's duty to control the mating so I responded to her rhythm, took it over, then upped the speed of the strokes until she was moaning and convulsing in her most powerful orgasm yet.

I paused, let her rest a while then resumed my thrusting until her muscles tightened once more and I felt my cock flex and throb. Again I should have withdrawn, but something stopped me, something told me this was my woman, that it was our destiny for me to erupt and fill her with my milky white seed.

Once I was empty I turned her round and cradled her in my arms, fastened my lips to hers, and kissed her with a love and affection I didn't know I was capable of.

DRYING EACH OTHER soon became a rumbustious game. We might have been two young children filling the air with laughter and giggles. Finally, breathless, I called a halt.

'To the kitchen. I'm in need of feeding and watering.'

She smiled and with us both still in a state of nature led the way upstairs. 'My turn to cook,' she decreed, opening cupboards at random.

'You forget I've been away. There's only dry stuff. Rice and pasta and tinned tomatoes and beans.'

Delving amongst my emergency stocks she came up brandishing a large tin. 'There's a slice or two left of that bread we brought with us. So it's baked beans on toast.'

'Ah! A meal fit for a king. And after we've eaten I'll walk up to the village and check what post has piled up while I've been away. Maybe get some milk and eats at the same time.'

'Can I come?'

I was brought up short. I hadn't considered how I was going to introduce her to my friends. What would they think? Would they approve of her? Suddenly I realised how important it was that they liked her.

Pensively I looked at her as she bustled around the room still wearing nothing more than that happy smile. Well, I certainly wasn't going to scandalise the villagers by letting her run around sky clad, but how was I going to get her something decent to wear?

Suddenly a plan came to me. 'It'll mean wearing that old dress of yours.'

'Must I?'

'Be better if you do.'

While we ate I explained my idea. 'On the corner, where my footpath meets the road through the village, there's a largish house belonging to a widow named Liz Rundle - it's Elizabeth really but everyone calls her Liz - she's not that old, about fifty, I think. Still, around three or four years ago - shortly before I came here - she lost her husband and daughter in a boating accident.

'To save the postman a long trek, she takes in what little mail I get, and I pick it up whenever I'm passing; often of an evening on my way to the pub. Also when I'm away she checks it for anything urgent.

'I'm going to ask her advice on getting you some clothes. Nothing too fancy, but suitable for your age. Then tomorrow we can go shopping. And later we'll go down to the pub to meet the characters from the village. Suit you?'

'Sure, Captain. Anything you say.'

'Forget the captain label, Bea. Better you call me Ralph.'

'Aye, aye, Captain.'

IT WAS STILL EARLY EVENING when we arrived at Liz's solid Victorian pile. Her small runabout sitting in the driveway meant we were fortunate to have caught her at home. Often when I called she would be out at one of her many meetings, for since the death of her family she had thrown herself into good works around the district.

I led the way round the back and banged on the kitchen door, calling, 'Your favourite black sheep returns.'

The door opened and she gave a broad smile of welcome. 'Well, well. At last. Come in, Ralph.'

She'd obviously just returned from a meeting of the District Council for her greying hair was in a neat chignon and was wearing a pearl necklace and earrings. The full swells of her heavy breasts filled the white, formal blouse while the black skirt was tight over the curve of her rounded rump.

A sudden barking heralded the arrival of Rags, her aging terrier who rushed up, and by nipping at my ankles asked me to make a fuss of him.

'And how are . . . ' Liz caught sight of Bea. 'Who's this? Another of your waifs and strays, Ralph?'

'You could put it that way. This is Bea. Bea come and meet Mrs. Rundle.'

'How do you do, Mrs Rundle?' Shyly she lowered her eyes.

'Oh, call me Liz. Everyone else does. And if you're a friend of Ralph's . . .' She glanced at me, 'She is just a friend?'

'Well,' I dissembled, 'what else could she be?'

'I don't trust you artists. I shall require a full report later.'

'Yes, Mam.' If I knew Liz I was in for a grilling and woe betide me if she felt my behaviour was reprehensible.

'Anyway, couldn't you find her some decent clothes?'

'Well, I wanted to ask your advice on that. This tatty old dress is all she's got. I'm planning to take her shopping tomorrow and get her properly kitted out. But I'm not sure where's best for woman's things, or what to get.'

'Doesn't she know. I didn't think girls existed any more who weren't experts in retail therapy.' Liz slowly looked Bea up and down. 'She looks about the age Jane was when . . .' She paused and swallowed.

I felt terrible. Had I inadvertently reopened old wounds?

'There might be something of Jane's stored away that could fit her. Any road, be better than that thing she's wearing now.'

'We're not imposing are we? If they were Jane's don't you want to keep them?'

'Not doing much good stuck in a cupboard. Should have had the strength to get rid of them years ago. Mind, they might be a bit old fashioned now.'

'Well thank you. It would be very kind.'

'Humph! Your mail's on the small table in the hall.' She turned to Bea who was making a firm friend of the dog. Suddenly she was in mother mode. 'Come on my dear, let's go and see what we can find.'

While they were doing whatever women do in these circumstances I strolled down to the village stores and bought a few things to see us over the night. I was itching to start the painting I had imagined in my dream, but it was clear that I would have to waste my efforts the next morning on a visit to town for materials. It would probably save time if I was to shop for food for a few days while I was there.

When they returned Bea was clad in a loose, red mini-skirt that emphasised the slenderness of her thighs and long legs. Above a deliciously bare midriff a skimpy, white halter top moulded her breasts, allowing the points of her nipples to press against the thin fabric.

She looked so young and lovely I was struck speechless.

Not so Liz who glared at me and said, 'I've heard her side of the story and I don't know whether you deserve a medal for helping her, or a good thrashing for taking advantage of an innocent young girl. But just you remember I've got my eye on you Ralph Saldano.'

I felt like a small boy who had just been reamed out by his headmistress.

'Fortunately she's near enough the same size as Jane was, except for her boobs - Jane's old bras are much too small - so I've given her enough things to keep her going for a while.' She pointed to a large carrier bag Bea was holding, then continued, 'Tomorrow I've nothing on before the Council Finance Committee meeting at two o'clock, so get yourselves here about nine and I'll take you into Broadvale and get her a few other things that you have clearly not thought of, like tampons and,' she glared at me again, 'I suppose I'm going to have to get her prescribed the pill.'

I contrived to look sheepish. 'It might be for the best.'

'Don't forget your credit card and cheque book.'

With Liz's injunction ringing in my ears and the sun already resting on the horizon we headed back to my studio.

Despite being burdened by the bag of clothes a delighted Bea contrived to dance down the path. Momentarily she paused beside me. 'What now, Ralph?' she asked.

'I really wanted to do a preliminary study for my masterpiece - "Thanksbe the Angel of Delight".'

She dug me in the ribs.

'All right, make that "Thanksbe the Tormentor".'

She put her tongue out at me.

'However, the light's too far gone to start painting tonight. So I don't really know.'

She struck a serious pose, 'I can think of something.'

'I'm sure you can, you little sexpot.'

'Well, then.'

'Let's save that for bed-time. After we've celebrated.'

'What are we celebrating?'

'Take your pick. That today is Wednesday; or our arrival home; or your birthday yesterday; or just because we're happy. At least I am and you seem to be.'

'I'll think about it.' She ran on down the path giving Wilful a smack on the rump as she passed his paddock.

Back in the cottage I searched through the half-a-dozen bottles that comprised my small cellar and found a sparkling white wine. That would do. Collecting a couple of glasses I carried everything out to my rooftop terrace where the early evening still retained the heat of the day.

Glass in hand I said, 'A toast . . . To us and all who sail with us.'

Bea took a sip of wine, 'I like this. Can we have it every night?'

'Not a good idea. But when we want to mark something special. . .'

We sat quietly watching the sun disappear and the occasional ship pass slowly in the distance. We might have been long term lovers.

It had been quite a day for my girl and I made sure she matched me glass for glass so it wasn't long before she was dozing. Certain she was fully asleep I careful picked her up and carried her downstairs to the bedroom. The thick stone walls retained the warmth of the sun which made it much too hot for any covers, or indeed night clothes so after undressing her I covered her with just a sheet. Then, stripping off, I slid naked beside her, congratulating myself on the foresight of installing a queen sized bed.

As I settled myself she stirred and rolled into me murmuring, 'Know me, Captain.'

It took a lot of will power to resist the invitation, but realising she was dreaming I refrained and was soon asleep myself, one arm loosely draped over her enchanting form.

I'D FORGOTTEN TO DRAW the curtains so woke to bright sunlight angling in through the window. Unsealing my eyelids I beheld another sight from my phantasies; a nude Bea standing beside the bed, a mug in her hand.

'Morning, sleepy head,' she said, 'I thought you might want a drink after last night, I know I did.'

Squinting in the bright light, my lips too dry to talk, I motioned her to place it on the bedside table. That done she sat on the edge of the bed, gently pulled the sheet from me and leant forward to set her lips clumsily on mine, her pendant tits delicately grazing my chest.

Turning my head slightly away I ran my tongue along my lips to moisten them. 'Morning, Middy. How long have you been up?'

'Some time. Been trying on the clothes Aunt Liz gave me. It's lovely and warm outside. Can we go swimming?'

I struggled to sit up and put my arms around her, one hand fondling a firm breast. 'Of course you . . . we . . . can. You don't need my permission. And what's this "Aunt" Liz?'

'That's what she said I was to call her.'

'Well if that's what she wants.' I lowered my face and nuzzled her breasts. 'I thought you might want to do something else first.'

For a moment she looked puzzled. Then the penny dropped and she gave a tinkling laugh. 'You want to fuckle? We've got all day, I say we swim first.'

I gave her left boob a slight squeeze, 'How many times must I tell you, featherbrain, it's not fuckle, it's fuck. And we do not have all day. Your new aunt is taking us shopping. Anyway I want to start painting. I'm afraid that if I delay too long the image in my mind will disappear.'

'Oh!' She looked like a little girl who's been told she can't go to the party.

When a quick glance at the clock by the bed showed we had a couple of hours before we were due to meet Liz Rundle, I couldn't resist taking pity on her and relented. 'Short swim first, then a quick fuck, then shopping. Okay?'

She plucked herself from my grasp and ran to the door. Feeling almost a teenager again I followed her, leaving the mug of tea to grow cold.

A quick deviation for a pee and I was out of the house and round to the top of my small beach where, just in case, I paused to check for interlopers. It was rare for any trippers to find their way to my little cove, especially this early in the day but it happened occasionally, and while they might enjoy my lovely nude naiad cavorting around I doubted they would look so favourably on seeing me in a state of nature.

All was clear, as was the day, with a bright early summer sun already warming the sand. The tide was coming in, waves breaking lazily around the rocks of the headland. About thirty yards out Bea was merrily splashing in her version of a dog paddle. I made a mental note that swimming lessons were called for, then ran out into the invigorating water.

Soon I caught and dunked her, at which she squealed and called me a few names I was surprised she'd heard. Then she was off and heading back for the beach. As she set her feet on the sand I grabbed an ankle and pulled her face down then knelt astride her legs, my cock resting in the valley of her arse.

'Give up!'

'What's the prize?' She asked.

'Why you of course. I get to enjoy your maidenly delights.'

'Whoopee! But I get to say how.'

'If you insist.' At that moment I'd have given her anything.

Lifting herself, her wet hair wiping across my chest, she rolled away and brushed the sand from her tits. 'On your back, Captain,' she ordered.

'Aye, aye, Mam,' I said, turning over and guiding her to straddle my hips.

She giggled softly as her damp muff rubbed against my stiff shaft. Her fingers felt for my length, rubbed it and pushed it against her folds, sliding it to and fro. At last she lifted slightly, positioned me at her entrance then sank down imprisoning me deep in her tight tunnel.

My hands on her shoulders I pulled her forward until I could seize a nipple between my teeth. My mouth sucking and devouring, her my hands found and squeezed her wonderful arse. Suddenly she groaned, 'Enough,' and sat up, carefully moving my hands to her boobs. Then, wriggling her hips to get her cuni centrally placed over my cock, she started to rise and fall, giving a grunt each time she hit bottom and a sigh every time she nearly let me slip out.

'Ohhhh!' She groaned. She was nearly there.

'Harder, faster, make me come,' I urged her.

'I am!' She shouted. 'Can't you feel me?'

Yes, yes, yes, I could feel her. I could feel nothing else. Never before had I known such joy. All too soon we came together in an explosion of pleasure so exquisite it hurt. While our pulses gradually slowed I languorously delighted myself with my favourite occupation - cupping and caressing those sublime tits.