tagNovels and NovellasThe Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 17i

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 17i

byPAUL C©

The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 17i: The Batting Order Ch. 09

Paul.

"If you'll let David in, please, Shirley." My mother said.

Steve had turned his back and was finishing buttoning his flies. Shirley was very red faced. From embarrassment or exertion I couldn't tell.

"Well, let's go then." Steve said walking briskly to where his cricket bag lay. "Help me on with my pads, Paul."

I followed him and knelt behind him to tighten the straps after he had place the pads in place. From the corner of my eye I watched Shirley walk slowly to the gate and open it. My father pulled in beside Jenny's car and got out. They stood looking at each other for a few seconds then he said something. Shirley turned on her heel and walked quickly away. My mother approached my father and said something to him looking in my direction and then towards the pavilion. I could see Jenny looking out of the window. I smiled at her and waved.

"Are you ready?" Jim Clark called from the corner of the Pavilion.

"Just coming." I called back.

Could I smell come?

Steve had undone the front buttons of his trousers and was fitting his prick and balls protector into place. He had turned so that his back was towards my mother, which gave me full view of his prick and pubic hairs. I had to look. He stopped for a second with his prick in his fingers pointing it at my mouth then he put it away and fastened the buttons.

I stood up and we looked at each other. It had been three years since we had done anything together. I had to laugh when I thought of how naive I'd been then. It had all changed in a fortnight on our Venture Scouts camp in Northern Ireland. Steve had wanked me then fucked me. I'd quite liked it. The feeling of warmth as he cock had slid in and out of my ass. Then had come the rapes by Tommy. He was dead now. The pain and humiliation just a bad memory. I looked from Steve's face at Jenny's in the pavilion window. So much had changed. I was married.

"You coming?" Steve said picking up his gloves.

"Yes." I replied. "Let's go."

I picked up Steve and my cricket bags and carried them into the pavilion. The opening batsmen for East Chipstable were standing outside waiting for us to take our places before walking out to bat. I threw the bags through the door of our changing room and give Jenny a kiss.

"What's that for?" She asked.

"For luck."

Why was it I could never use the words?

"Good luck then." She said, kissing me back.

I ran out onto the pitch and towards the wicket.

"Into the covers, Paul." Jim instructed.

As usual, the younger members of the team were fielding away from the wicket, where most of the running about would be done. Len was to open the bowling. He had marked out his run up and stood glaring at the opening batsman as he prepared to receive the first ball.

"What do we do then?"

Ian had appeared by my side, he smelled strongly of beer.

"You shouldn't be here." I said as Len started to run in. "Where did Jim tell you to stand?"

"Oh, over there." He waved in the general direction of where Len had started his run up from.

Crack. The batsman had hit the ball and it shot past Len to where Ian had pointed and on to the boundary markers for four runs.

"That was why he wanted you to stand there."

The ball was stopped by a large man in a yellow jacket and thrown to Ron Watson he had jogged across from his position at long on.

"You had best go back there." I said to Ian, conscious that the whole team's eyes were upon us. "Just stop every ball and throw it in to Steve."

"Och aye man." Ian said, "I'll do that for you."

Len waited until Ian was in position and ran in again to bowl. His arm flashed over, the ball was well pitched up and thudded into the batsman's pad.

"Howzat!" Steve, Len and the three other close fielders cried out as one.

Nobody moved, then slowly, almost apologetically the umpire raised one finger and pointed it at the batsman. The batsman looked down at his pads, then placed his bat under his arm and walked back to the pavilion.

We all crowded into the middle and congratulated Len.

"What happened?" Ian asked.

"He was out." I explained. "Leg before wicket. It's when his leg stops the ball from hitting his stumps."

Ian looked lost but headed back to his place in the field. He waved his arms at the pavilion.



Jenny.

I finished filling the tea urn with water and put it on to boil.

What was Ian waving for? Jerry was walking out to bat and his girlfriend, Sally, came into the bar.

"That man," she nodded towards Ian, "wants you to take him a pint of beer."

I don't think I liked her. She seemed very haughty.

"I don't think they allow pints of beer on the cricket pitch." I replied.

"I just pass the messages. Do you have a cold coke?"

I opened the fridge against the back wall and took out a small bottle. I opened it and placed it on the counter with a glass tumbler. She looked at them, then at me.

"Twenty-five pence please." I asked, smiling sweetly.

What did she expect me to do? Pour it for her?

She fumbled in her handbag for her purse and handed me a fifty pence piece. I took her change from the till and handed it to her. She placed it into her purse and closed the bag. She looked down at her bottle of coke and the tumbler.

"Do you know Steve?" I asked, ignoring her glance. "From before, I mean?"

"Who?"

"Steve." I picked up a beer glass and polished it with my tea towel. "You were in the nets with him."

"Oh him." She picked up the glass and bottle and poured some coke, it frothed up and spilled over the rim. "No. I only met him today."

She shook some coke from her fingers then wiped them on one of the drink's cloths that were laid out on top of the bar.

"He's nice, Steve." I continued.

He wasn't really my type but all the other girls seemed to like him. I knew Shirley had.

"He tries it on a bit." She remarked, taking a sip from her glass. "How well do you know him?"

She looked down at my hand and saw my wedding and engagement ring.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "You're married."

"Yes." I replied.

"Is he here?"

"He's playing."

There was a round of applause from outside. I looked out through the open doorway at the players. Nobody was moving so the applause must have been for a scoring shoot.

"That'll be Jerry." She remarked casually as another burst of applause rang out. "He's too good for this level of play. He's playing for the county next year. He was in the Combined Universities team."

"Oh Paul, my husband, played for our University."

"I didn't realise you had been to University."

"We both went."

"What did you read?" She asked in a way that left me with no doubt that she couldn't care less what we had read.

"I read English and modern languages and Paul read economics." I found myself having to answer her.

"Hello." Lynda said entering the pavilion carrying two jugs of milk for the tea. "Have you seen Ian?"

"He's out there." I nodded towards the cricket pitch. "He's playing."

"Ian." She said, staring out through the doorway. "You must be joking."

I walked to her side and stood close beside her, close enough for our arms to touch, for me to smell her light deodorant.

"There he is." I said, reaching out an arm and pointing. "He's waving."

"He want's that beer." Sally said from her position at the bar.

"I'd better take him one then." Lynda said, reaching into a tight pocket at the front of her jeans. "How much?"

"Eighty pence." I told her and moved back behind the bar to pull the beer into a pint glass.

There was another burst of clapping from outside. Sally walked out through the doorway. Lynda watched her go then joined me behind the bar.

"I thought she'd never go." She said, placing her hand on one of my buttocks and gently squeezing it.

"We shouldn't." I protested quietly, conscious of the throbbing of my clitoris. "Not here. Ian's beer."

"I'll take it to him." She said and almost ran from the pavilion with the glass in her hand.

I followed her to the door and looked out. The East Chipstable side was off to one side of the pavilion with their supporters, sitting on the two old benches or on blankets on the grass. The two scorers sat at the table and chairs on the other side. Further along former home team members and various wives and girlfriends were sitting on deck chairs and benches. Arthur's wife Rose was scoring for our team and a spotty youth was scoring for the opposition. Rose's sons Larry and Thomas were changing the numbers on the big black scoreboard, arguing who's turn it was with the handles of the board each time a run was scored. And they scoreboard was changing rapidly. They were in the fifth over and had already scored over thirty runs. Len was bowling. He bounced the ball hard into the pitch and it flew towards Jerry's head. The sound of the bat as it hit the ball was like a pistol going off. I watched the ball sail over the boundary markers and hit the roof of the marquee. Six runs. Forty for one after five overs. At this rate they were going to score over two hundred runs.

Lynda was coming back, running towards me, her breasts bouncing. I could see the men in the East Chipstable party looking. She had left Ian's beer by one of the boundary markers and I could see him edging towards it when he thought the rest of the team were not looking.

Two of the East Chipstable team came in to enquire whether they could have some tea and I told them at least twenty minutes. They bought some cokes and left.

Lynda slipped behind the bar and pulled a couple of pints for two of our former members who took them out to their chairs. Her hand was back on my buttock before they had left the room.

"Where can we go?" She breathed into my ear.

I looked around. Behind the bar there was a door on either side. One led to the home team changing room and the other to the small storeroom. On the far side of the room was a door leading to the away team's dressing room. Both changing rooms could be in use; there was a toilet and shower in each. That left the storeroom. I opened it and Lynda followed me inside. It smelled dusty. It was full of the practice kit. Stumps, balls, pads and bats. Pots of paint. Spare boundary markers. Other old items of clothing. The odd cricket boot.

I turned to face Lynda and she pulled me towards her. We kissed our tongues inside each other's mouths. Our hands upon each other's buttocks, feeling and squeezing. We ground our fannies together. Pulling each other closer with our hands.

I stepped back, breathing heavily and undid the top button on her jeans. I slowly pulled down her zip, looking up into her eyes and finding them wide with lust. I pulled her jeans and knickers to the floor, kneeling before as I did so and breathing in the smells from between her legs. I lifted one of her feet from her clothes and looked at her slit as it opened before me. I extended my tongue to touch it. Feeling her hands on the back of my head and hearing her gasp. I licked again then lowered her foot. Her slit disappeared from view. She let out a low moan of disappointment.

I looked around quickly and reached out to the shelf beside me and picked up a spare stump. An inch or more in diameter, made of wood, about thirty inches long with a sharp point for standing up in the ground at one end and slightly rounded at the other with a grove cut through the top where the bails were laid when in use.

"Oh." Lynda gasped when she saw what was in my hand.

"Yes?" I asked, my voice hardly above a whisper.

"Yes." She sighed.

"Kneel down." I commanded gently.

I suddenly felt in control. In all our previous love making it had been Lynda that had been the aggressor. Now it was my turn.

She knelt down, head towards the door, backside in the air. The last time I had seen her in this position had been at Jerez El McToomb's palace in Cairo after we had rescued Lynda and little Cleo from Herr Kessler and Hamed and the others. Then her tongue had been licking at my clit while the American, Michelle, had fed Paul's prick into her anus. That had been the first and only time I had made love with Paul and other women at the same time.

I held open her buttocks and looked down at her anus. Tight, wrinkled and light brown. I could understand Paul's fascination with them. But now I was after something else. I pulled the lips of her fanny apart and gazed at the moist pink flesh I had exposed. Her thighs twitched. I placed the rounded end of the stump between her open lips and worked it slowly in and out.

She groaned as it penetrated her. Her buttocks clenching and relaxing as I moved it in and out. She threw back her head and gasped as I released her fanny lips and sought her clit with my fingertip. I found it, pea shaped and sized. I rubbed it. Faster. Suddenly conscious that I may not have much time. That a customer could come into the bar at any moment.

Lynda moaned and gasped then swore.

"Oh yes. Fucking yes."

I rubbed faster, still working the stump in and out of her. For a few seconds she stopped breathing, then she tensed, then she relaxed with a sigh.

I placed one hand on her buttocks as I pulled the stump from her hole. Her fanny lips came with it at first, as if reluctant to let it go, then it was out. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed, breathing in her smells. I had always thought it disgusting of Paul when he would sniff his fingers after he had fingered me. I could understand him now.

I replaced the stump on the shelf as Lynda pulled up her jeans and panties. We stood facing each other and smiled.

"Jenny? Lynda?" Paul's mother's voice came from outside the door.

"Oh fuck." I thought.

"Oh fuck." Lynda said.

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