A Glass of Chablis Ch. 06

And that indeed came to pass.

George had been so kind letting Nick stay the night with her, had seemed anything but petulant in the morning about what he must have heard from her room – the bed had certainly creaked.

Ivy did not understand that George Crombie was a realist. Ivy had come to him unexpectedly and that had been more than good, but he knew it neither could, nor would in any way last. He had seen her as that creeping plant climbing up him – yes indeed, curling its tendrils around his manhood – but he had seen the danger of him being smothered by her, becoming obsessed with the young girl, choked with bitterness at her leaving. Instead he had accepted the pleasure she brought him, rejoiced in their friendship – indeed seen her more as a niece or great niece than a lover, notwithstanding the sex. He would unwind the tendrils, would be the good gardener and keep himself free of such entanglement. And if once in a while a tendril of Ivy came creeping around his erect penis, well he would not brush that away too quickly!

And that was how it was. Ivy did indeed move out and go and live with Nick. But sometimes she would come back – for a visit – and sometimes even stay the night. Dutiful great niece? Well, yes... and a bit more.

Had one peeked through the curtains on an autumnal or winter's evening one would have seen George Crombie sitting in his favourite armchair, naked apart from his dressing gown, and that open down his body, a glass of chilled Chablis on the small table beside him. Not an unusual position for him or an unusual dress. One of the advantages of living alone was that he could dress as he pleased, could 'wank' as and when he felt the need for pleasure and release. His habit, though, rather to do such things in the evening than the day, though in the summer he sometimes sat with the sun streaming in through his back window and basked his erection in the hot sunshine as he read.

Normally alone, but not always. Far from it. Peeking through the gap in the curtains one might have found Ivy there too, tending to him; that was very much how it was – 'tending' to him. She was very good to him.

Perhaps one evening Ivy sitting beside him on the arm of his chair. Her soft hand making him hard once more and soon leaking; his exposed knob a little wet as she made slow long strokes. The moving of his foreskin over his glans so pleasurable. There was no hurry, no hurry at all. Ivy had said, 'let me do it,' and she very much was. A sip of wine, cool and bright on the palate and George closed his eyes, feeling Ivy's hand upon his penis and listening to her voice as she read, drifting into a wonderful sexual journey. With his other hand his fingers found her open wet place. George was pleased her arousal had come and he moved his fingers freely upon wet skin both where it became wet and where it had run out onto the soft flesh of her open thighs.

Both reading and telling him about sex, her sex with Nick. What they did, what they had done. A lovely telling of a walk in the country and secret hedgerow sex. The couple rolling in the open field, in a soft, dry, grassy bed between crop and hedge; delightfully hidden away so only the skylark saw their naked flesh and their joining.

Raising his hand to his lips he tasted her arousal. Looking up he saw Ivy bringing her fingers to her lips licking at the moisture that had leaked from him onto her fingers, bending down she kissed him on the lips and there on his palate he could taste both Chablis and Ivy and, indeed, the saltiness of his own precum. The tastes of sex and Chablis – for the connoisseur!

So good to be edged and for Ivy to stop, for her to edge him again and stop. A feeling so good and then came the time when Ivy did not stop, and George did not want her to stop, indeed she must not stop! Faster and faster she stroked and then the moment was there, and his pleasure flowed from his cock. He did not care where it landed as for that little time he was in another place.

Ivy smiled and looked down at her fingers, sticky with the old man's ejaculation. "Was that good, George?"

It was indeed; it most certainly was.