A Woman Renewed

Can newly-widowed Amelia fix her problems by getting a man in?

1. The Widow

Amelia Danvers-Smith was a happy woman. Sufficient time had elapsed since the passing of her workaholic husband that she could finally shed the cloak of bereavement and the not-inconsiderable responsibilities of closing down his business affairs, which were wider-ranging than he had ever deigned to let on. In fact, her early estimates of the value of his estate, which was all coming to her, were nearly an order of magnitude below the reality. In short, she had been left an extremely wealthy widow.

It had taken her some while to get used to the idea of simply 'getting someone in' to do whatever needed to be done -- mundane chores, redecorating, maintenance of her large house, garden, and car, etc. And browsing luxury cruise brochures had now become one of her primary obsessions. However, something else was fast becoming a more pressing requirement, and Amelia was currently at a loss regarding its resolution.

Making love with her husband had been a reasonably regular, if not spectacularly exciting, event. Such activity was now, of course, off the domestic agenda. One thing Amelia definitely did not want, was to start any new relationships -- she had got her house round, and life outside organised to near perfection. In view of her financial situation, she needed to beware fortune-hunters, and neither was she swayed by the idea of suitors offering her more wealth and security. All a conundrum to be solved, because what she really missed was, to put not too fine a point on it, sex.

On one of numerous shopping trips to London, she had bought up half a sex-shop, or so it seemed. Back at home, she soon discovered that the expensive so-called sex-aids were no more than over-priced, mass-produced rubber or plastic moulds, or vibrating devices which offered nothing more than would the body of her own electric toothbrush. There was no interaction, eroticism, surprise behaviour, conversational foreplay... any or all of which relied on a human partner.

On the principle that she could afford to 'get a man in', she fancifully perused the small ads in the regional free newspaper, the back pages of 'Country Life Magazine' and her local parish gossip monthly publication. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing remotely fitting the bill. But everything is available on-line, or so she had been told, so as a final resort, she turned to the Internet, that modern-day Cupid, to fix up her sex life.

2. The Man with a Van

Amelia was apprehensive. Had she been over-confident that this new venture would be nothing more than a purchase, liable to prove good value, or otherwise, and of no significant consequence either way? Years of being the sub-dominant partner in her marriage had suppressed any assertiveness in her nature, and now she was nervous like a teenage girl awaiting the arrival of her first date.

The World-Wide-Web had duly delivered a result, and one claiming relevance for all Hertfordshire, which is a big county. "Ladies, a certain age? Stuck at home?" the blurb had said. "Why should the young have all the fun? Be pampered. Be spoilt. Let us cater for your every whim. And we mean 'every'. Punctuality, courtesy, discretion, and above all, satisfaction, absolutely guaranteed. For a tailored personal therapy package, ring 'All Yours' for more details..."

She had rung. The woman who answered the phone explained the operation of the agency, the booking procedures and the tariffs. There was no explicit reference to sexual services, nor were terms like escort or gigolo mentioned. But serious callers could be left in no doubt what was actually on offer. Amelia was taken aback by the prices -- it seemed to her less expensive seeing a Harley Street consultant. But maybe the high charges were a reflection of the exacting standards demanded by a select clientele. And Amelia could afford it.

The first guaranteed attribute was about to be tested -- punctuality. Time was almost due for Amelia's visiting operative. "Oh no," she exclaimed to herself, spotting a white van pulling into her drive and stopping outside the front door. She hurriedly checked the calendar which hung in her kitchen. No other appointments were recorded for this day. Maybe the driver had got the wrong address. She needed to get rid of him before the 'All Yours' man arrived. In a fluster, and aware that she had dressed rather more provocatively than would be normal for a Tuesday afternoon at home, she answered the door. "Are you sure you've got the right..." she began.

"Hello. Mrs Danvers-Smith? All Yours," the man announced.

"Ah..." Amelia was stopped in her tracks.

The man, observing that she was looking quizzically at him, and his van, explained. "The van? It's a little subterfuge we use. Just in case a client has a nosy neighbour. Gives the appearance of a routine service call."

"Oh, OK. Very thoughtful. Good idea... er... please come in."

The man deposited his hold-all in the hallway. Amelia wondered what might be in it, should it be anything other than just an additional prop for his workman disguise. They went through to the lounge.

"Would you like a coffee? Something stronger, maybe?" she suggested.

"It would be a delight sharing coffee with you, Mrs Danvers-Smith. Strong, black, no sugar, if you wouldn't mind." He was a model of good manners -- unusual for a man of his years -- about thirty, Amelia guessed. Tall, with long wavy fair hair, clean-shaven and with unblemished complexion, he gave the impression he spent hours at the gym, but at the same time had a slightly effeminate side. She wondered if he was bi-sexual, but was not going to ask. "Have yourself a gin and tonic or something, by all means, Mrs Danvers-Smith. In which case I'll join you, but just a tonic for me. No alcohol if I'm going to be..."

"Fucking?" Amelia finished off his sentence, clumsily attempting to break the ice.

"Er... driving."

For the first time in years, Amelia found herself blushing.

3. The Woman of Substance

"OK. Um... I may as well confess, this is the first time I've..."

"Banish all concerns from your mind, madam," the man reassured her, aware of her unease. "This day is yours. My services are yours. If you wish me to lead, I lead... If you wish to drive, well, that's fine too. My name is André."

"Oh, well hello André, I'm Amelia."

"What a beautiful name. And it suits you so well. Like Amelia Earhart, the aviatrix -- a woman of substance, grit and high achievement."

Amelia had not thought about her name in those terms, but enjoyed the cocktail of gin and charm offensive. "So... André, how do we begin?"

"May I suggest, madam, and as always the choice is yours, that lovely as Amelia is, I continue to address you as madam, or Mrs Danvers-Smith?" André could see bemusement in Amelia's face. "Yes, it may for the moment seem strange, but maintaining formality in the mistress/servant dynamic, which is what in essence we have, adds a certain piquancy to the occasion. The liaison we thus contemplate is then one forbidden by social convention. And doing forbidden things is so much... much... more enjoyable. Being on first-name terms always carries that burden of on-going mutual regard. Detaching ourselves from that constraint fosters an 'anything goes' relationship, with no lasting recriminations."

Amelia was coming to realise there was definitely more to this game than a quick fumble between the sheets. But she was a bright woman, and readily grasped the gist of his proposition, nodding her approval. "I do see what you mean, er... André. Like, no one batted an eyelid at the thought of Lady Chatterley sleeping with her husband, but the whole world got hot and bothered when she seduced her gardener."

"Exactly. Oh my God, Mrs Danvers-Smith, how succinctly put. Madam is so perceptive -- a rare find indeed. And a lady who is both attractive and intelligent invariably harbours deep desires -- it would indeed be a criminal act if they were not satiated. Mrs Danvers-Smith, I propose we decamp without delay to a more intimate setting. Madam's boudoir perhaps? There are so many exciting avenues to be explored before these precious moments are lost."

"Well," thought Amelia, "if his shagging technique is half as good as his play-acting, I'm on to a good thing."

4. The Woman of Pleasure

"Ah, splendid. A full-length mirror." André seemed to consider it a big deal, though Amelia was yet to appreciate the significance. "Would Mrs Danvers-Smith care to confront the glass?" he asked. "Obviously, something madam does regularly, the motive being to check one's appearance is acceptably neat and tidy. In other words, how one looks to oneself.

"Consider, however, how madam appears to a red-blooded male. He looks not for a frayed hem, a crease, an uneven gather, nor a mismatched colour or style. He sees the neckline of your dress, against a graceful neck, and smooth bare, feminine arms. He thinks 'how I would love to hold those arms, kiss that neck, cause an involuntarily tilting of the head, even invoke a sigh, maybe'. Keep focussed on the mirror, Mrs Danvers-Smith, and lock in that image of your desirability."

She did what she was told, happily mesmerised by his stage direction. And approaching her from behind, he demonstrated exactly what he had described. And she sighed, accordingly.

"But, Mrs Danvers-Smith, that is just the beginning," André continued. "Our red-blooded friend has admired how the dress hugs madam's figure and falls off the hips. He wants to hold that waist, then run his hands lovingly over those hips. Hips he has noticed sway so sensuously when madam walks. He wants to caress madam's thighs softly, by lifting the dress and smoothing it back down. Are you getting the image, Mrs Danvers-Smith? Let me demonstrate."

Amelia was indeed 'getting the image', and more besides, duly swaying her hips so her bum ground gently into his lower-middle. She continued to stare into the mirror, as if watching the latest movie blockbuster. She found herself willing his hands to come even closer to the moistening area inside her panties. But they continued to brush tantalisingly over her thighs, her tummy, and her breasts, while his lips caressed her neck and shoulders.

André deftly released the three hooks which secured the back of Amelia's sleeveless dress, allowing it to cascade to the bedroom floor. "Oh my goodness!" he exclaimed, causing an alarmed Amelia to suspect something was wrong. "A pure silk designer bra slip by Lucile. Mrs Danvers-Smith, I knew madam was a woman of impeccable taste, but this is the ultimate in lingerie. If I get to be re-incarnated, I would choose to be this item in madam's top drawer, begging all my lifetime to cling lovingly to madam's exquisite contours."

Amelia began to wonder exactly what the 'All Yours' man was on. But whatever it was, she had no wish for its effects to wear off. She watched as he then ran fingers down underneath each delicate shoulder strap, flicking the undersides of her boobs in a well-practiced manoeuvre. Then, a slight variation as the straps fell off each shoulder, and large, immaculately manicured hands took over where the bra-cups had left off. She watched attentively as he squeezed and fondled, and each nipple hardened as he played them between thumb and forefinger.

The slip joined the dress on the floor, somewhat ignominiously considering what it cost, leaving matching silk and lace briefs as her last bastion of modesty. "Would Mrs Danvers-Smith care to recline? Perhaps a pillow in the small of madam's back for support -- often a godsend for ladies in their prime of life."

Amelia would have been too proud to admit that her body was not as supple as it used to be, and breaking up the flow of things by asking for an extra pillow would have been just so unsexy, and too embarrassing to contemplate. But André, besides being amazingly au fait with designer ladies wear, seemed to have an instinctive empathy for his client, this woman who was old enough to be his mother.

He knelt at her side, and beginning with her feet, kissed and caressed every part of her body, searching out every last erogenous zone which had not already been exploited. Finally, he raised her knees, allowing access to the backs and insides of her thighs, and attended to those crevices between leg and mons pubis. She tried in vain to suppress a deep, rather unladylike moan. She was acutely aware of her panties, which were beyond damp, but still in place. Glancing downwards, she also noticed several awkward pubic hairs which had managed, like they always do, and particularly when one is parading in a swimming costume, to escape the confines of the crotch. Though not an issue for the consummate professional that André was.

"Mrs Danvers-Smith," he said, "Madam's superb body is truly a fine temple, as they say. But a temple without worshippers is a travesty. If madam would allow me..." but even before he finished the sentence, Amelia had raised her hips, allowing him to slide down the knickers and discard them onto the growing pile of laundry on the floor. He repositioned her knees, then set about delivering a masterclass in cunnilingus.

5. The New Woman

This was what it was all about, thought Amelia. Someone who really knew what they were doing. And doing it to her! Apart from the obvious sexual stimulation, she was beginning to enjoy the role of a woman in control -- someone who could call the shots.

Having been reminded in triplicate what female sexual ecstasy felt like, she spoke out. "André."

"Madam?"

"Do one's shorts ever get to come off?"

"But of course -- perhaps madam would care to..."

Madam did care to, and relieved him of the said undergarment, carefully trying not to emulate the drunken exhuberance of a hen party confronting a male stripper. She ran a pretty forefinger along the considerable length of what she had found, precipitating development, via a series of spasmodic twitches, to a state of semi-erection.

"Something male which actually does what it's told," Amelia murmured happily. And as if to celebrate, she coaxed it to full arousal using pouted lips and some tongue-tip exercises of her own. But there was no way she, or anyone, was going to be deep-throating that girth and length -- one would surely choke in the process. However, she was more than happy to feel it inside her, in the sleeve that nature intended for it.

Such depth of penetration was new territory for Amelia, and after one last inevitable climax, she began to become concerned about her lover's stamina. "André."

"Yes, madam?" There was a hint of urgency in his voice.

"You're not going to shoot inside me, are you?"

"If madam would prefer not... I, er..." There were signs that André was human after all. She gently forced him away, and he withdrew, trying not to show his disappointment.

With new-found self-assurance and a mischievous smile, she pushed out her breasts, and took hold of his vulnerable testicles. "On madam's tits, if you would, André... there's a good boy."

And right on cue, a considerable quantity of hot white semen spewed and spurted onto the delighted woman's smooth flesh, as she carefully engineered another g-spot climax of her own.

6. The Woman Next Door

It was a pleasant July day in leafy Hertfordshire. Amelia decided to walk down to the tennis club, where she could sit, have a cup of tea, chat, and maybe play a set or two. Closing her gate behind her, she was intercepted by her neighbour. They frequently passed the time of day with each other, usually discussing matters concerning their valuable properties and the various public services which were or were not being provided satisfactorily.

"Did you have some trouble with your plumbing, yesterday?" Mrs Jones asked.

"Sorry?" Amelia replied, taken slightly off-guard.

"The white van, dear. I noticed him coming and going."

Amelia latched on quickly, silently thanking André for his act of discretion. "Oh that, yes. Had a little blockage. All sorted."

"Good," replied Mrs Jones. "It's so difficult getting reliable tradesmen these days."

"Actually," Amelia added as an afterthought, "I'm not entirely sure the problem is completely fixed. I may have to have him in again..."

End