Autumn Flowers

I'd told myself beforehand that there was to be no shouting, no yells of 'Yes! Yes!' or anything else. Well I didn't know what the neighbours could hear, and what they might think - I didn't want to embarrass Peter. I'd kept relatively quiet, but couldn't stop a long and quite loud sigh after the climax. It had been a beautiful experience, and I told Peter so.

'I don't know how long it is since you did that to any lucky woman, but even if it was only last week you've obviously been wasted,' I told him.

'You are a very rewarding subject, lovely in every detail,' was his response.

'Now you must let me be the giver, and hope that I can come near giving as much to you as I've just received.'

'I'd love that, but not in the way it seems more often than not it's done.'

'How's that?'

'Man standing, woman kneeling. Only appropriate in sub/dom relationships, and this is not going to be one of them.'

'Pity: I was hoping you might warm my bottom with a few good slaps.'

'Not the same at all!' I couldn't see his face, but I heard the grin in his voice. 'Now, if I lay on my back, you kneel and straddle me facing my feet, then you should be able to....'

I followed instructions to the letter. I wasn't looking at his feet, I was gazing at what happened where the tops of his thighs met. It all looked very well-designed to me - not the sort of jumble of bits and pieces, each of which lacked distinction. The principal attraction lay centre stage, slightly softened during our post-orgasmic dialogue. It was straight, symmetrically placed, and of unremarkable size. My experience was seriously limited, but to me it looked neither disappointingly small nor worryingly large, and fit for several purposes, one of which I was about to try. Aesthetically it couldn't be bettered: the circumcised head was a nice size and shape, and the gonads nestled neatly in their pouch.

I took Peter's cock into my warm and slippery mouth, and very soon enjoyed the feel of it hardening. For the next few minutes my tongue and lips were busy; I licked and I sucked and my fingers held the base and gently pumped. Pump and suck - repeated - seemed like a successful recipe, and during my fellating I was treated to some classy finger-work around the tight little orifice which was centre view for my lover. I suspect he was well aware of this opportunity when getting me in this position. My horniness rating had climbed to dizzying heights, and I asked Peter if he could possibly see his way to inserting his sword in my sheath? He generously replied that he thought that would be possible, how would I like to receive it?

'On my knees,' I replied, 'I'd like it driven in as far as it will go and then a bit further. Split me, open me up and test the limits of my deliciously well-lubricated sheath as many times as you can manage.'

By the time I'd got all that out he'd extracted himself and I'd raised myself on my knees and elbows. I felt sure that he'd taken a liking to the curves and lines of my bottom, and of the secrets of the cleft between the buttocks, so he was enthusiastic to meet my request.

I could not remember ever wanting to feel penetrated with more urgency. The moment his cock entered produced a mixture of relief and greed. For weeks I had wanted to be joined to this man, and now I wanted more, I wanted it all. Somehow he sensed this and contrived to combine tenderness with energy. For his age he managed more vigour than I would have thought possible, producing that wonderfully erotic sound of thighs slapping buttocks. At the same time his hands were stroking all accessible parts of me with such gently sensuous touch that I felt a weakness in my knees that would have caused collapse if I'd been standing. I was vaguely wondering - the brain doesn't function in straight lines in these circumstances - whether we were going to reach a finale together.

Then the shock; it hit the right buttock first, but I'd only just registered the stinging sensation before it landed on the other side. These were not just playful taps; they were resounding thwacks. All kinds of sensation resulted: the walls of my channel, so industriously explored by Peter's cock, gripped the visitor in a muscular spasm, repeated a dozen times; and my vulva was flooded as I realised that he'd managed to get a thumb in to apply pressure to the nub of my ecstasy. At about pulse number three of the vaginal contractions the cock seemed to push its way in all directions as it erupted and Peter let out a soft wail of pleasure, relief and exhaustion, before wrapping his arms around me and resting his head between my shoulder blades. This second orgasm was quite different from the first, equally intense but seeming to involve my whole body, on fire, unquenchable until the spasms stopped and Peter's handsome cock began to soften and slide away, and we rolled over, still locked together in the spoons position.

*

It was past one o'clock and I needed to get to the Gardens by two. Peter said he'd take me, and do some gardening while I tried to be useful to Joan. Our journey was a quiet one. If I'd been a cow I would have been chewing the cud, ruminating. I'd told Peter that our meeting of bodies was liberating; I thanked him for being the liberator, but warned him that I might become insatiable now that I had visited the Garden of Eden and tasted its delicious fruit. He laughed , and said I had taken ten years off his life, but I wasn't sure if he meant that he felt ten years younger, or that I had shortened his life by a decade.

When we were both finished work we went and sat in the car in the car park. I wanted to kiss him, but realised that we were still in quite a public place.

'It's been a bit difficult this afternoon,' I said, 'I couldn't get this morning out of my mind. I just loved what we did and I recognised that it was what I had really wanted, and yet I couldn't see where it might lead. I don't have us down as 'man and mistress', which would anyway defeat all the reasons for wanting to fracture my shell, but just the occasional fuck when the coast is clear is not my idea of a fulfilling arrangement. I don't know about you, but I suspect that you might feel the same way?'

'I do. I had been thinking about it - before and after - and I would suggest that we wait until there is a chance to go away together for a night or two, to find something that you would really enjoy. It could be music or theatre, opera, ballet or wild countryside, mountain or sea. Does Jeff ever go away with his golfing cronies?

'Yes, he does. Next year they're going to Portugal in April, but that seems an awful long time to wait.' I thought for a moment and then suggested, '...there is a possibility that we could join Joan and Michael on one of their trips. I doubt if Jeff would raise any objections. I think they are going to London just after Christmas. How would you feel about doing something like that?'

'Well if you think that would work I'd be delighted. I've talked to Joan quite a bit recently, and I think she's a really fun, interesting woman, and I've got the impression that Michael would be a good companion. So yes, let's see how they respond to the idea.'

'I'm relieved that we can have some kind of plan for a future. Now we've come this far I couldn't bear to lose you, whether by neglect or choosing the wrong options. If it works perhaps you and I could go away for a few days while Jeff is in Portugal. I'd really like to explore a bit more of the countryside, and with the Peak District only a bit more than an hour away, maybe that would be a good place to go to extend my rural experience a bit.'

'I'd love that. I do know one or two places in the Peaks, but I've never been much of a solitary walker and I suppose that's limited the amount of exploring I've done. I used to walk with one of my former colleagues, but sadly he's developed Parkinson's, and can no longer manage more than a mile or two on the flat.'

'That's an awful thing to have, especially if you've had an active outdoor life. Perhaps It would be a good bit of therapy for you as well as me.'

I so wanted to draw him into my project: I could see that he kept himself busily engaged with the world around and hadn't allowed himself to become a recluse, but from the outside it looked as if he might need a 'break-out' almost as much as me, and if so I'd be very happy to be the jail-breaker - with a little help from some of England's most beautiful landscapes.

I talked with Joan and explained as much as I needed to. She seemed quite excited at the indication that Peter and I had consummated our relationship. Joan has quite a naughty streak in her, and I could sense her imagination working industriously. I hoped her fantasy image was half as exciting as the reality had been for me. Joan was enthusiastic about joining up as a foursome and said she'd talk to Michael and come up with a plan. I was only too glad to let her do the planning - I'd had first-hand experience of her skills as an organiser.

A few nights later I answered the 'phone which rang while Jeff and I were watching 'The Repair Shop'. It was Joan and she'd got some tickets for ballet: The English National Ballet Company performing Giselle at the Coliseum. Covent Garden tickets were on a long waiting list, and anyway she and Michael had decided that at the moment it was over-rated. They'd probably stay at a small hotel in Victoria. She gave me dates about a fortnight ahead. As Michael and Peter were both retired the timing was up to the two of us, she thought. I thanked her and said I would talk to Jeff.

'Who was that?' Jeff asked as I came off the 'phone.

'It was Joan. She's invited us to go to London with Michael and her for a couple of nights.'

'What for?'

'Principally to go to the ballet at the Coliseum.'

''Not my cup of tea I'm afraid. You go if you want to.'

'Are you sure?'

'Of course. Maybe your old gentleman friend would like the other ticket.'

'I could certainly ask him.'

I should probably be ashamed to admit that I enjoyed this little charade...but I'm not. I had, after all, played it straight down the line and given him the chance, even though I was 90% sure he'd turn it down. Besides, I felt justification was unnecessary: the marital game had been played according to his rules for thirty years and just because I'd assented for all that time didn't mean I was committed to go on doing it ad infinitum.

I did ask Peter of course.

We went mid-week when it was easier to arrange cover at the Walled Garden, so we set off for Stafford and our pre-booked parking, then boarded the train for Euston around four thirty. I felt like a school girl, excited and nervous, a feeling I'd been missing for much too long. Lovely Joan had done all the organising with tickets and hotel bookings, and even the first night's eatery near the hotel. I could relax and absorb a sense of liberation.

*

Fast forward now and we're all sitting in the hotel buttery drinking fabulous, decaffeinated coffee and chatting away. Surprisingly, although we were all connected, we didn't know each other that well. I'd met Michael on a few occasions, but not enough to say that I really knew him. Peter had talked a bit with Joan, but only in breaks between garden and tearoom activity, so their friendship was firm but superficial.

Michael was a retired sound engineer and recordist. He'd been freelance for most of his working life, but he was employed by the BBC for a time, early in his career. He had a few tales to tell of the Prima Donna's and Alpha Males he had encountered during his working life, but he also reassured us that many of his clients were really lovely people. He and Peter really hit it off: they shared this air of quiet self-confidence that comes from having done difficult jobs well, learning to suppress their own egos and inspire trust in the people relying on them.

Joan and I stopped them getting too serious. Joan threatened to tell the story of what happened when Michael put his underpants on back-to-front and then...'Yes, all right dear, it wasn't that funny,' Michael intervened quickly.

'Oh I thought it was hilarious' countered Joan, 'especially when that nurse asked you...'

'Yes, all right. She was a very cheeky nurse. Be careful, or I'll spill the beans about how easily you can lose our car.'

Peter and I listened with condescending smiles on our faces. I hoped that he wouldn't recall how I turned up one day with the intention of fucking him and then... well you've heard the story so I won't repeat it.

At about 11 o'clock the consensus was that we should go to bed. Joan had, of course, booked two rooms, and ours was some way from theirs.

As we climbed the two flights of stairs to our room I reflected that in the three weeks since we had affirmed our significant relationship we had only had the one fuck. I was now hoping that we would manage a few more in the next two nights, and being able to wake up beside such a lovable soul would be a privilege. All kinds of erotic images were assembling in my mind. We'd got used to quite spacious rooms in our respective houses, and this was comfortable, but not large - we were in a seventeenth century town house after all, and not in the state rooms.

We stood in the room, having stowed our meagre travelling clothes and case, and embraced, our kiss abandoning politeness for urgency, tongues actively exploring and lip pressing eagerly on lip. I was excited to feel stirrings in the groin, both mine and his. I pulled back after a while.

'I want to take my clothes off,,' I said, 'this room is warm enough to wander round in my birthday suit' and started with my skirt.

'I'm sure you're right. I need to join you.' So saying he began to strip, laying aside his clothes in an orderly pile. 'When I'm done I'll lie on the bed and wait for you to use the shower room.'

'O.K. I won't be long. I'm not smelly and I'll wait 'til the morning to test the shower.' When I'd finished my own strip I stood up, stretched, and admired myself in the full length mirror, then walked, as sexily as I could manage, into the shower room. On a weird instinct I left the door open and sat down and peed. I was in full view of Peter finishing undressing. From this distance I could take in the soft but muscular outline of my lover, and it sent a tiny shiver of excitement and anticipation that started in the vulva and radiated to all points north and south.

I straightened up and wiped myself and stood at the basin to brush my teeth. I must have had my eyes closed and my mind on higher (and lower) things, as I didn't hear anything before a sudden awareness that I was being clasped from behind, and that hands were quietly massaging my tummy, then moving up to support my breasts, and down to slide between my thighs. I leaned back on him. 'I love you Jenny,' he surprised me quietly with unexpected words in my ear. 'I never thought I'd say that to anyone, except perhaps my children, ever again so thank you.'

'Go on, you pee now while I finish with my teeth.' It looked to me as though he was still soft enough to let him urinate, and I was proved right. This openness with our more intimate activities some think will wreck the sense of the mystery they feel is an important element of erotic fascination. Can't see it myself: on the contrary, I think it's a logical element of bonding. What is hidden may be a mystery, but just as likely could be a source of mild xenophobia. Besides, the emergence of a stream of champagne from a well-formed phallus is a pretty sight, as many sculptors have seemingly agreed.

He finished peeing and I'd completed teeth cleaning so he was now at the basin. I thought about doing to him what he'd done to me, but he was more vulnerable so it wasn't equitable: and he might have damaged a tooth with his heavy duty electric toothbrush.

I retired to the bed to wait impatiently for my 70 year old stud to join me. I adopted as provocative a pose as I could think of. I started with the chimpanzee model; elevated bum pointed almost at the doorway to the shower room. This seemed a bit tarty, so I just lay on my tummy along the bed, smiling head turned towards the door. He walked round the bed and climbed on behind me. His right hand now caressed my bottom more sensually than any touch had ever managed before.

I wriggled a bit, then grabbed a pillow which I pushed under my right thigh, which I had raised up level with my waist, raising a knee so that vulva and the sphincter at the other end of the perineum were exposed. He got the message.

'I'm looking at your buttocks, your anus and your pussy, all staring at me, and I can't give them all attention at once, as I only have two hands. I need instruction please.'

'I'd like you to knead my buttocks first, then fondle my pussy lips, and join in with a bit of a feel-up of the sphincter. You'll find some lube on the bedside table should you need it. After a lot of that I intend to use hand, lips and tongue on your beautiful stem. Finally I want your cock firmly embedded in my cunt prior to giving me a good fucking, hard or gentle as the mood takes you. In this position I'm hoping that your free hand will reach round and excite the three love buttons, which will certainly be waiting to attention.'

'Thank you madam. Such clear and exciting instructions will spur me to my best performance.'

I realised that at our first coupling he had really taken the lead, and he was now inviting me to call the shots. Great! Some time I would invite him to take me hanging from the door architrave or underwater or in the grass or up against a tree, but for now this was just what I wanted.

And it was what I got: the tension and the sensations grew in intensity as he started with a robust squeezing of my buttocks, scratching, pinching and slapping them just hard enough to register; then he moved on to my pussy, gently caressing the labia with the help of his own saliva as lubricant (not really needed), while his other hand made circular movement around the sphincter. This is all very conventional you're thinking. Maybe, but when you have got past your fiftieth birthday without ever experiencing such tender, skilful and arousing touch, it's a revelation. I melted, feeling lazy until I remembered the handsome stem, out of sight but definitely not out of lustful thoughts. I reached round and found it was as sturdy and firm as I could wish for: hard core with soft and silky sheathing. He was lying on his side, so I wriggled around a bit then flung one arm round him and squirmed the other arm between his thighs. With him now trapped and all my sensitive bits in close contact I whispered in his ear that I loved him and wanted to feel his cock in my cunt doing intrepid things.

When Peter had responded to my polite request and got his cock right up where I wanted it I told him 'now fuck me, as brutally as you like.' He remembered my earlier instruction as well, and wrapped one arm round to massage my tits. After several vigorous thrusts he got his other hand down to clitty massage, starting gently and gradually building the pressure of his circling fingers. The next move was a triumph, as it entailed getting the lube of the bedside table and transferring some of its contents to a couple of fingers of the hand that had been at work on nipples. I had left the top off the lube tube. I soon felt that I was being explored anally, and the exploration became a welcome incursion.

Impaled anterior and posterior, and approaching to my third clitoral orgasm, I had risen to such heights of sensual pleasure that it seemed almost certain I would touch heaven. I'm not sure how many orgasms I managed before Peter seemed as if he might reach his own climax, and I made one last move to pressure the fingers manipulating my clitoris, trying to induce myself to come at the same time. It worked, as Peter's unbending cock reached a finale of piston strokes and we simultaneously issued quiet little yelps followed by long sighs. It was what you might call a designer fuck, and it was executed perfectly. We fell into a comfortable embrace before sleep overtook us.