Dawn In The Dark Ch. 03

Edinburgh is an extraordinary city – even in the rain – and the four days we were there weren't really enough to do it full justice. We stayed at the Ballantrae Albany Hotel (which was excellent!) and, during the day, we did the usual tourist stuff: We climbed the 287 steps to the top of the Sir Walter Scott monument (it was my idea, but I was the one who was gasping for breath by the time we got there!) and we have a certificate to say that we did. Naturally, we went to the castle, spent ages exploring and watched the firing of the gun at 1 pm.

On another day, there was a trip to the Camera Obscurer (only five storeys of stairs this time!) and the exhibition of optical illusions was one of the most fascinating things we'd ever seen.

The nightlife was really good – loads of pubs, clubs and restaurants – and we were pretty well 'fed and watered' every night.

Which leaves the time we spent in our bedroom.

If you've read the first two parts of this story you'll know that we had a growing problem over the issue of introducing fantasies into lovemaking. Harry had been directed to the 'Loving Wives' section of Literotica by his business partner, Morton, and Morton's fiancée. In particular, it seemed as if he was beginning to become a little too enthralled by the stories of cheating wives, wife sharers and the so-called 'swinging.' I was not the least bit happy with this development.

I'd challenged him about it while we'd been driving north on the M6, but he was reluctant to talk, claiming that he needed to concentrate on his driving; but I was determined to find out why, the previous night he'd decided to imagine that the blow job I was giving him was actually being given to the taxi driver who'd brought us home.

It wasn't until we'd left the motorway and were on the 'A' roads that he finally gave in and tried to explain what it was all about. It was obviously difficult to voice his thoughts, so I was as patient as I could be, just encouraging him to talk rather than giving him the third degree. I won't try to repeat the entire conversation – a lot of it covered the same ground several times – but I'll try to summarise as best I can.

Firstly, he insisted that he didn't want to see me having any kind of sexual relationship with another man. He insisted that he would be intensely jealous if anything like that happened and the guy would probably end up in the foundations of something he was building.

Secondly, he didn't want to be with any other woman. He couldn't help looking when an attractive female was in the immediate vicinity but, as he said, many females dressed to attract male attention.

Thirdly, the stories he'd read had turned him on. He couldn't deny that. He'd never been a great reader, but those stories had captured his imagination and it had been his hope that I'd respond in a similar way and that – together – we could indulge in a bit of fantasy role play. That was all it would ever be, he'd insisted.

"So... basically," I asked, "You want me to be a saint outside the house, an angel in the kitchen... and a slut in the bedroom? Is that right?"

"You mean you aren't?" he grinned, unable to resist the opportunity. Then he yelped at the thump he received on the side of his thigh.

That first night, we were tired from the travelling and unpacking, from the lateness and excitement of the previous night (my legs still ached a bit from kneeling on the stairs!) and from the dinner in the hotel's signature restaurant. When we went to bed, we kissed and we cuddled and we fell fast asleep. We made up for it in the morning.

I was awake quite early (bloody sunshine!), but I did my best to shelter my eyes beneath the covers for a while – at least until Harry sneaked his arm around me from behind and I realised that he was also awake. I gave a little moan about being disturbed, but I moaned louder and was disturbed far more when the hand steadily crossed my stomach and came to rest on my breast. I was torn between wanting my 'ten minutes more' and the tingling feeling that his touch produced but, by the time his fingers closed on my nipple and found it treacherously receptive, it was no contest.

My moan quickly turned to a purr of contentment as his fingers played and teased; sometimes no more than a feather-light brushing of flesh on flesh, then a gentle squeeze between forefinger and thumb. I felt him move in close behind me and, as his lips pressed warmly onto the nape of my neck, I could also feel a very solid erection pressing against my thighs.

First thing in the morning, the 'spoons' position is definitely my favoured option, as Harry well knew and frequently took advantage of, so my 'resistance' (not the right word, really) was always pretty much guaranteed to be non-existent. In his cruder moments, Harry called the position a 'lazy fuck,' because it required very little effort from either of us.

His kisses were now spreading across my shoulders – delightfully – because that is definitely one of my erogenous zones and then he was nibbling at my earlobe (another one!), obviously enjoying the effect he was having on me. And then I heard his breathy whisper saying; "I love you more than you'll ever know, Dawn," and I virtually melted into the mattress.

His long left arm edged its way gently past my neck, reached my other breast, and began to fondle me slowly and gently. Both of my breasts and nipples were now receiving the kind of attention they most appreciated but, before long, his right hand was retracing its path down across my stomach and his extended fingers brushed through my pubic hair in search of the damp warmth that they guarded.

There have been times when I've clamped my thighs together at that point, trying to make him pay more attention to the upper portion of my body – but this wasn't one of those times. Without any hesitation, I eased my legs apart to give him all the access he desired.

He had no problem finding what he wanted; I was already wet with arousal and his first touch made me groan with pleasure. He ran the tip of his middle finger up the full length of my lubricous outer lips, making my legs twitch as if I was beginning to get cramp and then, pressing slightly to flick it lightly across the small bud of my clitoris – which almost made me squeal – he eased it past the inner folds of flesh and very slowly pushed it into the depths of my body.

It felt so enjoyable that I had to bury my face in the pillow – otherwise, I think I would have yelled loud enough to wake not just the hotel but the whole of Albany Street! As he worked his finger back and forth, I knew that I was very close to a shattering climax, but I didn't want it be with his fingers – I wanted the real the real thing. That was when I hooked my leg back over his legs – the signal he was so used to that told him I wanted him inside me (and I said Harry wasn't a patient lover!) and he was more than ready to accede to my needs.

He left his finger against my lips, using it to guide his erection into position. The first attempt was just a little too hasty and the tip merely slid across the lubrication, but the second attempt was perfect. The bulbous head parted the entrance with ease and then the whole length buried itself in me, giving me that inexplicable feeling of fullness that I'd always loved so much.

This time, he didn't even need to thrust; as soon as he was fully enclosed in me and his hand returned to squeeze my breast, I came! It was just as well that my face was sunk into the pillow because I shrieked helplessly with the sheer rapture of it. Albany Street? I'd have woken the whole of Edinburgh! Harry remained still while this was happening, pressed as far into me as he could reach for what seemed eternity although it was probably far less than a minute and then, as my spasms died away, he began to pound against me.

I gently placed my legs together, trying to squeeze him because I was afraid that my climax had made me so wet that it might reduce the feeling and I desperately wanted to give him the same pleasure he'd given me. Not surprisingly, perhaps, that didn't take long. The squelching noises, and the slaps as flesh met flesh, grew louder and faster until, with a huge groan, he injected gushing streams of warm fluid into my eagerly absorbing insides.

We stayed just as we were until he eventually softened enough that I couldn't hold him in place any longer and then, like a couple of synchronised swimmers, we both turned onto our backs with deep, contented sighs. Turning my head towards him, I tried my best innocent look as I said;

"Thank you. That was very nice. Errm... what did you say your name was again?"

"Ohhh... you wicked woman!" he declared, turning to me and grabbing my waist. "So... you want to take the piss out of my perverted fantasies, do you?" And this time I did shriek as he tickled me.

That day started well and got better as it went on and, while we were in Edinburgh, we made love at least once every night and started the days off in similar fashion. It was only on the final night that any further mention was made on the subject of fantasies.

It was started by a news item we saw on the TV in the bar. It seems that a couple had decided to adopt the so-called 'swinging' lifestyle, but the husband had been humiliated when he found that none of the other wives in their 'circle' was even slightly interested in him. Meanwhile, his wife had proved to be enormously popular. It had ended in an argument that turned into a rowdy fight; the police were called, two people were seriously injured and the couple were now 'estranged.' It was one of those items where the newsreader struggled to keep a straight face and, when they showed pictures of a quite glamorous middle-aged wife and her less-than-handsome husband (I'm being generous), I found it difficult not to laugh as well.

I don't know who mentioned it first when we went to bed, but I know I ended up teasing Harry about it – telling him that if he'd ever wondered what 'swingers' really looked like – now he knew.

"Okay...okay!" he laughed "and they were probably writing stories for Literotica as well!"

"Probably!" I laughed, "And I bet he described himself as someone who's never had trouble getting any action because he was tall and handsome... with a 10" cock as thick as a wrist." And we both laughed together and added to the descriptions of the couple with the kind of phrases so often used on that site. Then Harry became a bit more serious.

"Okay, Hon... so, if you were writing a story about us," he asked, "How would you describe me?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes...seriously."

"Do you mean as a person? Or are we just talking about physical appearance?"

"Physically."

"Errm... okay," I began uncertainly, "Well... I'd have to start with your height. Then... I'd mention your blonde hair and... let me think a moment. Yes... I'd say you had eyes as blue as a clear, mountain pool... that my heart told me to dive into as soon as I saw them."

"Oooh! Very literary!" he teased "So far so good... carry on."

"Well... I remember hearing an old song on the radio the other day and there was a line in it that went something like 'kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip.' I think I'd have to steal that one. Oh... and I'd have to mention that you were strong... that you were a lot smarter than you pretended to be... and... errm... that you have a lovely big cock!" I laughed to hide my blushes, but he said;

"I think I'm pretty average in that department, Hon."

"Really? Well if you think that's 'average,' I definitely don't want to be confronted with one you'd call large!"

"Right! You're saying that now...." He laughed.

"Okay, smartarse!" I said, "Now it's your turn. How would you describe me? Oh... and keep it serious. Any mention of saggy boobs or an arse the size of Africa and you'll be waking up in a hospital bed!"

"Fair enough!" he laughed, "I'm not that good with words, so don't jump down my throat if I say it wrong. Okay?" I nodded and he went on;

"Well, like you did to me, I'll start with your hair. As far as I remember, it's naturally a pale, brownish colour," and he paused to grin at me, "But it was blonde in our wedding photos... and now it's a dark brown."

All of which was true, I do like to change the colour from time to time.

"Anyway... its beautiful hair," he went on, "It feels really thick, the kind I love to run my fingers through... and I love the way you're just able to run a brush through it and it seems to fall into place. I also love the fact that you let it grow long... it seems more feminine somehow.

"You have a pretty face, Hon... I think I'd call it 'sweet.' And those dark green eyes of yours... wow! D'you know what? Sometimes it can really turn me one just to look into your eyes. Mind you, you're so small that I can't do that too often!"

Fair enough, he made me giggle and I said; "Okay... so far I'm a shortarse with long, dyed hair and a sweet face. Cut to the chase, Harry!"

"Alright... you have a small, but very neat bust; your waist is narrow and your stomach's flat – but we might do something to change that before too long." My heart seemed to miss a beat. Did he mean what I thought? Was he hinting about starting a family? "Your arse is definitely not the size of Africa!" he went on, "You have quite narrow hips and a very pert little bum. Your legs are longer than they've any right to be on such a small frame... and they're nicely shaped. Oh... and they're always lovely and smooth... but I wish you'd get your own razors to keep them that way instead of nicking mine! How will that do?"

"I think you're a flatterer, Mr Wilson," I smiled, "But I love you for it."

"I've only said what I see," he replied, "and I think you underestimate your looks Mrs Wilson."

"Ooh... you charmer," I cooed, "You'll do for me!" and I gave him a gentle kiss on his neck.

"Anyway... I can give you an absolute guarantee that I don't ever want to share you with anyone," he said gravely.

"Good!" I said, "Because it's never going to happen and...."

"To be honest," he went on, "when I see other blokes eyeing you up, it doesn't turn me on like those men in the stories. It just makes me feel really proud that you're mine, and that I'm the one you chose... and I'm the one with exclusive rights to you."

"You make me sound like a bit of land you're going to develop," I chuckled.

"Sorry... I didn't mean it to sound like that. I mean, I don't want to smother you or anything like that. I just want you to know that there'll never be anyone else for me – and I don't want there to be anyone else for you. I mean... I don't mind a bit of flirting... a very little bit... that's human nature. We all do it, don't we?"

I nodded agreement. Flirting is almost an unconscious action at times; we all do it, often without even realising that we're doing it. I still wondered where he was going with the conversation, but I kept quiet and just gave him another little kiss on his shoulder.

"You see, Hon," he continued, much less certainly, "I was talking to Anna... Annabelle... a couple of days before the engagement party, and I said something about Morton putting the shackles on her... something like that. Anyway... she said there was no chance of that! I asked what that meant and... well... she told me that they were into all kinds of weird stuff."

"Tell me... do I look shocked?" I asked dryly; but there was a very nervous fluttering in my stomach.

"No... you're a much better judge of character than me," he smiled, then went on, "she told me that Morton was hoping to get us involved."

"Harry!"

"Wait... don't jump to conclusions, Hon. Please?" he said, "She'd made it clear to him that the idea was a complete non-starter. She'd told him that couples who were really in love with each other – like us – simply weren't interested in their kind of lifestyle."

"So why...?"

"Literotica?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Morton did that. He wouldn't believe what she was telling him and... well... it was just as you told me. He really wanted... wants... to get to you. I'm sorry I found that so hard to believe at the time but me and Morton... well... we go back a long way...."

"It's okay... I understand that but...."

"So I confronted Morton. I told him we couldn't be partners anymore."

"What? But... but the company...."

"The company used to be a fifty-fifty thing. But when you came into it... the best move we ever made, by the way," he grinned, "We each gave up half a per cent of our stock to make you an executive director in charge of finance. After I'd talked to him, we took legal advice and a contract was drawn up to split the company. He knew he didn't have a choice because we can force it through. Anyway, the deal is that Morton takes on the civil engineering part of it under his name, and the house building side of it – which is going to be called 'Wilson Family Homes' by the way – will be ours."

"But... Harry... I mean," I didn't know what I meant because there was so much to absorb but I trailed off with, "are you sure about this? What about...?"

"I'm certain, Hon," he said with determination, "We bought up the old wasteland where the Alhambra cinema and car park used to be. It was cheap because no one wanted it, so that's where Morton's new place is going to be. That came out of his share once we'd worked out the value of all of our assets and so on."

"Why didn't you tell me? How did you...?"

"I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd raise too many objections. You might even feel guilty... feel that you were splitting up a long friendship. We paid a firm of accountants to work it all out... and a damned good solicitor to draw up the contracts. I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you. I won't ever do that again... but I wanted it sorted, and it is."

"And what about Morton?"

"Oh... he's happy enough. He's never enjoyed house-building... his thing is about roads and sewers and bridges and all that. I dare say he's disappointed that he never got into your knickers, of course... but he's just going to have to learn how to live with that, isn't he?"

I was dizzy from all he'd told me and, with what was to happen shortly afterwards, it was a long time before I was really able to take it all in. All I could do was wrap my arms tightly around him and cuddle as closely as I could to his naked body. But then a thought occurred to me and I drew back, saying:

"So what was all that about using fantasies?"

"Oh... I still like that idea, Hon!" he laughed, "but I probably didn't explain it properly – you know I'm not that god with words."

"So... try again," I said.

"With a nervous smile on his face, he did his best. "As far I'm concerned, everything about our life together is perfect... and that definitely includes what we do in the bedroom...."

"And the kitchen and the shower... and the sunbed on the patio... and the staircase," I interrupted.

"Yep... and don't forget the lane behind Mark & Spencer... and the back of the van... and the sea off Dinard on our honeymoon... and...."

"Okay...okay! Enough!" I laughed, "Get on with it!"

"As I said," he whispered, "I couldn't ask for more. But I love it when we have our little adventures together and I don't ever want things to go stale between us. That's why the Literotica stories gave me the idea that, when we don't have as many opportunities as we'd like, we could use our imaginations a bit. Y'know?"

"Errm... well... we're a long way from 'stale,' Harry... but I suppose we could try a sort of rehearsal." I said and then, with a wicked grin; "Who do you want to pretend you're with? Annabelle, maybe?"

"You can be pure evil at times, you know," he laughed, "and the answer's 'no.' A thousand times, no! Anyway... I am a gentleman... so its ladies first!"