One More for the Road

Ray and Simmone were a married couple who I knew from my local pub in south east London a good few years ago and, like me they were both in their middle thirties. Ray was a big, big guy, not overweight but definitely a heavyweight; very tall, broad, altogether imposing but not altogether bright. Could have been a doorstop for an aircraft hangar. Simmone was a sex goddess! Not what I would call a classical beauty but she was a mesmerising work of art and her ability to spin heads was unlimited. She positively oozed sex appeal. I mean she reeked of it! Simmone could walk into the pub and kill all conversation stone dead the second she showed up. Her entrances were the stuff of Hollywood. They'd be like some of those old Westerns when everything stops as some gunslinger strides into the saloon looking for trouble.

Except Simmone was for real. She was all woman. And she had no need of a six-shooter to get everyone's stunned attention. She never dressed provocatively neither because she didn't need to. She could've been shrouded head to toe in an old tarp' and she'd still have you drooling. It was her aura; the atmosphere she brought with her, and there was simply no way of covering that up. Simmone's aura couldn't be contained in a bank vault! Her presence was probably more powerful than the magnetic north and I reckon she could spin compass needles as well as heads. I bet she could even stop time too without much effort.

Okay, slight exaggeration but I hope you get where I'm coming from because although I'm telling a story here, I'm not making it up. What follows actually happened. And I should know because it was me that it happened to.

Simmone was your archetypal femme fatale, the quintessential temptress to put all others in the shade and my association with her began in our local pub one Saturday afternoon in the late 1990's; and it's probably fair to say that it may never have began at all had I not indulged in just that one beer too many. I had known her and husband Ray for some time but only enough to offer a polite nod in greeting and say "Hello'. We did after all use the same pub as our 'local' but up until this point I don't think I'd ever had a conversation with either of them. But like every other man who had clapped eyes on Simmone, and I dare say some women too, I would fantasise about finding myself on more than just her christmas card list. However, any sane Joe entertaining fancy ideas about Simmone only needed to take one look at Ray to know he'd have to be insane to try. (In all honesty I think that may be the reason Simmone married him - to guarantee herself freedom from unwanted attention because he was way below her in the intelligence stakes.)

So when this particular Saturday afternoon came around I was to be found propping up the rear bar in our 'local' and I guess I'd been there for about a couple of hours when Simmone suddenly showed up. I didn't actually see her arrival but I knew it had taken place by the obligatory silence which followed after all conversation had been sucked out of the pub. The silence in Simmone's wake was so pure that if a sewing needle had dropped on the floor it would've sounded like an iron bridge had just collapsed. Anyway, she and Ray and a friend of theirs who I can't remember took a table just behind me and once they were seated all conversation was resumed. I could hear the three of them conferring on what to drink and then guess who should slink up to the bar beside me to place the order? Correct! I said 'Hi' like you do and Simmone said 'Hello' in return, placed her order and... that was it. I took one of their drinks over to their table because Simmone had her hands full and she gave me a smile and said "Thanks". I then went back to my lonely spot at the bar and rewound the tape in my head and replayed the whole scene from the time Simmone slunk up beside me till I landed back at my lonely spot and hit 'rewind.' I think I may have replayed it two or three times. Sad or what?

Another twenty minutes went by and I thought I should be making tracks. It's not that I was feeling the effects of drink it was just that there was nothing to keep me there any longer. Except Simmone of course, but she was totally off limits. So I thought maybe I should just go home. Even if I did stick around and somehow manage to inveigle myself onto her christmas card list her husband would be at my front door with a very different kind of greeting long before Simmone got to draw the little xxxx's at the bottom of the card. Yeah, I thought, I'll finish this beer and then make tracks for home. But I did nothing of the kind. I ordered another pint of the old amber nectar instead. If I hadn't ordered that 'one more for the road ' I would've gone home for sure, cooked a meal, watched TV, probably had a wank over my brief contact with Simmone at the bar, and my life for the next few months would've been totally different. What follows would never have happened and I'd be writing fiction here instead of telling it how it was. So...

... There was Simmone, her big lug of a husband Ray and someone else who I can't remember sitting at a table behind me on this one Saturday afternoon. Couples shooting pool off to one side, guys playing 5 card stud for pennies, 90's music on the jukebox, a mixed crowd - you get the picture. I'd been standing alone at the bar like a billy-no-mates and then, incredibly, Simmone gestures me over to join them when our eyes connect during my return from a visit to the Gents. Maybe she just felt sorry for me, I don't know, but I dutifully went over like it was no big deal and nonchalantly pulled up a chair next to her. I said 'Hi' again to Ray who, after he got the nod from Simmone, seemed fine with the new seating arrangement and went back to talking to whoever-it-was-that-I-can't-remember, leaving me and the quintessential temptress to put all others in the shade to strike up a conversation right away.

As it was summertime Simmone was wearing a dress; a thin cotton piece that covered everything but hid nothing. Bosom to die for. Honest to God! You just wanted to dive straight in. Anyway, she tells me she's a keep-fit fanatic (aerobics three times a week and yoga every day - hence her statuesque physique,) but I already knew this little tidbit of information as did every other guy in the pub, and I dare say some women too. She went on to explain that she was a school teacher and took English and Drama classes at a nearby college for girls and although I knew she was a teacher I was unaware of the disciplines she taught. One of the things she told me which I had no idea about, and I have to admit I felt a little disheartened to hear, was that her and Ray would be saying goodbye to London early the next year and relocating elsewhere in the country. But my spirits were lifted a little with the overall impression she gave me of not being entirely content with her marriage - now that did sound like music to my ears. It could also have been just wishful thinking on my part, dastardly man that I am. Whatever. Anyway we talked and talked and the drink started to flow. God knows what we found to talk about, I really haven't a clue. I was just happy to be sitting next to her and being the object of her attention. She could've been waxing lyrical in ancient Sanskrit for all I cared, just as long as she was directing it at me and not all the other guys in the pub whose eyes, green with envy no doubt, I could feel burning into me.

Then again... On reflection maybe they were not envious eyes at all. Maybe they were just keen to know what a man who is being seriously stupid looks like.

We'd been chatting away for about an hour when, without thinking and out of a clear blue sky, I reached under the table and placed my hand on her leg just above the knee.

WHAT THE FUCK!!

I could hardly believe what I'd just done. Her big lump of a husband is sitting right opposite me for christ sake and could break my back with one swipe of his heavy paw. What the fuck am I playing at? But something, or someone inside me told me to keep my hand where it was, confident that he was oblivious - which, thank the Lord, he was.

Simmone just sat there. Didn't flinch. Just sat still and gave me a long, questioning doe-eyed stare. Drink was obviously playing a part in my bravado and I took her lack of resistance as my cue to grab a deep breath and move my hand under her dress and up along the inside of her deliciously smooth, naked thigh. Ray was still nattering to whoever-it-was-that-I-can't-remember and totally ignorant of what was going on which only served to boost my confidence even further but, thank the Lord again, I figured that I'd already gone far enough. Simmone then did something which I wasn't quite expecting and it kinda threw me. She slowly parted her legs and moved herself closer to the table so I didn't have so far to stretch. I simply couldn't believe it. Here I was in my local pub with the woman of so many of my raunchiest fantasies, my hand up her dress just inches from her knickers; there's guys shooting pool behind us, 5 card stud in the corner, this big body buster of a husband right in front of me, and the tips of my fingers are just centimetres away from being inside his wife's pussy. And she's daring me on. The upshot was I either chickened out or came to my senses or both and I started to withdraw my hand but she quickly snapped her legs shut before I was completely free which both turned me on and scared the life out of me all at once. I couldn't comprehend it. What am I doing for christ sake? I should be safely indoors watching Wheel of fucking Fortune!

So that was how it started.

It was a short time later when whoever-it-was-that-I-can't-remember got up to leave and then Ray suggested to his wife that they'd better be heading off home too. Simmone didn't miss a beat inviting me to tag along for drinks at their place and when her man Ray seemed happy with the idea I accepted the offer after two nanoseconds of hesitation. Any sane man would've made his excuses and gone his own way but I just couldn't bring myself to pass up the opportunity of getting to know this sensational woman better. I'd have to be on my best behaviour though. Oh yes. No wandering hands under the table this time around. Not in their own home for fucks sake. Not if it's one of those places with a cellar where you can hide a dead body after it's been bludgeoned to a pulp by an irate 270lb Raymondo!

So we arrived at their flat after a short walk and we settled ourselves in the lounge with a couple of bottles of vino we'd bought on the way back. Ray was sitting at one end of the sofa with me at the other and Simmone was opposite in an armchair. Ray (whose shear size made the sofa look like a rucksack,) flicked the TV on - some shit, and he promptly flaked out, snoring within seconds and looking like a beached whale. Simmone and I continued to chat in low voices for a while and then she excused herself saying should would be back in a minute. I swear I'm not pulling your chain when I tell you my jaw dropped just a few moments later when she returned and stood in the doorway dressed in her nightie and waving an object which looked suspiciously like a gentleman's erect penis. It was a fleshy colour about 8 inches long with a thick varicose vein running up the centre of the shaft and a large mushroom shaped head. It had a distinctive bow to it and I'd say that if it was inserted into a ladies vagina it could quite easily hit the elusive G Spot and have her squealing before she knew what hit her. I guess I'd been in their flat for all of 15 minutes.

Simmone tip-toed across the lounge and quietly angled her armchair so she was facing me a little more. She then sunk down into the cushions and crossed one exquisitely formed leg over the other, toes just touching the floor with her nightdress riding half way up her thigh. Her eyes darted over towards the beached whale to check on its condition then back to me again, full of mischief. She started to caress that glorious bosom of hers through the material of her nightie. It was a loose fitting, low cut garment with a draw-string at the top which, after a while, she started to undo. After another glance over at Ray she put a hand inside her negligee and pulled out one of her full, beautiful milky-white tits. Ohhh sweet, sweet Jesus! I reckon I must've been either whimpering or possibly even crying at this point because she quickly raised a finger to her lips to hush me up. I do not exaggerate dear reader when I say my heart was beating like Hiawatha's drum as I tried not to think of what would happen if hubby opened his eyes right now. What the hell would I do? Play dead? I wouldn't need to!

My mind back on Simmone I watched as she began tweaking one of her nipples until it was hard and proud and then she pulled out her other breast and did the same. Jeez, my cock was being slowly garrotted within my jeans but I didn't dare make any sudden movements incase I woke up the snoring goliath at the other end of the sofa. Simmone was giggling like a schoolgirl at all the naughtiness and then she made matters a tad naughtier by taking one of her stiffened nipples in her mouth and slobbering all over it. She kept her big, brown eyes fixed on mine the whole time and where the fuck she ever learnt to act like this I couldn't even begin to imagine. This was already way beyond any of my Simmone fantasies but nowhere near as safe as masturbating over them! She gestured me over to grasp a handful of tit for myself? God only knows how much I wanted to, but... With that hulking back-breaker of a husband only feet away? Even though he was lying dormant he could become active at any given moment, so... No, I don't think I will thanks... Awfully kind and all that but I think I'll take a rain check... Another time maybe... Hopefully... Thanks anyway.

That was not the response she was looking for.

No way did I expect her to get up and glide over towards me. Fuck, if that towering rugby fullback beside me regained consciousness I was a gonna. No doubt about it. He'd take one look at what was going on, figure it was all my doing and my head would be on a skewer in next to no time. I was just a whisker away from losing control of my sphincter and crapping all over myself. But Simmone, who was now standing beside my end of the sofa was exceptionally calm and, once again she raised a finger to her lips and gestured for me to remain cool. Everything was fine if we just stay cool. All I had to do was let her lead the way if I didn't want to see my head on a spike. If I managed to do that, all would be well. As I recall, all this info was relayed to me via telepathy and some kind of strange body language. Anyway what was for certain was I didn't dare move from where I was. If I tried anything sudden I'd wake the slumbering volcano for sure. I had to do as Simmone instructed and keep calm if I ever wanted to hear birdsong and see the morning sun again. Suddenly, my life was in her hands. Uh oh! I never knew things could turn around so quickly.

When I calmed down a little and Simmone was confident that we could proceed she eased herself a little closer toward me and slowly hoisted her nightdress to expose the tops of her thighs. Oh dear God! She raised it a little higher and set before my eyes a view of the highest sublimity. On show was a refined and meticulously groomed triangle of dark hair between her legs which complimented the exquisite pinkness of her luscious labia perfectly. It was simply entrancing, lovely to behold and beggars all further description. Fucking gorgeous! It was all I could do to haul the musky scent of her sex up through my nostrils and let the weight of it sink way deep into my lungs, How many times have I dreamed of this? I thought. I could've cried out with delight and I think I probably did; so easy did she make it for me to become distracted from the real and ever present danger. I ask you: How is it possible to have your cock swimming in pre-cum when you know only too well that the pre-cum is there curtesy of another man's wife and the 'other man' is actually a human car shredder the size a rhino and is situated a mere 36 inches away enjoying a little shut-eye? You tell me cos I sure as hell haven't been able to fathom it!

Anyway, Simmone's nightie soared towards the ceiling like a helium balloon. Up, up and away it went until it was practically around her neck and her well stacked bosom was proudly paraded in front of every atom in the room. I was speechless. Paralysed. Couldn't even blink. Then... the whole nightdress was deftly pulled over my head and shoulders and my universe was plunged into some kind of sweet smelling semi-darkness. For a second I couldn't believe what had just happened but then reality hit home and I had to concede that I'd actually joined Simmone INSIDE her nightie! But that's not all. With a ravenous urgency she seized a hold of my head and thrust me face-first into her divine, heavenly scented cleavage and began to massage her plummy assets into my face with wanton abandonment. She was like a demon. A woman possessed. My head was riding on the swell of her splendiferous chest as it started to heave and ho and I desperately needed somewhere to put my hands - for balance more than anything else - and I momentarily forgot about the thick, heavyweight, leviathan of a husband sitting next to me and made a lunge for the cheeks of his wife's naked ass to steady myself. Very nice.

Once the flesh of that woman's delectable derriere was in my hands I chucked whatever remaining caution I had out the window and, with my face still buried in Simmone's equally delectable tits I became like a hungry hound in a sackful of bones. Any man would've done the same, I'm sure. And I dare say some women too. Yes dear reader I grabbed and groped and slapped and sucked and kissed and caressed. I frisked, frolicked, feasted and fraternised and when I started to feel Simmone's body shudder and shake against mine I honestly believed it was on account of my expert handling; but I very quickly discovered that it was actually a result of the weight shifting on the whole sofa as the titanic recycling machine at the other end began to come back to life. And it dawned on me right there and then that we had stupidly pushed the boat into a brewing storm and my entire world was about to disappear down the plughole as a consequence.

With quicker than lightening speed Simmone and I ripped ourselves apart. I neither saw nor heard Simmone as she propelled herself across the room because I was too preoccupied with saying my prayers. But she landed safely in the armchair with her knees tucked up to her chin, her nightdress pulled all the way down to her feet with just her little tippy-toes poking out from underneath. How she managed to look such a doe-eyed picture of innocence at such a time is and was beyond me. I, in turn, was trying to compose myself with all the dignity I could muster, needless to say however that my quivering sphincter was making things very difficult.

The once slumbering volcano was waking up big time now - yet there were no discernible signs of steam venting from its ears or molten lava galloping down the slope its chin. So... No sign of anything became a most comforting sign in itself. I was incredulous as to how he could've missed what we'd been up to. But I was ever so grateful. In fact I was so grateful to find myself still breathing and all in one piece that I almost got up and shook the man by the hand for being such a fuckwit. (I chose to ignore the fact that I was an even bigger fuckwit.) So Ray the mountainous fuckwit woke up with a yawn of cavernous proportions and inquired after the time. It was still pretty early but I guess the afternoon's drink had taken its toll and he said he was going to turn in for the night. I wished him a "Cheerio mate. Good night" as he went lolloping off to bed and, once he was gone, I collapsed back into the sofa and expelled a huge sigh of relief. Unquestionably the closest escape from a most violent and terminal demise that I've ever encountered.