Siblings

Harry's Diary

Well what a turn up. Did Midge Watson' books today. My god, talk about payment in kind. I had, no, she had me on the chiropodist's chair. What a woman, must be all of fifty, but what an appetite! She rode me as though I was one of those bucking bronco machines. I'll never be able to look at one of those chairs again without thinking about it. Absolutely cataclysmic. I felt totally played out afterwards. We went upstairs, showered, and had a bite to eat, sat in front of the old coal fire in the lounge. Midge lent me her old man's dressing gown. Must have been a bit of shrimp. Hardly covered anything. I was glad of the fire, it kept the essentials warm and cosy. Mind you, Midge was no better. Her effort had long given up the unequal struggle. So we sat eating toasted crumpets with butter and honey, ogling each others' naughty bits which dangled free from the totally inadequate dressing gowns. It wasn't long before we both gave the pretence of decency and gave each other full frontals. I just couldn't take my eyes off her great pendulous breasts and she had the thickest, hairiest bush I've ever seen. Percy soon recovered from his exertions and began to sit up and take notice. Midge was worse than me. as soon as Percy stirred, she laid a hand on him and took possession. Wasn't long before we were playing the two-backed beast once again. Only this time I was on top. God, she was insatiable, I'd awakened some primeval force of nature.

Midge's Diary

What a lovely man. Harry the accountant came round yesterday and we made love not just once but three times. It's been so long, I'm afraid I was a wanton hussy. Today, I can hardly walk. Serves me right! He was so gentle, so understanding. After the second time on the fireside rug we talked and talked. He was so understanding and he did my self confidence a power of good. It couldn't have been merely talk, he came three times. I've never known a man do that before. And when he licked and sucked my fanny, I nearly died! We did it on the chair in the surgery, on the rug in front of the fire and on the bed - just for a change! I'd never sucked a cock before, but to do it for Harry was just a pleasure. I actually wanted to do it. I just can't get over what I did. We were lying on the bed together, side by side, having a well earned rest after doing it on the fireside rug. Harry's cock was lying limp on his thigh, glistening with my own fanny juices. I can't believe I did it, but I did. I just leaned forward and began to lick it as though it was an ice cream, running my tongue up and down the shaft. I was amazed when it stiffened almost at once. I looked at it and I remember thinking at that moment that I hadn't ever seen any so beautiful! Then I sucked the helmet! I mean, I've never done that before. I found the smell of his maleness and his semen overpoweringly sensual. If I'd have been standing I'd have gone weak at the knees. As it was I felt myself trembling and shivering with wanton lust, oh such delicious wanton lust! It was then that Harry, the lovely man, manoeuvred us both into the sixty-nine position. My god, he only had to touch me and I was off, my brain in a whirlwind of coming and going and coming again and again and again. I found myself taking more and more of that beautiful prick into my mouth and Harry, the dear sweet man, was so gentle about his thrusts that I positively had to grab his buttocks to force it into my mouth. Then he came. And how! To my utter amazement, I didn't feel sick, I didn't gag, I just swallowed all he had to give. I massaged his balls and stuck a finger up his arsehole and milked him of every last drop. I drained him dry!

4. Hair

Helen Macdonald, the proprietoress of the unisex hairdressers, had gradually become more and more welcoming. A pear shaped divorcee in her thirties with two teenage children, she had been reserved and reticent at first when he'd visited once a month to do her books. But recently, she'd thawed. On the last Friday of every month, Harry would spent the afternoon doing her books and after she shut up shop and he'd finished, she always gave him a wash and trim. The wash had become more personal, less perfunctory, the trim more careful and stylish. The brush of her soft little breasts on his shoulders and the press of her thighs and hips against his legs as he sat in the chair were pleasant erotic sensations he always looked forward to. Poor Helen had no cleavage to display, so she made the most of what she did have, the skirts were replaced by trousers at first and then by stretch jeans which combined with skimpy T-shirt tops emphasised her hips, bum and thighs.

Helen Macdonald’s accounts, like those of Midge Watson, needed regular attention. Harry would usually arrive around lunch time and ensconce himself in the back room with a box full of till rolls, the bank statement and an assortment of bills. Harry developed a routine in which he took off his coat and rolled up his selves before getting on with the mess. The very acts of partially disrobing mentally prepared him for the task ahead. Helen and her girls fed him with tea, coffee and biscuits at regular intervals. There was Irene, a short, plump, jovial young woman in her late twenties with a ready smile and a cheerful word.

“Hallo, Mr P.” Irene would invariably say as she placed the tea and biscuits on the table. “And how are we today, then?” She never waited for an answer and continued with her topic of the day. If it wasn't the weather, it was her children, if it wasn't her children it was her husband. “Do you know, Mr P, my Den got so pissed last Saturday after the match, he threw up all over the living room carpet! I had the devil's own job getting it all up! I didn't half give him what for the next morning. I've got a headache he says. I'll give you headache I says. What about my bloody carpet, you pig! I shouted at 'im. I had to laugh in the end. What with the booze and then me giving 'im what for, his head must have been bloody terrible. I mean well bad an no mistake!”

The other hairdresser, Jenny, was thin, very thin, bordering on the anorexic. In contrast to Irene, she hardly ever had a word to say, her ears and brain being constantly being bombarded with muzak from the headphones of a personal stereo. The YTS trainee, Sandra, was a young sixteen year old girl, fresh out of school, pretty like a Barbie Doll, and just as ignorant.

One bright hot sunny Friday morning in April when Harry Price turned up to do Helen Macdonald’s accounts for the month she wasn't there. Irene was holding the fort on her own greeted him with relief and immediately launched into an explanation. “Oh Mr P, Helen's gone to see her mum in Scotland. She's not well. She asked me to look after the shop and to give you the accounts. That little madam Jenny 'as taken the day off; sick! I should coco! Playing hanky-panky with that Darren Foster more like! Then Sandra's been off all week with the flu! Work shy that one! So its just you and me today Mr P! Will I be safe?!” she asked archly.

“Will you be safe!” retorted Harry. “What about me! A poor old man in the clutches of a nubile, pretty young woman, wouldn't stand a chance!”

“Oh go on with you!” laughed Irene, blushing scarlet from her chest to the roots of her peroxide blond hair. Yet she was pleased. The thought of being considered a vamp was very satisfying. It had been a awful long time since Den had said anything like that.

Harry sat down to what passed for Helen Macdonald’s books - a shoebox stuffed with receipts and till rolls. “Do you want this week's till roll Mr P?” shouted Irene from the shop.

“Hang on. I'm just coming.” Harry called back.

“And I shouldn't be surprised!” laughed Irene, leaning against the desk with the till on it, her hip thrust out provocatively. “Come on Mr P, I haven't got all day, old twin-set and pearls will be in a minute.”

“Sorry to have kept you!” said Harry, hurrying into the salon.

“Kept me indeed! Listen to him! what makes you think I mind being kept?”

Harry laughed. “Irene, you're a tease and no mistake!” The shoe box slowly but surely emptied during the morning and at lunchtime Irene closed the shop and joined Harry in the back room for a bite to eat. “How are the kids?” asked Harry. It was always the best way to set Irene off.

“Little Ben's not doing anything at school and Tracey's getting to be a real handful what with the lads beginning to sniff around! . . . “ Harry's mind wandered off elsewhere. He put his mouth on autopilot and managed to utter the um's, ah's and oh dears in the right places. Not that Irene minded not having his whole attention, it was just nice to talk. Harry's mind kept drifting back and forth between the session with Midge Watson and Sis. In his mind's eye, the figure of Midge Watson astride his loins at the chiropody surgery changed into Sis. He felt himself stiffening and tried hard to concentrate on what Irene was saying, but the image refused to be banished. By this time, Irene had moved on from the Kids and her mother-in-law to her husband. “I mean it was awful, Harry. I mean right there in front of me in the pub, he gives that slag Betty Crocker a snog and a grope!” At least this was more interesting than the kids and Irene was in full flow, quivering with indignation. “Well we didn't half have a row when we got home! Just a bit of fun he says! Bit of Fun! Fucking Bollocks!” Irene paused and blushed. “Oh sorry Mr Price, what must you think of me? Such language!”

“In the circumstances, quite understandable and do please call me Harry.”

“You're so understanding Mr . . . sorry, Harry. I really feel I can talk to you. You don't mind do you? I mean my mother's not interested and I can't very well tell the mother-in-law can I?”

“No. No you can't and I don't mind. Sometimes its good to talk about with a stranger.”

“You're no stranger Harry.” said Irene and put a hand on his knee and noticed the bulge in his trousers for the first time. Fuck me, she thought, he was at the head of the queue when they were given out! Fuck me is just about right. She gave his knee a squeeze and shifted her chair nearer. “I feel I can talk to you, you're so sympathetic.”

Harry enjoyed the squeeze on the knee, but it did nothing for the discomfort in his pants. The image of Carol on the chiropodist's chair faded and he looked with renewed interest at the woman in front of him. He took in the broad shoulders, plump breasts and her wide sturdy hips and thighs. Irene ploughed on conscious and excited by the thought of the effect her charms might be having. “My den's always had wandering hands. My mother said 'e was no good and she was right. I mean I caught him feeling up my matron of honour on my wedding day. I mean Annie Phillips for god's sake! Well you don't know er. But she's got no class. Been married this seven years and got five children all by different fathers! And I'm not sure that my Den's not one of them! “ Irene leaned forward conspiratorially and put her hand on Harry's thigh for emphasis, “Do you know, she was caught doing on top of the number nineteen bus in broad daylight when she was still at school! I mean it wasn't as if we weren’t all at it at school, we were. But the rest of us did it in private.” She sat back and Harry lit two cigarettes for them both. “Ta.” she exhaled a long stream of blue smoke. “You see, my Den's never growed up. I mean he's past thirty now and he all he thinks about is football and getting pissed and chatting up the women at the pub as if he was still seventeen. He's always got to pull a bird! Only last week Dot Pertwee says she saw him fucking some blond in the carpark behind the Greene Man. she enjoyed telling me, she did, the fucking cow!”

Irene sniffed and filled her lungs. Harry couldn't help noticing how her chest rose and fell as she tried to control her emotions.

“I don't know what to say to you, Irene.” Harry said softly and sympathetically. “Words are so inadequate.”

Irene looked at him through tear filled eyes. “They are aren't they!” Harry took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Oh its not your fault Mr P. There's nothing you can do or say to change it.” She returned the squeeze. “I don't know why I told my troubles. You must troubles of your own.”

“Nothing compared to yours. But I don't mind listening if it helps.”

“You're divorced Mr P. What was it like?”

“Hell.” said Harry with some feeling. “At least there were no children.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why did you get divorced, Mr P?”

“We grew apart, I suppose.”

“Did you play around - no sorry don't answer that.”

“No I don't mind. We both did. I don't know who was first. I travelled a lot with my work and I have to admit there were a few one nighters, but nothing serious. But then I came home early one trip and caught her in bed with a so-called friend of mine.” Harry said bitterly.

“Oh, so you do know how I feel.” Irene said with some surprise.

“Yes, I'm no innocent.”

“But at least your one-nighters were only on business trips and didn't mean anything. Your wife slept with your best friend. And you caught them at it in your own bed! Its just like my Den groping Betty Crocker the other night right in front of me in the pub. I didn't half give 'im a piece of my mind when we got home. But you know what 'e did, 'e sits down in front of the telly and tells me to fuck off and not be such a nagging cunt! Then two days later I'm walking to work past Betty Crocker's house and I sees 'is van outside and I know 'e wasn't doing no plumbing!” Irene stubbed out her cigarette with feeling. “I don't know what to do.” she sniffed and fought back the tears. “I mean its not as though I ever say no and it not as though I'm ugly, is it Mr P? I mean I might be a bit over weight, but then who isn't these days?”

“No, course not. You're a very attractive young woman. I don't know why he wants to play away, at all.”

“That's what I think.” Irene sobbed louder and turned away.

Harry put his arm around her shoulders, “Come on now have a good cry and get it out of your system.” Irene buried her face in his chest and the dam broke. Her body heaved and shook as the tears of years ran down her face. All the disappointments and humiliations seemed to come to the surface at the same time. For once she felt safe in this big man's arms, it was like being a little girl again with her dad. He stoked her hair and murmured “There there.” and she felt stronger.

The tears subsided and she sat up. “I'm so sorry Mr P,” she just couldn't get out of the habit of calling him that. “What must you think of me? I must look a state.” Irene got up and took a took in the mirror. “Oh my god! What a mess!” she exclaimed with horror.

Harry thought for a moment and made a decision. He said that if there weren't any bookings for the afternoon, she should shut up shop and he would take her out for a drive in the country. Helen would never know and even if she did, Irene could say she was ill. So not five minutes later they were in his motor, heading for a pub on the canal in the countryside. they walked along the towpath under the trees. Irene was silent and looked bleak. For Harry it was a lovely spring day by the canal and he was distressed that his favourite medicine for the blues wasn't working. He stopped and offered Irene a cigarette. “Ta.” she said and he looked at her pallid face, stiff puffy after the tears. She held his hands as he cupped the lighter to protect the flame. She smiled wanly and thought about Harry Price. She knew they had nothing in common. He was a professional man, middle class and lived in another world as far as she was concerned. But why oh why, she found herself thinking, couldn't Den have been a bit more sympathetic like this one. I mean, she thought to herself, he could have had me back in the shop, he wanted me back in the shop, and I would have let him. I mean I wanted it more than he did! But no, Harry Price had to be a gent. You could see he wouldn't take advantage of a woman. That’s why I never told any of my other friends. The women would have spread it all over the neighbourhood and any of the men would have been in my knickers 'consoling' me! What does Harry Price do? He takes me for a walk along the canal! Different!

They strolled for another mile before spotting a bench by the tow path and as if by mutual consent they sat down. Irene shivered and pulled her coat tight. “Here, come on snuggle up.” said Harry and put his arm around her shoulders. Irene rested her head against his chest and thought, I could get used to this. “What should I do, Harry?” she asked quietly.

“Do you want to get divorced?”

“I don't know.”

“Try it this way, do you want to stay together?”

“I suppose so.”

“But you're not sure?”

“I don't want things to stay the same.”

“Will he change?”

“I shouldn't think so, he's just like his Dad and 'e still is a pig.”

“If he won't change is there anything else you could do to make life better?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Take up a hobby or something, a lover perhaps!”

“Oh Mr P! You are a one and no mistake! If I took a lover it would be the talk of the district before you could say Jack Robinson.”

“No seriously, what about ballroom dancing or cards or badminton? I go ballroom dancing with my sister. She's divorced as well you know.”

“I wouldn't fit in. I can't dance, I can't play cards and I can't play badminton.”

“You could learn if you wanted and you'd make new friends. Look, I belong to a badminton club, why don't you come along with me?”

“Don't you need all the kit and stuff?”

“Not for club nights. Just trainers and tracksuit will do fine.”

“What'll I tell Den?”

“The truth, you've joined a badminton club because you thought it was about time you got yourself out and about and he can look after the kids for a change. It'll make him sit up and take notice.”

“It would do that alright.” she laughed.

“You laughed.” he said. “Good to hear that.”

“I couldn't be miserable with you for very long, Mr P.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Give us a kiss, Mister.” Harry bent and gently kissed on the lips. “A proper kiss!” she demanded with a grin and sat up. “Like this.” She drew his head down and kissed him fiercely, forcing her tongue into his mouth and pressing herself against him. Finally out of breath, they separated. Irene grinned, “That's what I call a kiss, Harry.”

“It certainly was.” he replied ruefully. Taking her hand between his he said, “So you'll give badminton a go?”

“If you take me, I will. But you'll have to have patient with me. Silly me. I know you'll be patient with me. Come here.” she unbutton his overcoat and slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.

He stroked her hair. “If this goes any further, you'll be hurt.”

“I know, so will you.” she said. “I'm not a little girl though. I need you, I want you so much it hurts. I need to feel wanted, even for just a little while. I know it wouldn't last. But it would be fun. wouldn't it?” She look into his eyes, pleading and desperate.

“Yes, it certainly will be fun.” Harry replied and her face lit with happiness and became pretty.

She reached up and kissed him again. Gentle and tender, lingering over his lips. She took his hand and placed it on her breast and closed her eyes as the nipple hardened to his touch through the thin nylon of her blouse. “I want you.” she whispered. “I want you now. Here.” Harry looked around and saw and old shed. He took her hand and led her off. It wasn't much, but it dry and out of the wind and it afforded them some privacy. They laid their coats on the bare earth and knelt down facing each other. They kissed softly at first, but with rising urgency as the lust grew in both of them. The undressed each other and still kneeling, embraced chest to chest, belly to belly. Irene lay back and reached for him. It was nearly as big as she imagined and far bigger than she had dared hope. God but Harry was a big man. She spread her thighs and raised her hips and took him inside in one slow long, oh-so-long thrust. She closed her eyes and lay still, luxuriating in the sensation of being truly filled for the first time in her life. She felt deliciously stretched. She thought she could even feel the head of this lovely great cock nudging the walls of her womb. Harry began to move, slowly, gently grinding round and round, in and out. Before she realised and could control it the first orgasm hit her with the force of a hurricane. She wrapped her legs about his loins and arms around his waist and began to buck and heave like a frenzied rodeo machine. She came in unbelievable shudders and convulsions as she'd never done before until finally she fell back exhausted and bathed in sweat.