The Interruption

They were both unsteady on their feet as Steve unlocked the door. They turned to wave to Neil and Susan, in the departing car, then, as they crossed the threshold, Steve groped for Joanne's breast. She stopped as he gripped the full, firm flesh over the peasant blouse, and gave it a hard squeeze. Her hand snaked down and felt the outline of his hard cock, beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

"Oh," she laughed. "So there is something else to life but football, then! A whole fucking hour you spent at the bar, talking fucking football!"

"Well," he replied, his fingers tracing the outline of her hard nipple. "There's only so much barn dancing one man can take – and, anyway, you weren't lonely, were you?"

"Oh, no," Joanne breathed, her wide, generous mouth now nuzzling his neck, her hand now fully cupped round her husband's turgid erection.

That was one of the things he loved about his new wife, Steve thought. She was independent, gregarious – not clinging, like Kathy had been. And – she was much more 'upfront' about sex...

His heart beat faster at the memory of how Joanne had casually discarded her top, on their recent Mediterranean holiday, to display her gorgeous tits. He had always wanted Kathy to do that, but she wouldn't even wear a bikini on the beach.

He had seen men watching Kathy’s slim, dark figure, admiring her 'racing-snake' bum, in her one-piece bathing-suit, and he had tried to persuade her to ‘go topless’, to show off her small firm tits, with their amazingly long, stiff nipples, but it had been 'no way' – and, of course, he couldn't tell her that it would excite him, thinking about the men on the beach wanting to get their hands, their mouths, on his wife's tits.

But Joanne was different. Joanne enjoyed the attention. She had sat on the towel, that first morning, and asked Steve to put her sun block on. Kneeling behind her, he had massaged the cream into her back, then, when he had reached round to the front, Joanne had raised her arms behind her head, pulling her tits up, making them stand out...

Steve had oiled her stomach, first, then, when his hands had reached the underside of her breasts, she had breathed – "Give my tits a good seeing-to, Steve – we don't want them burning, do we?" And his oiled hands had slid over her nipples, to find them standing out like pieces of chalk. Over her shoulder, he could see many eyes fixed on her – most of them men, but quite a few women, as well, and his cock had throbbed, and his hands blatantly squeezed and fondled her naked tits.

He had had an almost permanent hard-on, throughout the entire holiday. Joanne had a superb body for her age – of course, she had always worked out in the gym, and done her line dancing. And she had no qualms about being the centre of attention – her singing career had got her used to that. And – most excitingly – she expected men to become aroused at the sight of her tits, and basked in it.

After a day or two, she would whisper to Steve – "Whoops – there's another stiffy over there, lover – think he'd like to slide it between my boobs?" And Steve would turn, to see a furtive husband, desperately trying to hide his erection from his disapproving wife, and his mouth would dry as he thought of the guy dreaming of fucking Joanne's tits as he slid a length up his unresponsive wife in the hotel bedroom that night...

He pushed her back against the wall, standing back and surveying her, in her brightly-coloured peasant blouse and skirt.

"Aha, my proud beauty," he announced, striking a pose. "You won't look so haughty when that blouse is up round your neck, and the skirt circling your waist..."

She cowered, in mock terror. "Oh, master," she quavered. "What are you going to do to me? I'm only an innocent serving-girl..." Her arm crossed, protectively, over her breasts, and her hand flattened against her groin. Her eyes were large, and full of simulated fear. Steve felt the blood flow hotly into his penis.

"Upstairs for you, my girl – into the master bedroom, and await my pleasure," he called, and she scuttled away, still protecting her body, ascending the stairs in quick, hurried steps. His inhibitions loosened by the drink he had consumed, Steve roared after her, quickly assuming the role of the dominant master.

When he entered the bedroom, Joanne was backed up against the wardrobe, still clutching her body, protectively, her head downcast, eyes looking up at him, fearfully.

"Oh, please, sir," she quavered. "I know naught of things between man and woman – I am an innocent servant-girl."

Steve's acting ability did not match his new wife's, though, and he could think of nothing to do, or say, but to stride forward, and envelop her in his arms. To his surprise, he could actually feel her shaking, as though she was really frightened.

Unresisting, she let him propel her towards the bed, and they collapsed on it, together, Steve's mouth closing, urgently, over hers, his hand pushing up between her thighs. With a thrill, he felt the wetness seeping through her thin panties. Then she groaned, and clamped her thighs round his wrist, trapping his hand against her soaking pussy, humping it against her fingers.

Her breathing quickened, becoming harsher, and she thrust herself onto his probing hand. "Oh, oh, oh..." she moaned, then, suddenly, Steve felt her stiffen, and she rocked wildly against his rigid fingers, throwing her head back, in a violent, raging orgasm.

Steve lay, clutching her, his fingers now under the thin strip of cotton stretched across her sex, delving deep into the soaking, twitching flesh beneath. Slowly, the tightness of her body relaxed, and she slid back on the bed, letting out great, shuddering breaths.

Her skirt was bunched up round her waist, her strong dancer's legs played apart, Steve's hand still at their apex, two fingers plunged inside her soaking twat. Joanne opened her eyes and smiled, shakily, uncertainly, up at him.

"Oh, you hit a fucking big trigger there, boy," she murmured. "Fucking hell – can't remember when I last came so quick."

Steve flexed his fingers inside her, and she jerked as if an electric current had gone through her.

"Whoah – steady, boy – I think we're in multiple orgasm territory, right now – but give me a chance to get my breath back!"

Her hand slid down to join his. Steve thought she was going to pull him out of her, but she simply laid her fingers across the back of his hand, and stroked it, gently, idly.

"What trigger?" he asked, quietly, and immediately felt her vaginal muscles tighten round his fingers.

"It's the 'servant' thing," she breathed. "You know – master/servant – the 'big house' – droit de seigneur – that sort of thing. It just – turns me on – always has done."

"Ah," said Steve, a little nonplussed. He was more than nonplussed – he was surprised. He thought he didn't know a woman more self-confident, more independent, than Joanne, and he just couldn't see her in the role of – well, what, exactly?

She laughed, shakily, and squeezed his hand.

"Surprised, eh?" she whispered. "Difficult to see me as a – victim? There's a lot about me you don't know – yet."

Steve felt his cock rise, again – he hadn't even realised his erection had subsided as Joanne had thrashed about in her sudden climax – and he flexed his fingers in her, experimentally.

She sighed with pleasure, and pressed down on his hand again.

"When I was – well, pretty young, I had a holiday with my great-grandma's younger sister. She had a little cottage at the seaside, in Norfolk somewhere, and I was sent there for the summer because my folks couldn't get away, because of the shop. I wasn't looking forward to it. Auntie Mary was pretty old – well over eighty – and I thought it would be really boring."

"But – it turned out to be not bad – not bad at all. We actually got on very well together. Auntie Mary had all her marbles – and she was quite happy for me to go off, exploring the place on my own, and didn't make a fuss about where I had been, or who I was with. I met a few people my own age, in fact, and – well, that's another story. But, in the evenings, Auntie Mary liked a drop of whisky, and she would get talkative, and tell me about her life."

"It was interesting – all about the war, and her two husbands, and her schooldays. She wasn't shy about sex, and she told me all about her sex life with her husbands – and a few other men she had fucked. I was amazed – I thought, like most people, that my generation 'invented' sex, and I definitely didn't think that old people like Auntie Mary had 'slept around' when they were young."

"Then, one night, near the end of my stay with her, I asked her how, and when, she had lost her virginity, and she told me she had gone into domestic service when she had left school, and, on her third night in the 'big house', she had been sent to serve the port to the gentlemen, after dinner, and the master had ordered her to strip off her uniform!"

"Well, you didn't argue with the master in those days, so Mary had to strip - totally naked - and serve the drinks, like that. She was completely innocent, and utterly terrified. There were five men in the room, all terribly upper-class, in their dinner jackets, and, as she served the drinks, they reached from their leather armchairs and touched her – feeling her breasts and her bottom, and running their hands up her legs – right up to her cunt! And she had to stand still, while they did it."

"Then the master laid her down on the rug, in front of the fire, and took her virginity, and the others took turns until they had all had her. Of course, she found out, after, that all the young servant girls were expected to allow the master and his guests to fuck them – but, in any case, apart from the first time, Mary discovered that she actually enjoyed it, but only with the upper classes. She said there was something about their posh voices, and their air of authority, that really turned her on, and got her really wet between her legs."

"She said there was wholesale fucking 'below stairs', between the male and female servants, but she was there three years and she never allowed one of the other servants in her knickers, although she was fucked almost daily by one or other of the master, or his sons, of his guests. At first, she worried about getting pregnant, but it turned out she couldn't conceive – she never did have kids, even after she was married."

"Did her husband know about all that?" asked Steve.

"No," laughed Joanne. "She even convinced him she was a virgin, but – she never enjoyed sex with him. She just couldn't get excited about sex, unless it was with a dominant man with an upper-class accent. That was why she had all those 'extra-marital' shags, throughout both her marriages – she just couldn't resist a man who 'talked posh' and treated her like dirt."

"Good job she never met Oliver Stirling, then," laughed Steve. Oliver Stirling was the local ‘Lord of the Manor’ – recently widowed, he had re-emerged into village society lately and, although he was regularly screwing the hoity-toity manageress of the exclusive hotel just outside the village, he had taken a keen interest in chatting to Joanne at the barn dance, that evening. In fact, Steve recalled, he had had a dance with her, while Steve had been deep in his football conversation at the bar.

He noticed that Joanne had gone quiet.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked. He slid his fingers cuntwards again – he still hadn't got his rocks off, yet. Joanne gasped again as he felt her wetness. Steve felt his cock stir, again.

"So – that memory turned you on, did it?" he said. It was time to get her 'going' again, he thought, so he could have a really good fuck before getting off to sleep.

"Oh, yeah," Joanne murmured. "Imagine being her – being stripped naked by all those masterful upper-class men, then laid down and serially fucked."

"Yeah," muttered Steve, trying to catch the mood. "Well, I think Oliver Stirling would do that to you, given half a chance – would he do?"

He felt Joanne's pussy tighten around his fingers, and she murmured – "Yeah, I think so." But her tone was less casual than her words, and Steve felt a sudden tingle of - what? Excitement? Curiosity?

"You had a couple of dances with him tonight, didn't you?" he said, apparently casually.

"Mmmmmmm," replied Joanne, wriggling a little, her hand snaking round his cock, slipping down to cup his tightening testicles.

"Did you – get close?"

"Close enough..."

"For what?"

"Oh, close enough that I could tell he was enjoying it." Her voice was low, breathy, with a touch of something else – triumph?

"You mean – he was...?" asked her husband, hesitantly.

"Oh, yeah," answered Joanne. "He had a hard-on."

"You felt it?"

"Yeah – like you do, when you're dancing – sort of close."

Steve took this in. His mouth was drying, his cock really stiff, his insides slowly turning over. He felt there was something else here...

"Did he – try anything?" he asked.

"No – not really," answered Joanne. "He sort of – pushed against me, you know – just in case I hadn't noticed."

"Ah," said Steve. "Was that all?"

"Well – he did a bit of pulling, too. You know – pulling me towards him."

"What – with his hand round your waist?"

"Yeah – most of the time."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"Well, a couple of times, he sort of dropped his hand a bit, then pulled..."

"You mean – to your bum?"

"Yeah."

"Just one hand?"

"Yeah – well, maybe once or twice, he had both hands down there, having a bit of a grind."

"Oh," said Steve. He tried to remember when he had seen them dancing together. He visualised Stirling's hands cupping Joanne's round, jutting bottom, pulling her in against his erection... "And what did you do?"

"What do you mean – what did I do?"

"Well – what did you do?"

"Well – I didn't pull away, if that's what you mean."

"So you – pressed back against him? You rubbed yourself against him – against his hard-on?"

"I guess so – a couple of times. You were at the bar – talking fucking football!"

"Yeah," agreed Steve. Jesus – she had rubbed her cunt against him! Steve's heart was thumping – was it anger, jealousy, or plain excitement?

"So I was. Do you like Oliver's posh accent? Is he masterful enough for you"

"Ooohhh, yeah," replied Joanne, her voice catching, a little, with excitement.

"So – did anything else happen?" Steve’s voice was cracking with suppressed tension – which Joanne was quick to recognise.

She squeezed his throbbing cock, and leaned her head back to look at him, in the half-light of the darkened bedroom. A secret smile played around her lips. Steve realised she was still fairly drunk – and very, very turned on...

"What do you think?" she asked. "And why do you want to know, anyway?"

By now, he knew why he wanted to know. The thought excited him – it excited the hell out of him. It was the same as watching the guys on the beach get hard when she flashed her tits at them – when he though about Joanne grinding her wet cunt against Stirling's hard cock, it nearly made him come …… She was holding his cock in her hand – she knew – she was teasing him...

"Just tell me," he groaned, and her hand gripped his shaft, tightly.

"We were in a corner – we weren't really dancing, at all – just moving – against each other. His hands were round my bum, squeezing my cheeks – I could feel the outline of his cock, right up the length of my belly. His mouth was beside my ear, and he said – 'I need some air. Come outside with me.' And he let me go, and walked towards the door, assuming I would follow."

"I did think about it, Steve. I looked over at the bar, and you were deep in your football conversation. Then I looked at Oliver. He turned and jerked his head, and I walked over to him. We didn't speak. There were people going in and out all the time, so I didn't feel conspicuous. He turned to the right, outside the door, and he led me into that dark little copse."

"As soon as we were out of the light, I felt his hand on my butt. As I walked, it was sliding between my cheeks, touching the tops of my thighs. I could still feel the hardness of his cock when we had been dancing, and I was soaking... Then he suddenly stopped, behind me, and pushed his hands through my arms and onto my breasts."

"He just grabbed them, Steve – he took hold of my tits, and squeezed them. I could feel his cock again, pressing against my ass, this time. He pulled my blouse up and, when he felt my bra, he said – 'Get that out of the way', and stood back. I just – did it, Steve. I unclipped it, and slid it off, through my armholes, and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I just stood in front of him – and waited."

"What he did he do?" muttered Steve. His hands were now mauling his wife's breasts, his mind tortured – illuminated – with a vision of her standing meekly in front of Stirling, her breasts unfettered beneath her brightly-coloured peasant blouse.

"He lifted the bottom of my blouse – up to my shoulders – and looked... Then he put his hands on them – on my tits – he put his hands on my naked tits and gave them a good feel, Steve. He liked my nipples – he kept trapping them between his fingers and thumbs, and pulling them, and rolling them round."

Her hands were now on her husband's, educating his fingers to repeat the treatment, moaning as her hard nipples were manipulated, almost to the point of pain.

"Yeah, Steve," she gasped. "Like that – harder."

She was writhing, now, her voice trailing away ……

"And then he started feeling for my cunt, Steve. He pushed his hand under the waistband of my skirt, then inside my panties. His fingers trailed through my bush, and I – I opened my legs a bit, and his finger slid inside me. It was like a knife through butter, Steve – I was so wet – and then... then I heard Frances ..."

"Frances?" exclaimed Steve. Frances was his wife’s daughter, by her first marriage – a teenage version of Joanne. Although she was now his stepdaughter, relations between Steve and the girl had always been – well, difficult. She seemed to think he was some sort of sexual deviant – largely, Steve supposed, because he was screwing her mother. He had certainly given her no cause to complain about his treatment of her, although, Steve thought, most men would give her developing body a second, and a third, glance ......

"I was sure it was her," said Joanne. " I heard a scream, or a shriek – I couldn't make out whether it was a laugh, or a frightened cry – but I immediately thought – 'Frances!' and I jumped back – away from Oliver. He had heard it, too, so I didn't imagine it."

"So – what did you do?" asked Steve, realising, as he spoke, that he hoped the answer would be that Stirling had slipped his hand into Jolene's panties again …… Steve's cock was like a steel rod...

"Well," replied Joanne, "we both stood around, listening, but we didn't hear anything else, and, suddenly, I realised that – well, I had been pretty far gone and – well, anything might have happened. I'd got my senses back, so I just took off, back to the barn, before he could say anything."

"Was that when you – joined us, at the bar, and asked if I'd seen Frances?"

Joanne nodded, and Steve wondered what he'd have done if he'd known that, not five minutes before, she’d been in the woods with Oliver Stirling’s fingers up her crack ...

His own fingers were still inside Joanne's cunt, now, though, and he began to move them...

"How wet were you?" he breathed. "When Stirling had his finger up you... Were you as wet as this?"

"Oh, yesssss," she muttered. "I think I was wetter – my cunt was soaking."

"Were you going to let him...?"

But his question was never finished. The front door slammed, loudly, and they both froze. There was a few seconds' silence, then they heard footsteps ascending the stairs, unsteadily, stopping every few seconds, then carrying on.