Their Last Long Hot Summer

This is the long-delayed third part of the series of stories charting the relationship of Samantha and Paul, the first parts being "Cultural Exchange" and "Weekend at Samantha's". I hope you find it worth the wait. No need to read those first, as this story should stand alone.

CHAPTER ONE - SO FINE

"Hey mum, I'm just off out!"

Paul grabbed a few things and started for the door. He didn't need much; so much of his stuff was at his girlfriend Samantha's house already. But a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt would come in handy, nevertheless.

Girlfriend! He still struggled to believe it, a week into their relationship. He caught his reflection in the hall mirror; the love bite on his neck had faded to that sickly yellow/green/brown shade and would be gone entirely in a few days. Shame; he'd loved being branded by her. It had made their tryst public. He remembered the disbelief of his classmates when he'd gone into school on the Tuesday after the Bank Holiday weekend. The weekend he'd spent in her house, in her bed. Him, the class nerd, with arguably the hottest girl in school - to his mind, anyway. Unreal!

They all rounded on him, determined to find out who had done that to him. "Probably did it to himself with the hoover," said Simon, Paul's arch nemesis. Simon had gut-punched Paul a week or so before, when they were in Canada on a school trip. Simon had got into serious trouble for that incident; the frustrating thing was that he hadn't learned the right lesson, and resented Paul all the more for the punishment.

Paul just shook his head, ignoring him, refusing to breach Samantha's confidence. He'd assured her it would be her secret to tell, or not. The only people who knew the truth were the two of them, and her best friends - the hot blonde twins Immy and Izzy, and Emma, the slightly petulant redhead. The twins had sworn to secrecy; Emma however tended to have a tongue as loose as her morals. But she was usually loyal to Samantha; the secret would be safe from that quarter, at least until Emma got drunk enough.

So Samantha and Paul hid the truth from their classmates, and kept themselves apart at school. Which meant their weekends were even more intense, every possible moment spent together. Hence why Paul was so eager to get back to her place on this sunny June Saturday morning.

"Mum! I said I'm now going!"

Still no reply. He turned off the radio; he was fed up with Cher telling everyone "It's in his kiss" - while he appreciated that song now that he was in love, it had been played to death since making it to number one. He hated it when a single song dominated the charts for ages.

He walked back through their small council flat, knocked on mum's bedroom door, wanting to say goodbye. It was just the two of them in the flat, since his father had passed away from lung cancer earlier in the year. He pushed the door open - was that a thud he heard as the door swung open? - and saw his mum lying in the bed, duvet tucked high under her chin, her face the only thing he could see. The room was dark, blackout curtains drawn.

"Another migraine?" he asked her. She just moaned in reply. "I'm sorry Mum, shall I stay here with you?"

"No, go. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your time with Samantha."

"I can stay. She won't mind. Or she could come here? I feel bad about not spending much time with you recently."

"It's okay, don't worry dear. I have my bingo buddies, and without you under my feet I can get more overtime in. You'll be at Uni in a month or so anyway, so I'll just have to get used to you not being around. Find myself something to do. Run along to that pretty girl of yours and don't worry about me."

"If you're sure."

"Think I'll stay in bed today, I feel funny..."

"Okay Mum. Take care. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he left the room, made his way along the hallway and closed the front door of the flat behind him.

"Thank fuck for that," said Mr Martin, crawling back out from under the bed. "I thought he'd never leave!" He whipped the duvet back off the bed, revealing his lover - Paul's mother - all trussed up in exotic black lingerie. "Now, where were we?"

She felt bad about keeping this secret from her son - but what would he think, knowing she was sleeping with his music teacher? Would he think it was too soon after his father, her husband, had passed away? Well, she had needs. Particularly knowing her son was now a man, sleeping at Samantha's house almost all the time, and she knew what that must mean. She was grateful Samantha's parents were so open-minded; it gave her this opportunity to revive her own sex life.

After Paul had returned from Canada, Mr Martin had come round to talk to her about what had happened while they were abroad. The claims that he'd molested Samantha in a public place - which Paul had denied, despite now dating her - and perhaps more importantly the serious incidents of the attempted rape of one of the Canadian students by one of Paul's classmates, and Paul himself being attacked trying to defend her. "He's a good kid, overall," Mr Martin had said. "But I think we need to keep an eye on him." But during their conversation, there had been a subtle but growing undercurrent; a little banter, a little flirting, and by midweek she was screaming his name as he plunged inside her.

"Oh Derek, this is so wrong," she said, as he angled his cock at the gap in her crotchless knickers. "Fuck me hard, make me scream again!"

"With pleasure, Margaret. With pleasure." And he sheathed himself to the hilt in the eager cougar's pussy.

It had been years since she'd been fucked like this. She loved her late husband dearly, but in the last years of his life the cancer robbed him of the energy he'd once had. She'd never strayed, never cheated. And now she had nothing to feel guilty for, knew he'd want her to be happy. Derek was ten years her junior and had the stamina of a twenty-year-old professional football player.

"Fuck, yes! Pound my cunt! Make me come again you bastard!"

"Tell me, you filthy bitch. So fucking tight. How can you be so tight?"

"You think that's tight, you should try my arse! Fuck yeah, right there, like that! Harder!" With Paul out, she could be as loud as she liked, and didn't give two shits about what the neighbours thought. These council flats had thin walls, you soon got to know everybody's business. So she wouldn't be able to keep this secret from her son much longer. Somebody would tell him, and she supposed it had better be her.

May as well make this good, then. If she was gonna get found out, make it worth it. "Ram that fucking cock in me! God you're so fucking huge! Yes! Oh god I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum so fucking hard! Yes! YES! FUCKING YES YOU FUCKAAAARRRGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!" she screamed, ruining the bedsheets as she came, her back snapping as he unloaded deep inside her.

"Holy fuck," Derek panted, desperately trying to recover his breath. "With a voice like that, have you ever considered singing opera?"

///

"But I don't want to hide in my garden any more," Samantha pleaded. "I'm tired of lurking. If we get seen, we get seen! My friends know now, anyway. And it's just a few exams until school's over for good. Why bother with the secrecy? Soon we won't have to see any of those fuckers ever again."

Paul shrugged. If that's how she wanted it, he wasn't going to complain. He could walk down the street, his arm round her waist, stroking the soft skin between her crop top and miniskirt, proud to be out with his girl. "I love you," he said. He'd said that a lot, recently.

"Love you too, babe," she said back, as they strode bold as brass into the beer garden of the Fox and Feathers.

They'd arrived early to be sure of blagging a table outside. Samantha left Paul to reserve one while she made her way to the bar, raising her mirrored sunglasses up to rest them on top of her head. Paul was never embarrassed that she paid for everything - her family was rich, he was poor, and that was all there was to it. It never bothered him, and it certainly didn't bother her. She leant against the wood, tucking her long light-brown hair behind her ear, as she tried to catch the barman's attention. Soon enough he spotted her, raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, and came on over after settling up with his previous customers.

"Sorry Sammy, gonna have to get some ID," he said. "Rules is rules."

"I don't mind," she said, flashing her driver's licence. She loved getting checked; she knew she looked younger than she was. She liked the irony that most girls spent years pretending to be older, then the rest of their lives pretending they were younger. She was nearly nineteen, but her freckles and little button nose made her look cute. Not even her impressive boobs spoiled the illusion. My little pixie, Paul called her, not unkindly.

While she waited for her cider and Paul's shandy - he was such a lightweight, but then again they were intending to drink the afternoon away in the hot summer sun - she looked around the bar. A poster caught her attention: Festival on the Common, August Bank Holiday weekend. They were putting the call out for bands who wanted a slot. She tore one of the ticket tails off the bottom, with the promoter's number on it. She'd call them later when she was back home - no way was she getting scalped by the payphone at the bar.

"That'll be three pounds fifty," said the dishy barman as he placed the drinks onto a towel on the bar. Fuck me, she thought, for two pints? Must have put the prices up for summer. She handed over the change, took the drinks, and made her way back out into the sunshine, nodding the sunglasses back down over her eyes as she went.

Background music was a little tinny as it escaped the pub Tannoy; some dude going on about wanting to 'sex you up, all night'. The song was pretty lame, she thought, but then she spotted Paul waiting patiently for her at one of the wooden picnic tables in the beer garden, and she realised how much she empathised with the singer.

He'd got under her skin these past couple of weeks. Canada had opened her eyes to him - he was still a nerd, but he had such a good heart and a sense of justice. She still didn't quite believe how far and how fast she'd fallen for him. He wasn't her type, not in the slightest. But when they were together, it was just so right. She felt comforted, at home, at peace, in his company. Her ex-boyfriends always had her slightly on edge. With Paul, she could be herself.

She swung a leg over the wooden bench and sat opposite him, brushing her short skirt down over her thighs, not wanting to flash the whole pub.

Paul lifted his pint, took a deep refreshing gulp. Watched as the love of his life tucked her arms under her boobs, unconsciously lifting and plumping them. As she leant her arms on the table her tits rested on them, bulging over, trying to escape the confines of the tiny black crop-top.

She pushed the slip of paper across the table, being careful not to let it soak it in any stale beer.

"What's this?" Paul asked.

"They're asking for bands to play at the Bank Holiday festival." She raised an eyebrow.

Paul looked doubtful. "I don't think we're ready for that. We've only done a couple of pub gigs."

"We play all the time in orchestra, three concerts a year!"

Paul smiled a wry smile. "It's hardly the same. And there'll be hundreds of people on the common. I don't know."

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"You're more than enough excitement for me already," he chuckled.

"You better believe it."

They sank into their own thoughts for a bit, washed down with booze, enjoying the afternoon sun.

"It would be cool though, wouldn't it?" she said. "One last big blowout gig to end the summer, before we all go our separate ways for university?" Then just as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted it, as she watched Paul's face fall.

September would probably mean the end of this love affair, he knew. He would head to Imperial College in London for four years, and she would relocate to St Andrews, north of Edinburgh in Scotland. Literally another country, hundreds of miles away. No way would he be able to afford to go and see her; and even though she could afford to come back regularly, it would take a day to travel, and a day to get home again - no time for them to actually be together. Besides, she was so gorgeous, she'd have hooked up with someone new within the week, and he'd be forgotten. They'd talk on the phone, every day at first, then there'd be something she had to do that one night, and then they'd talk every other night, once a week, and eventually never again. He was trying desperately hard not to think about it but with each passing week the inevitable heartbreak crept closer and closer. Soon the days would rush by...

...but I mustn't think like that. I have to take every day as a gift, live it to the maximum, spend every second I can with her. Live each day as if it's my last. And, if everything goes to plan, and she likes the early birthday present I have for her, then maybe it won't be goodbye after all. He'd saved every penny he had - everything he'd earned from paper rounds, and washing cars, and doing the shopping for the elderly residents in his block of flats, and from the gigs the band had done - and thrown it all into getting that precious gift in its small velvet black box. It still wasn't much, but it's the thought that counts. He'd give her the world, if he could. After all, she was his world.

"It would be nice to do a big show, that's for sure," he admitted. On stage, he could be whoever he wanted to be. He liked the person he became in front of an audience. That man was confident, assured, entertaining. Everything this Paul wasn't - shy, nervous, naïve. Maybe that confidence would enable him to ask her the question he so desperately wanted to ask. "We should work on a set list."

"Well, I've been thinking about that. I reckon we could do some amazing arrangements of G'n'R tracks with some other classic rock mixed in..."

They discussed it as they drained their pints, ordered another round, kept on plotting. Now Emma was finally on board, playing the cello in lieu of a bass guitar, they had a full line-up. Immy was a demon drummer, and Izzy a competent rhythm guitarist, keyboard player, and second vocals. That left Samantha on lead guitar, sharing lead vocal duties with Paul.

"Oh, and I have a surprise for you. Have you ever heard of Vanessa Mae?"

"No, should I have?"

"Well, you will. She's going to be huge. And she's given me some ideas I'd like to try out..."

The conversation continued, but by the third pint of warm shandy Paul had reached his limit. It was getting difficult to think properly. Even as evening arrived there were hours of sunlight left. "I've sat on this hard bench for long enough," he declared. "Let's go for a walk across the common, get the lay of the land ready for our gig."

They found themselves walking through the long grass, some patches a good two to three feet high, other parts mown or just cleared by people wandering, walking their dogs, enjoying picnics. A game of Ultimate Frisbee had broken out, the avenue of trees doubling as boundary and goalposts. Off in the distance, down the hill, they could see the canal shining like a band of silver as it caught the light; and the sailing lakes behind, almost touching the horizon, where the pale blue sky was already tinged with the yellow of sunset. Paul realised how much he was going to miss it - this greenery, this openness - when he was studying in London.

"Tag, you're it," Samantha said, tapping his arm then running off across the common. Paul laughed, and gave chase, watching her short skirt flap as she ran, every so often flashing a bare arse cheek. She'd look back over her shoulder, making sure he was keeping up, making sure he was checking her out as she leapt and flexed. Deep in the long grass, she accidentally-on-purpose fell to the ground to let him catch her. They tumbled together, laughing, then kissing.

"I'm going to miss you so much," he admitted. These were the dog days of their last long hot summer. After this, University, and then work. They would never again be as free as they were at that moment.

"Well, I'm still here now," she said. "So enjoy me while you can." She pulled him down to her, swallowed his tongue, and ran her hands over his torso, down towards his legs, and her reward between them. Then suddenly she pushed on his shoulder, flipped him onto his back, and threw a leg over his hips, mounting him. "I can't wait any longer. I need you, right here, right now." She pulled down his zip fly, reached inside, found him hard and ready for her.

"No, we can't, someone will see!"

"Let them watch," she said, pulling her tiny thong to the side and guiding him into her, ruffling her skirt across his lap so that, should anyone approach, they might just be able to bluff it out that she was just sitting on his lap. Ha, as if.

She rode her man gently, with all the time in the world. Feeling him move inside her, watching his face as he watched her body dance for him. She hoped he'd never lose that look in his eyes, wondered if he'd ever look at anyone else in that same way. She knew he thought he'd never find anyone else, but she thought different. He wasn't the sad lonely virgin any more who'd travelled half-way around the world to still get bullied on a school trip. He was a kind, funny guy who could hold his own in conversations with her friends; not afraid to talk to girls, even attractive ones. He would find someone soon enough. That would be her parting gift to him, this new more self-confident persona, along with the memories of these last few months.

Paul looked longingly into her eyes, her hair a gleaming bronze from the sunset, like a halo - his horny angel. The crop top hanging loose from her abs, pulled away from her skin by the sheer volume of her full breasts, which swayed with her motion. Who will buy this wonderful evening, he sung to himself, reminiscing about Junior Choir and performing songs from the famous West End musicals. Who will tie it up in a ribbon, and put it in a box for me? So I can see it at my leisure, whenever things go wrong, and I can keep it as a treasure, to last my whole life long...

"Are you really humming songs from Oliver! while I'm in the middle of fucking you?" Samantha teased him. "Are you bored or something? Talk about insulting."

"I'm sorry. It's just... this is so perfect; I don't ever want to forget this moment."

"Then let me give you a memory you can't erase." She leant forward, planting her hands either side of his head, and started to bounce on his cock, her tits bouncing in the crop-top, grass rustling and waving all around them. There was nothing he wanted more than to drown in her cleavage, to tear her clothes off and watch her body take him in all its glory. But he daren't, not with people so close by around them. He just concentrated on his breathing, trying to stop crying out, but the occasional whimper inevitably escaped. He watched Samantha bite her lip, struggling to control her own noises - she was usually so vocal during sex. But nothing could mask the wet slap, slap, slap of her thighs against his.

Someone will hear that, he thought. They'll hear it and know what we're doing. The grass doesn't provide all that much privacy. They'll come over, and see us, and... "Oh god, Samantha, I'm gonna..."

"Sssh," she said, leaning forward to kiss him, just as he exploded into her. He whimpered, and she swallowed his cries, feeding from his energy.

Once his throbbing had subsided, and his legs had stopped twitching, she raised back off him, stroked his face. "I love you," she said.

"Love you too, you naughty girl," he replied. "But we need to get moving, before someone comes over."