Uncle Mike at English Crafty Hands

But Piers realized that Mike would, almost certainly, have to remain for him a beautiful and long-cherished memory, a shining ideal, and an image that he could, henceforth, forever call forward whenever he felt sexy and dreamy and wanted to beat off. There remained the possibility that somehow, somewhere, their paths might again cross, but it did not seem particularly likely.

Mike stood up and reached down his right arm to grasp Piers', and to pull him up from the carpet, and then together they entered the shower. Under the warm and comfortable spray, they soaped each other up, and stroked each other's body, and after an unprecedented amount of spunk slid from their bodies, they met in their first and only full-body embrace, Piers' hands cupping Mike's beautiful furry butt, and Mike holding Piers' face to his in his hands, and giving him a deep and friendly kiss. "All right," Mike thought, "I guess I can delay my return another ten minutes," and Piers knelt in the shower before Mike's great cock, once again as rigid and erect as ever, and he permitted Piers to gratify himself by fellating Mike to conclusion, while Mike lovingly stroked Pier's hair, and soothingly encouraged him with sweet nothings.

When, under Piers' urgency, using his hands and his lips and his tongue and all his arts of venery, Mike, with his fingers threaded through Piers' hair or gently stroking his ears or chin, pumped his mouth full of his semen, it seemed almost more an act of magnimanity on Mike's part, than of service on Piers's part, though Mike was also very deeply gratified and would never forget Piers.

They finished their shower, toweled off and Mike put on his English footballer tee-shirt and his simple little shorts, his very low-cut socks and his English 'trainers.'

(Piers got Mike's California address, and by the time he and Allie returned home, there was a package containing an hour-long video of the proceedings in the Beckham Arena. Needless to say, Piers kept a copy for himself.)

And as Mike departed through the little bar in Old Compton Street downstairs, the barman handed him a packet containing one hundred pounds, or two and half time the highest fee ever before awarded any Player in the history of English Handicrafts. And Mike's name remained in their database, posted against it a recorded spectator average a full standard deviation above any previous high average. He remained a topic of conversation among the regulars and from time to time a wistful member would ask Piers if he was ever coming back. That was a question Piers himself often enough asked himself.

When he got back to the hotel, Mike found Allie improving, but still under the weather. She felt only like taking a little chicken soup, which he ordered for her from room service.

She was still slightly feverish, and she certainly didn't feel like sex. At least she didn't think so. But, pulling off his clothes, Mike crawled into the luxurious bed with her, and dimming the lights, told her the whole story of the afternoon. Though she was tired, even exhausted, from her "24-hour flu," she definitely responded to the fascinating story. Mike gently tugged off the simple little bed jacket that she had on, and bid her to lay back and relax. Just relax.

With his knees on either of her smooth athletic legs, his now erect cock lay right nuzzled between the very crotch of her legs, right up against her warm cunny, warmer than ever because of her slight fever. His cock was more or less clasped by her upper thighs, and its tip slightly rubbed against the soft long-fibre Egyptian cotton linens that were the hallmark of their small, luxurious hotel. Supporting his body with his arms on either side of her, but touching her no where else, he leaned down and gently kissed her lips. There too, he could detect her slight fever in the noticeable gradient between her lips' heat and his. She was responsive, but he did not wish to cause her to expend any effort, and after kissing her with infinite gentleness, he pulled his lips away a bit and whispered, "Relax. Relax."

He scooted backwards, and settled his entire big body between her legs. And for the next hour he gave her a complete and encyclopedic experience of cunnilingus. It was an exhibition of expert technique, it is true, with the highest interplay between Mike's actions and Allie's responses; but much more it was an expression of deepest, most profound love. Allie was exhausted from her illness, though recovering; but Mike arranged everything so that she merely lay quiet, arms and legs swaddled in the luxurious linens, while he brought her to climax after climax after climax after climax. And then finally, as she lay there deep in sexual fatigue, he gently, gently, gently stroked her flanks and arms and legs as she drifted into a heaven of sleep, borne there on a cloud of his abiding love.

The next day, she felt infinitely better, as good as new, and with the hundred pounds he bought her a sizable bottle of Deneuve.