Rain

Thanks and acknowledgements to lindseymarsh for the input and for editing this story

Ann and I had been living together for two years when, just over a month ago, she walked out on me and went home to live with her mother. I didn't know whether it was me or the lifestyle in our village or both which had got on her nerves, but whatever it was, she had taken her possessions and some of mine and headed back to Nottingham. At first I'd been upset, but the longer she had been gone the easier it had become. I missed her in bed; she'd been a good fuck; but I certainly didn't miss her constant whining and the temper tantrums when things didn't go her way.

I liked village life. I liked the local pub, shopping in the village shops and living amongst people whom I regarded as friends and most of whom I'd known since I was a child. As usual on a Saturday morning, I was walking into the village to see my mother, to visit the local shop and to buy a few groceries and a few bottles of the local beer, when I espied the sexy and voluptuous Lynn Blackstone wiggling her beautiful, round bum as she strutted along the pavement, like me apparently making her way to the village shop.

I had liked or, more accurately, had lusted after Lynn since we were at school together, even though she had been younger than me. We had lost contact for the twenty years I was working in London, but in the three years since my return to the village, my interest in her had rekindled. Now in her late thirties, other than putting on pounds in all the right places, she had changed very little; although the same cannot be said for her personal life. When I left, she was single and fancy-free; when I returned she had two teenage children and was married to Andy Blackstone, a former classmate of mine, who was a pain in the arse then and the same now.

When my mother told me she was married, I had been astounded; I couldn't understand what was a good-looking girl like her was doing marrying a man like Blackstone. The answer came in my mother's next sentence.

"You know she was expecting?"

I didn't know and couldn't believe she would have let Andy Blackstone sully her cunt with his cum and not just sully her cunt, but also her womb. Fortunately, childbirth didn't appear to have marred her appearance, if anything it had improved her, in that both her tits and bum were just the right size; not too big, but more than enough to get hold of in bed - or anywhere else.

Walking down the high street wearing a tight pair of jeans, it wasn't a good thing to be harbouring lustful thoughts of the delectable Lynn; my cock had responded to mental images of her lying on my bed, her legs spread, her voluptuous tits draped against her chest, her glistening cunt waiting to receive my iron-hard cock. I wanted to catch-up with her and talk, but prudence demanded I slow down and wait until the outward manifestation of my enthusiasm for her body had subsided before engaging her in conversation.

As she reached the shop, a mousy-looking, middle-aged woman came out and they started to talk. She was relatively new to the village, but I had seen her before and had heard she was a gossip and thus likely to engage Lynn in extended conversation as she poured out her 'news' of the latest village scandals. Hoping to wait her out, I stopped and to pass the time, looked into the butcher's window. The lamb chops looked appetizing, but not as appetising as Lynn's tits and bum. I was rescued from the threat of ten minutes spent feigning interest in the arrays of sausages, pork pies and hams by Lynn who, seeing me, excused herself from the clutches of the gossip who scuttled away, her lips apparently pursed in disapproval..

"Hello, Bob."

"Hi, Lynn." I wanted to say, 'How about coming over to my place for a fuck?', but discretion proved the better part of valour,

"What are you doing?" I wanted to reply, "I'd like to be doing you", but, once again, discretion won out.

"I've just come from my mum's and now I'm just going to pick up a few things from the shop - and you..?"

"Just buying a few things."

The conversation was banal; the sort of conversation casual acquaintances would have, which, on my part at least, was not what I wanted. I opened the door to the shop and let her in and was rewarded with a smile and a very obvious jiggle of her tits – perhaps our banal conversation was not what she had in mind either. I watched as she bought a few things and watched intently as she left, hoping for her to show further indication of interest in me. I was disappointed, she smiled again, but this time left without the erotic manoeuvering of her mammaries she had volunteered at the shop door.

I bought a few groceries, beer and the local paper and headed for home, stopping on the way to sit on a bench on the edge of the village green where I read the paper and indulged in my usual Saturday morning treat; a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut. I had been reading for about ten minutes and savouring my chocolate infusion, when I realised the sky was getting darker and as I looked up, there was a flash of lightning, followed in less than ten seconds by a clap of thunder. From what I knew about electrical storms, the lightning was less than two miles away and it was time to take shelter.

Looking for cover, I ran across the green towards the bus shelter and as I did, the rain started and at almost the same time, the eleven o'clock bus into town pulled in at the bus stop. I usually walked the mile or so home, but if I could catch the bus, it would provide both shelter and transportation and if I failed, the bus shelter would protect me from the rain and lightning. I nearly made it, but the bus-driver was clearly in a hurry and as soon as Lynn and a second woman, who had both been waiting in the shelter, had boarded the bus, he took off, leaving me twenty yards from the bus stop and mad, both at missing the bus and missing the opportunity to flirt with Lynn.

The next bus was not until one o'clock, but the bus shelter was a welcome port in a storm. I sat down on the bench and started to read the graffiti on the wall. According to the hieroglyphics, Scott had fucked Emma, as had Dave. I wondered who Emma was and whether she would she like to add Bob to the list of her lovers. It was fanciful and I knew it; Emma was probably half my age and since I was neither rich nor handsome, would be unlikely to be interested in me.

I looked around the shelter. Modern; with perspex walls and steel seats; with the exception of the graffiti, it contrasted markedly with the shelter of my youth. The old bus shelter had been made of brick, with wooden benches at the front and back, their use dictated by the direction of the rain or wind or the amorous intent of the young people using them. The seat to the rear of the shelter had been hidden from the road and in my day, a number of the village girls had surrendered their maidenhood on the hard wooden bench.

Raised from my reverie by running footsteps, I peered through the rain-streaked, transparent walls to see the mousy woman, to whom Lynn had been talking, running towards the shelter. As she was about to reach its protection, a large, black SUV – the embodiment of a 'Chelsea Tractor' - driven by a blond haired woman at a speed well in excess of the speed-limit, ploughed into a puddle, splashing water over her. Soaked and looking something like the proverbial drowned rat, she let forth a stream of invective.

"Damn that woman. Thinks she owns the road and her husband's not much better. Still what do you expect from someone brought up on a council estate, whose mother was little better than a prostitute and whose father spent most of his life in gaol. She's had all sorts of plastic surgery and her tits are pure silicone."

I looked at her and thought; it probably doesn't pay to cross this woman – ever.

"Are you OK?"

She looked at me and surprisingly, smiled. It was the first time I'd seen her smile and it changed her face dramatically. I had thought of her as a termagant and her diatribe had not done much to disabuse me of my position, but the smile was something different and out-of-character. I looked at her more closely. I had always thought of her as being indeterminately middle-aged; closer to sixty than fifty, but a closer look at her face indicated I'd been wrong and fifty, even late forties, was a far more reasonable approximation. I looked at her figure – she was short and slim, but the water had soaked her dress and it was clear, from the way it hugged her figure, she was neither bereft of tits nor, from the way they were tenting the fabric of the dress; nipples.

"I am - and how are you Bob Miller?"

She had the advantage on me. She obviously knew who I was, but all I knew about her was her reputation as a gossip. Seeing the look of consternation on my face, she laughed and continued.

"It's all right, Bob. I know your mother and I know a little about you, including the fact that for the last two years you've been living with Ann Hopkins who, a couple of months ago, went back to her mother and her old boyfriend."

I'd obviously been cuckolded and this woman knew – why hadn't I?

We talked for almost twenty minutes; waiting for the rain to stop. I discovered her name was Monica; she lived alone on the edge of the village, had never been married and worked at the library in town. Given the existing extent of her knowledge, I don't know what she discovered about me; probably very little she didn't already know.

When the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, we left the shelter and headed east, both on our way home. We talked as we walked, stopping when we reached a small cottage some half a mile from the bus-shelter. As she opened the gate and turned up the path, she asked,

"Would you like to come in? I can't offer you a beer, but I can offer coffee or tea."

Isn't the third alternative or me? Perhaps she was too young to be aware of the reference.

"I've just bought some beer, but right now I wouldn't mind a cup of tea."

Inside the cottage was larger than it looked from the outside and whereas I had been expecting Chintz and Laura Ashley, what I got was a mixture of mainly modern Scandinavian and some good, reproduction Art Deco.

I must have looked mildly astonished, causing her to smile and say,

"Not what you expected, is it?"

I nodded agreement. It wasn't what I'd expected; clearly there was more to this woman than gossip.

"You can use the bathroom to take off your wet things. If you look on the hook behind the door you'll see a red dressing gown which you can use. I'll throw all the wet stuff into the dyer; it shouldn't take long to dry."

I followed instructions and went into the room and removed all my clothes – everything I was wearing was machine dry and she was right, it wouldn't take long to dry. Naked, I looked for the dressing gown – it might have been on the hook, but wasn't readily apparent. There was a blue silk kimono on the hook and below it a white terry-cloth bathrobe, but as I looked more closely I realised there was something red underneath them. I walked over and looked at the kimono; silk, beautifully made and probably expensive, it was so sheer, had the wearer been naked underneath, it wouldn't leave much to the imagination. I removed it and the bath-robe to find, below them, not a dressing gown but a matching, much larger, almost man-sized kimono, this time in red and once again silk, expensive and sheer; for a mousy librarian, she obviously had non-mousy tastes – and, more intriguingly, just who wore the red kimono?

I put on the red kimono and returned to the living room. She had started the gas fire and was standing in the middle of the room wearing, what appeared to be, nothing but a large towel and holding her soaked clothes. The dress may have been cotton, but the soaked underwear she was holding was red silk and from the size of the knickers, not your typical grandmother's underwear. She smiled at me and went into the bathroom, returning clad in the blue kimono and holding a pile of wet clothing, which now included mine.

"I'll just pop these into the dryer."

I nodded and followed her as she went into the hallway and opened a door. The utility room was tiny; just large enough to hold a washer and dryer side by side. I watched as she leant down and put the clothes in the dryer; my guess had been correct; neither the bra nor the panties would have ever graced my grandmother's interesting bits. Finished she turned to get up and as she did, her kimono fell open; the ties hanging by her sides and exposing all her charms. She had nice tits, not big, but nice with really large nipples and what was interesting, she gave me plenty of time to examine both before she closed the kimono and re-tied it; saying nothing, but giving me a smile. I had been transfixed by her tits and hadn't time to tell if she was wearing knickers, but, on balance, I was betting not.

"The tea's brewing. Go into the living room and I'll bring it through."

Once more I would have preferred the third option, but settled for the second.

We sat by the fire in the living room, drinking and talking. It was clear, in addition to being a font of gossip, she was well read; which is probably what one would have expected from a librarian. As we talked, the kimono started to drift open once more. She knew it was happening, but did nothing. I watched, waiting until I could see her nipples. From the preview I'd had in the utility room, I knew they were large, but the second viewing revealed just how much I had under-estimated their size. They were amazing, pink and surrounded by slightly darker areolas; they must have been over half an inch long and around half an inch in diameter and transfixed, I could think of nothing other than how I was going to get my lips around them.

This time she didn't close the kimono, but reached out and took my hand and said,

"Well, Bob Miller, what are you going to do now?"

"Whatever you want."

It was a wimpy answer, but my brain and cock were fighting to make sense of the situation and it was all I could manage.

"Well it is Saturday lunchtime and I don't have anything on my agenda for the afternoon; so, if you're not planning on attending a football match, perhaps we can spend the afternoon fucking."

"All right."

"All right, what? You're going to a football match or you're going to fuck me?"

"I'm going to fuck you."

In ten seconds we were in bed or more accurately, on the bed, and whereas that morning I had been picturing Lynn lying facing me and naked, I was now facing a real women who, unlike the imaginary Lynn, was demanding I slip her a one. I looked at her closely, her tits were average size, but pert for her age, her nipples were extraordinary, her hips probably slimmer than I liked, while her cunt was surrounded by a crop of light-brown, slightly-trimmed pubic hair.

"Do you like what you see?"

It was a stupid question to ask any man who was about to slip his cock into a woman's cunt. What was the chance he was going to say 'no' and blow his chances of getting his rocks off?

"I do."

She smiled and beckoned me.

"Then show me how much."

I showed her. It had been two months since I'd slipped my cock between the velvety sides of a cunt and Ann's cunt had certainly been on the velvety side. We started in conventional fashion; missionary position; 'male dominant' as the sex manual describes it, but it didn't take long to ring the changes. Monica started it by grabbing me round the hips and rolling me over until she was in the 'female dominant' position.

"I thought I'd start with a western theme."

Rising, she got into the cowboy position and started to fuck, slowly at first; her bum sliding backwards and forwards, up and down my belly; her cunt milking my cock and her clit rubbing against my pubic bone. It didn't take long for her to increase her pace; her thrusts becoming more urgent; her clit driving harder and harder against my pubes. I was starting to cum, but it was clear she was far in advance of me. When she came it was with repeated shudders, her left hand squeezing her right breast and a torrent of sexual profanity; for an unmarried librarian she apparently possessed a complete vocabulary of sex-related Anglo-Saxon words.

When she finished she sat still, smiling, massaging her right breast and playing almost coquettishly with her nipples, stretching and teasing them, finally bowing her head and holding her tit upwards in her hand, just managing to lick the tip with her tongue.

"I've often envied women who can suck or lick their own tits."

I nodded; whatever gets you off; although when I thought about it later, I could see why it could well be erotic.

"Doggy fashion."

"What?"

"I'd like you to fuck me doggy fashion."

Well, she was certainly no retiring violet, but if she wanted it doggy fashion I was pleased to oblige.

So far all we had done was fuck, I hadn't kissed her, hadn't even fondled or licked her breasts. I wanted to fuck her, but needed some form of intimacy.

"Hold on. I will fuck you doggy fashion, but first you've got to kiss me."

She looked at me intently, as if trying to determine why I'd made such a request. When I smiled at her she smiled back.

"Of course. It's just that my friend is often so rushed, we have very little time for foreplay."

Just who was her friend? Probably the wearer of the red kimono.

"Well, I'm not rushed and I've plenty of time for foreplay."

We played with each other for what seemed like an hour. I must have licked every inch of her body, some parts twice over. Her breasts, particularly her nipples, were hyper-sensitive, so much so every time I played with them she gasped and her body shuddered, but it was oral sex which really turned her on. I started it when I ended a trip down her body with my tongue at a point just above her clit. When she gasped, I assumed consent, and started to play with her. I've been told more than once I'm good at oral sex; Ann had even echoed the sentiment and she was not the type to lavish praise on anyone, but her reaction was something I'd never experienced. It took only a couple of minutes for her to cum twice and by the end of her climax, my ears were ringing from the pressure she had exerted with her thighs when she came.

It wasn't all a one way street, she blew me expertly; her tongue playing with and exciting every inch of my cock and just before I came, she dry-tossed my salad, something nobody had ever done to me. When I came she swallowed every drop with apparent relish, continuing to suck until I couldn't stand it any longer.

After I'd cum, we lay in bed and kissed and talked; almost like long-term lovers. I felt comfortable with her and apparently she felt comfortable with me. After about half an hour she leant over and put her hand around my cock and wanked it two or three times. When she got no response, she leant down and started to lick the head, this time with much more positive results.

"It seems your cock has an oral fixation."

I laughed. "You could say that."

A few more seconds with her tongue and my cock was doing a good interpretation of Lazarus. She laughed, wanked me twice, jumped out of bed and went over to the dresser where she posed, bent over, her elbows and forearms on the dresser top, her legs spread and her cunt ready to receive. She leered and beckoned to me with her right index finger. It looked like it was doggy time.

I didn't need asking twice and I leapt out of bed and got into position behind her, as if ready to fuck her, but rather than slip my cock into her cunt, I reached under her and started to play with her nipples. Her response was identical to our session on the bed; she gasped, shuddered and started to move her bum backwards and forward, either to encourage me or as an involuntary reaction to my caressing her tits.