Half an hour later and following two orgasms, she lay on her stomach supine and lacking enough energy to move after being well and truly fucked - doggie style. As she moved she felt the semen he had ejaculated along her spine move a little bit.
She had grasped his penis, thinking she might make the running as she had the night before; she was sadly mistaken.
He flipped her onto her front and knelt across her, quickly grabbing her by her hips and pulling her up to meet his hard prick that rested in the split of her arse. He wasted no time in fucking into her, pushing hard against the slight resistance of her labia, all thoroughly moistened by his third or fourth stroke.
She loved being fucked on her hands and knees, and played with herself, in body and mind. While she reached down to stroke her hard clit and rub across their joining, her mind would go places with the exchange in control. In her head she told herself that the most wonderful thing about Chris was that 'they' made love - not him, not her – both together.
But however she might think, she just loved it when Chris threw her down and fucked her. She thought about being taken, snatched, pirates, Captain Jack, Captain Sharpe, being watched, a second penis in her anus; whatever and wherever her head would take her and was going to increase that orgasm count.
Whatever his reasons for 'fucking her' this morning, it didn't trouble her as he stayed still and pulled her up and down his penis in the sexiest rocking motion, she occasionally dropping from her elbows down to her shoulders to improve the g-spot contact.
Finally, following a couple of resounding slaps on each cheek, he pulled out and wanked his wet cock just a few times to spray his come across her back and bottom, stopping only to wipe the few remaining dribbles across her anus.
"You dirty bastard," she said as he walked back into the room from the main door, "I'm going to have to run to the bathroom like this and shower your come off of me." She sighed, still languid and lacking the necessary drive to recover from her well fucked torpor.
"Bastard ah? Oh well, I'll drink your coffee as well as my tea then if that's the case."
"I forgive you," she said dragging herself to the edge of the bed and her steaming mug of life renewing coffee. She eventually ran to the shower naked with a large, red, hand-shaped mark on her bottom, with him laughing as he headed to Dan and Robert's room's to wake them.
With his great coffee doing its work and the effects of the shower, she came to.
She hoped that was the last she would hear about Brian's charity event. Part of her knew that it wouldn't be the end of it, there was something in Mike Stafford's desperate talk and his dogged resilience in continuing to stay in contact with her. It came that night, and through a totally unexpected route.
"Hellooo, might I speak to Mrs Catherine McMahon please," said a voice that Chris would never be able to forget.
"Hello Maureen?" he said.
"Aww, is that yourself there Christopher!" replied the most affected English Irish accent he had ever heard. In the same way that her late brother Brian liked to remind people of his Irish ancestry by the naming of his children, his younger sister pretended a link by the simple expedient of dropping in words and little vocal mannerisms in a soft southern Irish twang that anyone with half an ear for accents could tell was plainly false. If questioned, she would simply tell people it was a hangover from her spending time on the Emerald Isle as a child.
It was as much an exaggeration as her accent. She had travelled to Dublin for a week's holiday when she was nineteen and so fell in love with the life, culture and language, she immediately cultivated the accent. She listened or watched Terry Wogan, the famous BBC broadcaster and in her opinion, speaker of the most perfect Irish accent and started there. Any programme that featured an Irish accent was recorded and she would practice at home.
Brian pretended not to notice of course, and kept up the lie that it was a hangover from a visit. Cathy got the truth from him one night when he'd had a little too much Bushmills single Malt.
Maureen's obvious delight in talking to Chris again was tangible, and he knew why - she was nasty, scary and unpleasantly attracted to him!
Almost straight into the wake for his late wife Jenny, Maureen began to tell people about how important it was to 'get straight back on the ol' horse the second ya fell off'.
She started to explain to a shocked audience of Jen's still grieving family, that she had started dating the night her decree absolute arrived from 'that bastard.'
'That bastard' was Paul, a quiet unassuming man that had been subject to a whirlwind romance, and quickie wedding to a woman who, over the next three years of marriage he found to be rude, bossy, aggressive, unpleasant if not downright abusive to his family and most of all was someone that was not used or prepared to hear the word 'no' – at least that's what his divorce papers stated.
He had stuck the relationship out for as long as he could, and he did try; occasionally seeking support from Brian and Cathy. Brian would simply agree with whatever Maureen had said to begin the argument suggesting he buy chocolates or flowers to placate her. Cathy would suggest that he perhaps didn't give her the opportunity to argue in the first place. This he did, eventually in the most extreme way by leaving her and asking for a quickie 'no fault' divorce.
Maureen was most upset by this demanding that her ex-paratrooper brother 'go round and beat the shit out of the spineless little bastard to learn him not to mess wid' the McMahon's.' Brian refused, instead shifting the emphasis to Cathy who, working for a solicitor, could take the spineless little bastard to the cleaners financially instead.
Cathy knew better than refuse but did suggest that she should let her take a look at the papers he had served. His claims were after all true, she knew that and she knew that she could not in all conscience fight them.
Sat at her desk the following morning, she found the pre-nuptial agreement that Maureen had insisted he sign seeing as she, like her brother, owned her own house.
This also meant that he was able to walk away with his money, because the pre-nup was a good one in both directions. Maureen was incensed. She knew that he had a substantial amount of money left him by his parents and she was disgusted that Cathy, with all of her so-called knowledge, couldn't work the oracle and get her 'what she deserved' past the same document she expected to stop him from getting at her house. Even Brian threw in the occasional 'surely there must be something that you can do, you're not really trying are you' into the mix.
Common to people with no understanding of the law, they didn't want to understand the bits that didn't go in their favour. Eventually she threw the papers on the tiny dining room table, declaring that if Maureen thought she could find someone better, then perhaps she should, suggesting that it would cost her some of her precious money she was so keen not to let her husband anywhere near.
Maureen, emotional expert as she was, turned on the waterworks and Brian took the bait, hugging his sister who's Irish accent had suddenly disappeared leaving a plain, if slightly harsh standard south-east England accent.
"How can you be so heartless," hissed Brian, as Maureen gave in to even more desperate sobbing.
"Because evidently neither of you thinks I'm bloody good enough," she snapped.
The next morning, a slightly apologetic and chastened Brian without his sister's assistance asked if she couldn't get one of her solicitor buddies to cast just one more look over the thing, 'just to make sure'. She snatched the papers from him with bad grace.
Eventually, one of the new barristers looked at the papers and Cathy's stressed face and rang the other firm of solicitors, and both parties agreed to walk away from the marriage with, as near as made no odds, everything they had taken into it.
Cathy rang Brian on his mobile and told him what the Barrister had done and that was as good as it was going to get. He accepted and rang Maureen, seeing as Cathy had refused to do it outright.
Now that was long forgotten and Maureen popped up every now and again, a few times a year. More so now that Cathy's doctor sister had died and that sexy architect husband of hers was on his own now.
After the embarrassing stall-setting at Jen's funeral, they met again at Brian's fifty-third birthday party. It wasn't a normal birthday to have a large celebration, he hadn't even celebrated his fiftieth other than a few pints, but Brian absolutely insisted Chris should come to his big party apparently so Colleen and Karen could meet up. Chris said that he might pop along for an hour or so.
He did and spent most of the night stood or sat between his parents-in-law or Cathy while the large and voluble, heavily busted, flowery dressed earth mother Maureen slowly spent the evening trying to monopolise him, and squeeze next to him, breathing Irish Whiskey fumes over him. When she started singing partially learned Irish folk songs to him, he'd had enough.
