Edited by Blue
They were sitting quietly on the old leather couch in front of the lowering flames of the fireplace. She had been there three hours and was, again, beginning to relax into the safety of the atmosphere he worked hard to provide for her. Now after a shower and some light dinner they had sat here wearing the huge brown cotton flannel bathrobes he kept for her visits, letting the evening wane and darkness settle over the view to the sea.
A cold wind lashed up the tidal spray and a few fishing boats had been visible until it became dark. He pulled the chilled Chablis bottle from the urn, removed the stopper and refilled her glass. Rodger Whittaker's mellow baritone came softly from the speakers in his signature waltz step vocalization, spinning his tales of love, departure, sorrow and forever separation. The words and music covered her soul like warm chocolate as she leaned against his bulk. The huge knot in her chest was gone and she was close to tears it was so peaceful being here.
Six hours earlier she had been in one crisis after another; first, her 15 year old daughter had raged against her over some silly boy problem. Sybille was 15 going on 25. She had used her recent loss of virginity as a weapon against Elizabeth ever since, at age 13, she did the math and figured that her mom, at 15, had been three months pregnant when she married her dad. He had been 28 then so Sybille was confident she could run with older men too. After two years the argument had lost its strength on Elizabeth. It was typical teen idiocy and Elizabeth hoped she would outlive her offspring's ignorance.
The anguish that has sent her back to Jerry's arms that evening had been generated by her husband.
He had a mean streak and for days had been unnecessarily cruel in both his verbal abuse and the shoving and jerking around. He was cruel and abusive. He hadn't actually beaten her but the threat was always just a heartbeat away when he drew his hand back.
He kept Elizabeth off balance and scared by his accusations of bad housekeeping, poor budgeting ability and generally not being pretty any more. There was no affection in sex any more. What there was of it was his demand for a blow job. She was left to her own devises for any satisfaction she needed. So, on Friday, after a week of it she had said she was going to her sister's place for the weekend. She dressed in shabby pants and a sweater, shouldered her bag and departed. She called Jerry from the bus station, then alerted her sister to the conspiracy and two hours later stood in his door way, exhausted, tearful now that the journey was over and happy for his gentle embrace.
While she showered he laid her bath robe across the bed and a change of new blue satin underwear on the pillow. He enjoyed making these little gifts for her and devoted some creative time sewing up her panties from patterns he had created for her elfin figure. As she stepped from the steam he places a light kiss on her lips then began softly patting her body dry, playfully lingering around her breasts and hirsute pussy, patting at the damp hair and fluffing it back up. Next, while she sat on the low bedroom stool, eyes closed and sinking into the physical presence of him, he combed and brushed out her hair then turbaned her head in a large yellow towel. Handing her the first glass of evening's wine he returned to the kitchen to finish and plate the light dinner; huge grilled shrimp wrapped in Prosciutto, light buttery baby potatoes and a salad.
When she emerged from the bedroom in her robe she said: 'I love the panties Jerry, perfect fit and color. I noticed you autographed the crotch panel again. I'll have to launder that out before I can take them home.' Her soft Scottish lilt burring over the words and phrasing, 'wouldn't do for "himself" to come across your name on my panties in the laundry, would it now?'.
'Leave them here in your drawer babe.' He replied reasonably without turning from his cooking tasks.
'Mmmm', she said as she walked up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his aging girth and gave him a hug. Then, playfully she ran her hand under his robe and found his cock already swelling. "Mmmmm, desert before dinner β please?'
Shaking his head and grinning broadly he turned in her arms with a small grunt, 'not for a while dear lady. I still have the dinner to plate.' She tip-toed a kiss on his lips then slid down his body kneeling on the floor and parted his robe, eye to eye with her objective. 'Just a taste please?' she opened her mouth and consumed his cock all the way to the root, as much of him as she could to just feel the swelling finish and the meatiness of it fill her mouth deliciously. 'Mmmmnnn' she hummed with satisfaction. 'Ahhhhhhh' he chorused. Momentarily satisfied she gave him a few slow healthy strokes and then released him back to his cooking.
Dinner was pleasant and conversational. During coffee her sister rang up and they chatted briefly to align their cover story in the unlikely event Ian called up. He never had, he disliked her sister intently. The dinner debris was sorted out and put away then they moved to the large sofa opposite the fireplace. She added some wood and then joined Jerry in a couch cuddle, his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her into a long sweet soft kiss. The crackling fire rose as the passion in her pussy began to squeeze her juices out and she tried to crawl into his robe. She thought how easily, at 65, he could still fire her sexual craving for him. It had been so for five years.