Ambridge Affairs

(Author's note :- I never expected my Ambridge 'saga' to have mass audience appeal - it is a pretty specialised 'market'! But, readership of chapter 1 is teetering on the verge of a very respectable 1,000 - and, so far, it has attracted five 'straight 5' votes. The only disappointment has been a complete absence of e-mail feedback, and I really would welcome an exchange of ideas with 'Addicts' anxious to delve into the murkier depths of Borsetshire life. So, see what you think about Clarrie's hidden secrets - then let me know...)

Rum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti-tum...

"Good-morning, Joe," Clarrie Grundy greeted her father-in-law cheerfully as she bustled round the kitchen in her dressing-gown, fresh from her morning shower.

"I don't see what's so good about it," he grumbled as he picked up the cup of tea waiting for him, and drank it noisily, looking round for the morning paper.

"Where's Eddie?" he asked. "Ain't he up yet?"

"Been up ages," said Clarrie, heaping four rashers of bacon and two eggs on to Joe's plate. "He's laying slabs for Linda Snell this morning. He went half an hour ago."

"Better him than me," said Joe, attacking his breakfast vigorously. "That woman could talk for Borsetshire – drives me mad. What about Edward?"

"He's working up Oliver Stirling's – mending some fences, or something."

Joe nodded, his mouth full.

"What about you?" Clarrie asked. "'Ave you anything on this morning?"

"No – nothing much," came the indistinct reply, as Joe mopped up the remains of his egg yolk with a piece of bread.

"Well, I'm on lunchtime shift at The Bull," Clarrie announced as she picked up Joe's plate and carried it over to the sink, dropping it into the basinful of hot water. Turning round, she leaned against the sink and folded her arms in front of her.

"So, I've got a good hour before I have to start getting ready," she said. Her father-in-law looked up at her.

"Is there anything you need, while I've got a bit of free time, then, Joe?" she said, her voice a little lower than before.

"What you got on under that thing?" he asked, his eyes glittering.

"Why don't you come over and find out?" As she spoke, Clarrie's tongue slid over her lips, and she watched as Joe levered himself out of his chair and crossed the kitchen floor. She unfolded her arms and put her hands on the edge of the sink, supporting herself with her arms.

Joe's rough, gnarled hand reached up and pushed the material of one side of her dressing-gown aside. A full, heavy naked breast was revealed. Joe's fingers closed round it and his index finger and thumb gripped the thick brown nipple and twisted it. Clarrie gasped and closed her eyes.

"Ah, you got lovely tits," said Joe. "My Susan had nipples like yours, God rest 'er. Her tits wasn't so big, though."

He always said that, Clarrie reflected, but she did love the way he treated her breasts – roughly, painfully, sometimes, but it always aroused her. He had never kissed her – she wouldn't want him to. To Joe, sex was an animal act and it excited Clarrie to be treated the way a stallion would service a brood mare. Not that Joe was everyone's idea of a stallion, but, for an old man, he was astonishingly virile and his cock was half as big again as his son Eddie's – Clarrie's husband.

Joe's other hand was already busy unbuttoning his trousers and Clarrie reached down to help him. As usual, his cock was already hard and it was difficult to get it out. Joe gave up in disgust and left it to Clarrie, raising his other hand to drag the top half of her dressing-gown fully open so that he could grab her other breast.

As he twisted her stubby nipples, Clarrie felt the wetness between her thighs and her mouth dried with excitement as she released his penis and it slapped against her palm. The tip was already leaking and her fingers grew sticky. She gripped his cock at the base and flooded as her fingers failed to meet round its circumference and she anticipated it stretching the mouth of her vagina as it pushed its way into her.

As a young bride, when she had first come to live at Grange Farm, Clarrie had been very careful about locking the bathroom door and getting fully dressed before she emerged from the bedroom she and Eddie shared. Not that Joe ever tried anything with her, but she could sense his eyes on her, especially if she was bent over, showing a bit of cleavage, or sitting awkwardly, affording a view up her skirt.

Eddie, of course, never noticed a thing and she never talked about it to him. As far as Eddie was concerned, Clarrie was his wife, pure and simple. It would never occur to him that his own father could think of his daughter-in-law in a sexual context.

Things had been different with Eddie's brother, Alf. He had never made any secret of his sexual interest in his fresh young sister-in-law, and Eddie, who looked upon his no-good elder brother as some sort of a hero, had been quite unable to cope with the situation. Fortunately, when Clarrie first arrived at Grange Farm, Alf had been serving time in Winson Green prison – not his first prison sentence, by any means.

But he came out, a year after the wedding and, from that point on, Clarrie had never felt safe. Whenever he was in a room with her on his own, he bombarded her with suggestive remarks about what she and Eddie got up to, in bed, together – and, even worse, he lost no opportunity to touch her whenever he had a chance. His favourite trick was to creep up behind her when she was reaching up to a cupboard and grab her breasts from behind, holding her in a tight hug, so that she could feel the pressure of his erection against her bottom as she squirmed and wriggled in his embrace.

At first, Clarrie had said nothing to Eddie, and had coped as best she could by taking pains to ensure that she was alone with Alf as seldom as possible, but the dam had burst the morning he had caught her returning to the bedroom, after a bath. Clarrie had been wearing a dressing-gown, but nothing underneath, and Alf had pinned her up against a wall and thrust his hand inside the dressing-gown, and between her legs...

Clarrie would never forget the shock as his middle finger slid inside her moist vagina, or his mocking laughter as she wrenched herself free and fled to the bedroom, in tears. The other thing she would never forget was the arousal she had felt afterwards. At first, she had cowered in the room, terrified that Alf would come in after her, but then she heard the front door slam and, looking down from the window, saw Alf jump into the old van and roar off down the farm track.

It was then that she realised, for the first time, that her vagina had been wet when Alf had slid his finger inside her – and that it still was – even more so. The thumping of her heart, which she had attributed to fear, she now realised, had more than a little sexual arousal mixed in with it and, as she contemplated what might have happened if Alf had pursued her into the bedroom, she felt her insides turn to liquid and couldn't stop her own hand straying down between her thighs...

It was the first time she had masturbated since she had been married and, when it was over, and she had enjoyed a tumultuous climax, her conscience – and her fears – kicked in and she had forced herself to confront Eddie. In all fairness to him, her nerve had failed her when describing the extent of Alf's advances, and she hadn't been able to confess that he had fingered her pussy, but she had told her husband about his brother's sly tit-gropes – and Eddie had said he would talk to Alf.

Clarrie often recalled the night Eddie 'talked' to his brother. She was had spent the evening, alone, in the house, watching an old black and white 'weepie' on television, with a bottle of sweet white wine for company, and was feeling quite relaxed when Eddie and Alf returned from the Cat and Fiddle. It was clear, right from the moment they came through the door, that Alf had managed to get his younger brother very drunk, while remaining relatively sober, himself.

It took a little longer for Clarrie to realise that their 'talk' had consisted, mainly, of Eddie boasting about his love-making technique, and prowess, and that, by the time Alf had worked on him for three hours, he was determined to give Alf a demonstration...

At first, the danger signals hadn't been clear – it wasn't the first time Eddie had rolled home from the pub, his ardour greatly enhanced by several pints of beer – and, probably, a series of increasingly lustful leers down the barmaid's cleavage – and Clarrie was prepared to fend off his drunken advances with a certain amount of indulgent good humour – and even give in to them, later on, in the privacy of their bedroom...

But she hadn't reckoned with Alf's intervention. As she wriggled free from Eddie's attempted embrace for the umpteenth time, with increasing irritation, another pair of hands gripped her upper arms, and Alf pulled her back on to him, so that she was lying across his chest, on the settee, her arms pinioned by her sides.

Eddie had just cackled drunkenly and knelt on the rug beside the settee, his hands falling on to his young wife's large, unprotected breasts, fondling them openly in front of his watching brother.

Clarrie had kicked and screamed, but they had ignored her protests, laughing, and Eddie, becoming more and more excited by the minute, had begun to wrestle with the buttons on her blouse. Clarrie couldn't believe what was happening as he finally lost patience and tore at the thin nylon, tearing it away from the buttons.

As her blouse fell apart, Clarrie felt real fear. Eddie had done things like this before, and she had found it exciting, feeling the strength – the rawness – of his desire for her. But this was different – they weren't alone. Her lacy bra was practically transparent, and she shuddered as she thought of Alf leering down at her virtually exposed breasts.

Eddie was torn between wanting to feel her bra-clad breasts and trying to unclip the bra itself. Eventually, he compromised, and tugged Clarrie's brassiere upwards and over her generous mounds, and Clarrie screamed in renewed protest as her naked breasts bounced free.

But Eddie was deaf to her pleas. His hands grabbed her exposed tits, mauling them – then, worse – much worse – Alf's hand had snaked downwards and, knocking one of Eddie's groping hands away, had closed round Clarrie's left breast... Her blood ran cold as she struggled helplessly in their combined grip.

She realised, very quickly, that Eddie was unperturbed by the sight of his brother fondling his wife's bare breast.

"I told you she had great tits, didn't I, Alf?" Eddie had crowed, taking hold of Clarrie's thick nipple and pulling it. Clarrie was now in tears of shame and frustrated rage, as her naked breasts were mercilessly mauled – and then her blood froze afresh, as she felt Eddie's hand grope its way up her skirt.

Snapping her thighs together, Clarrie protested violently as Eddie tried to get hold of her panties and pull them down, but her protest fell on deaf ears. Taking his other hand away from her breast, Eddie lifted Clarrie's hips and pushed her skirt up to her waist, grabbing the waistband of her panties at either side.

Alf, meanwhile, was taking full advantage, both his hands now caressing his sister-in-law's exposed breasts, teasing her nipples skilfully. Distantly, Clarrie realised that his touch was quite arousing and that, under other circumstances, she might even enjoy having her breasts treated this way...

To her horror, she realised that she was beginning to lubricate, the sensations from her rapidly erecting nipples sending irresistible signals downwards.

Involuntarily, she relaxed her tension and, with a grunt of triumph, Eddie dragged Clarrie's panties halfway down her thighs. As he jerked his head up, however, to draw Alf's attention to his wife's exposed pubic bush, the sudden movement brought on an attack of nausea. Beneath his ruddy tan, Eddie's face paled, and he tottered to his feet, trying to take deep breaths. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, and rushed from the room...

Clarrie watched in disgust as he disappeared, then listened with revulsion to the sound of him being violently sick in the adjacent toilet. It was some seconds before she was aware that Alf was stroking her moist pussy-lips with a large, gentle finger – occasionally dipping it into her juices, then raising it to rub against her hard clitoris.

His tongue was tracing lazy circles around the tip of her right breast, while his hand continued to stimulate her other nipple. Clarrie could feel her arousal increase by the second, and she was uncomfortably aware of the outline of what felt like a very large erection lying across the small of her back.

The noises from the toilet had ceased. Clarrie thought, with distaste, of her husband – in all probability, sleeping with his head resting on the pan of the toilet – not for the first time...

Alf's fingers at her pussy were concentrating Clarrie's mind on that area of her body with increasing excitement. A country girl, born and bred, she had become familiar with the sex act at a very early age, taking a keen interest in the mating of horses, particularly, and had soon graduated to conducting enthusiastic research of her own with the village boys in the privacy of the stables.

As a result, she was no stranger to the male penis – of both the animal and human variety – and she was feeling an increasing curiosity about the hard shape throbbing underneath her...

A small moan escaped her, and Alf chuckled. Raising his head, he planted an unhesitating kiss on Clarrie's lips, and she opened her mouth, pushing her tongue at him. He eased his body round to lie beside her on the settee, and, taking her hand, placed it over the rock-hard shape in his jeans. Instinctively, Clarrie tried to pull her hand away, but Alf held it down, and, as she felt the girth of the throbbing piece of rigid flesh under her palm, her trapped hand closed round it, and squeezed.

Alf grunted, and his hand again pushed between Clarrie's thighs. All reason – all scruples – gone, Clarrie parted her thighs, and groaned as his fingers delved into her moist cunt. Her fingers scrabbled around to find the top of his zip, and she dragged it down, frantically, raising her head to look...

His cock seemed huge to her – it was certainly longer and thicker than Eddie's – and uncircumcised. A trail of silvery fluid dangled from the huge knob on the end of it...

"Oh, give it to me, Alf," moaned Clarrie. "Come on – fuck me." Her hand reached out and grabbed the shaft of his cock. She wriggled her hips so that she was under him, on the settee. The back of the settee stopped her right leg, but she pushed her left one down on the floor, and pulled Alf down between her spread thighs, her hand guiding his prick between her open thighs...

"Oh, yes," she groaned, as she felt his knob-end stretch the entrance to her sopping vagina. "Oh, yes, Alf – stick it up me – fuck me with that huge cock..." Her words trailed away incoherently as Alf pushed and Clarrie's lubricated channel was stretched wide as his massive penis penetrated her. He was kneeling beside the settee, leaning forward, his hands squeezing Clarrie's breasts brutally, his cock sunk deep into her womb.

Part of Clarrie's mind was in a turmoil of guilt, but the sensations of being penetrated to hitherto unplumbed depths had her in a frenzy of sensual abandon, and she was jerking her hips wildly against him, approaching her orgasm, when she felt him stiffen, then, with a series of hard slams against her spread thighs, ejaculate jet after jet of sperm deep inside her...

Alf's sudden climax took Clarrie by surprise – Eddie usually lasted much longer than that – and, as she felt Alf soften inside her, then, almost immediately, slide out of her, when he stood up, her first overwhelming reaction was one of frustration. Her climax had been so close – just a few more seconds...

But Alf had grinned down at her, already zipping his penis away, inside his jeans.

"Always wondered what you'd be like, girl," he said. "You're a really good little fuck – thanks." And he had turned and Clarrie had listened as his footsteps thudded up the bare wooden staircase, his cum already leaking out of her...

Then she had cried, while rearranging her torn clothing, and, after a short battle with her conscience, went to sort out her unconscious husband. She had spent a troubled night, with Eddie snoring stertorously beside her, but had awakened to feel his fingers sliding over her thighs and, memories of the way Alf had stretched her the previous night still fresh, she had willingly opened her legs and, at last, achieved her long-delayed climax.

Alf had left her alone after that and, in any case, had 'disappeared' shortly after. Eddie and she never mentioned the night he had 'talked' to his brother, and Clarrie had learned to appreciate Eddie's staying power, even if she sometimes wished his cock had more in common with his brother's in the girth and length departments...

Eddie's sexual urges, however, had dwindled over the years, as the boys had been born, and grown up, and there had been more and more problems with Grange Farm.

But Clarrie still had a physical appetite – and she still got offers. Mike Tucker often tried his luck, especially after he had had a drink – and even Neil Carter, from time to time, and Clarrie had been tempted, but she had managed to resist temptation, despite one or two 'close calls'.

Then, about a year ago, the Grundys had finally lost Grange Farm and had to move into a council flat in the town. It had been a terrible time – for all of them, but especially for Joe, who had lived there all his life. Over the years, Clarrie had grown to be very fond of her irascible father-in-law, and it had hurt her generous nature to see him suffer. But, even after all those years, she was still careful about how she dressed, in Joe's presence, and was very wary about bathing and undressing, especially in the flat.

The flat had been too small, and privacy was very difficult. Even the bathroom had a frosted glass panel on the door, through which a watcher could get a slightly fuzzy view of what – or who – was inside and, several times, Clarrie had felt she was being watched when she dried off after a bath or a shower. It had to be Joe.

Then, one day, when she was alone in the flat, she had undressed in the bedroom and wrapped a towel round her to go into the bathroom for a shower. As she was drying herself, she heard the front door, and she listened to the footsteps, wrapping the towel hurriedly around herself.

It was Joe. She heard him come through the small living-room, then stop outside the bathroom door. She could see his silhouette as he peered through the pane of frosted glass. She cursed herself for not bringing her clothes into the bathroom, as she usually did. Now, she'd have to run past him, with only the towel for cover.

Then, suddenly, instead of feeling annoyed and threatened, Clarrie had a rush of sympathy for the old man. He had lost everything. Why not give him a little bit of pleasure? It wouldn't cost her anything, and it would take his mind off his troubles for a bit. She felt her nipples begin to stiffen, and realised that Joe wouldn't be the only one to get a bit of much-needed stimulation, if she were to give him a 'quick flash'. She drew the rough towel slowly across her nipples, and felt a sensation of warmth between her thighs.

Her mouth dried a little with trepidation but, before she could talk herself out of it, she began to dry herself again, holding the towel up with both hands, drawing it up and down across her back, then slowly turning to face the door where, she knew, Joe would get a hazy view of her breasts swinging across her chest – and he'd also be able to see the dark smudge between her thighs.