08

Chapter 7

That night, after Frank had as usual shown absolutely no interest in me, I lay sleepless, for much of the time wracking my brains for ways in which I might be able to create opportunities for Greg and me to be together again.

That was, if I was actually prepared to do so - which was the question I dealt with first

I ran through his qualities and attributes; he was attractive, intelligent, often times humorous and we had strong interests in common. And, perhaps even more significantly, he had proved to be not only a lovingly considerate, but also an extraordinarily skilfully proficient lover.

So I quickly decided I would definitely like to be with him again - which of course then left me with the even bigger question, and that was how we would be able to arrange that?

Certainly my work as a senior librarian at the university occasionally took me away from home for a night or two - for training seminars in administrative or procedural changes, software upgrades, and other related matters. But I could not really see how I could justify a sudden increase in either the regularity or frequency of such meetings.

But then, after I had wrestled with the problem for an hour so, the answer came to me. The theatre!

There was absolutely no reason why - following the undoubted success of the latest production - I should not be asked to become one of that other theatre group of performers. Given my knowledge of an extensive range and variety of plays - and Frank's increasing disinterest in that area of my life - I would have no trouble in carrying off the pretext that I was occupied with rehearsing, and then performing, a completely new part for them

I silently congratulated myself for coming up with such a simple, yet creative solution to the problem - and with my increasing certainty that Frank was more than fully occupied with some other woman, I had absolutely no feelings of guilt in even planning to do so.

I had some other ideas too.

Greg and I had of course exchanged phone numbers, though I had asked him not to call me at home in anything other than the direst of emergencies, and having arrived at both my decision and the means by which I thought we might meet again, I was sorely tempted to ring

him

. But - and perhaps that was just a 'woman' thing - instead I decided to await his call to me.

It was Wednesday before I received it - by which time I was of course beginning to wonder if he had had a change of heart. But when he apologised for not ringing earlier, saying he'd needed to go inter-state for a day or two, I found myself responding to just the sound of the emotional warmth in his voice. It was as though my breasts and pussy were also tuned-in to it - or at least to the memory of what pleasures had previously followed the sound of it - I felt the pressure of my nipples rubbing against the lining of my bras, and the rapid moistening that was obviously developing down between my legs.

After a few brief remarks his voice became much more tentative as he asked if I had had time to think about us meeting again. 'Yes I have - and yes, I'd very much like to - and I've even thought of a way in which it might be possible.' I answered.

'You have! That's absolutely marvellous Margie! What is it?'

'I can't really talk here Greg, can we meet - just for a coffee. Maybe after work.'

And so, later that afternoon we did just that; meeting in a convenient coffee-shop, where, ignoring the grins and chuckles from those already seated, he hugged and kissed me almost as ardently as he had during that famous '

Passionate!'

stage-kiss.

'Oh, I've missed that!' he exclaimed as we broke and took our seats. 'I can't tell you just how much! And I've hardly been able to stop thinking about you Margie.'

'I've been thinking about you too Greg - especially during those two days of total silence.' I added chidingly.

'Honestly the only time I had free to call you was when I knew you'd be home - and I knew you wouldn't want me calling there.' he explained.

'Don't worry - I was just pulling your leg a little. Though I did have a few moments when I thought I might have been something less than a nine day wonder for you.'

'Never! And I'll do my best to not let it happen again.' he said, just as the waitress arrived to take our order.

'Now, tell me about this idea of yours.' he said enthusiastically once she'd gone.

I quickly explained about the supposed invitation from his theatre group - and he positively beamed with delight when he understood the ramifications. 'So does that mean we could meet on a semi-regular basis - and you're prepared to do that?' he asked.

'Well let's say that for now I am Greg - though if you turn out to be a sadistic maniac, I can't promise how long I'd maintain it.'

He grinned. 'In that case I'll be sure not to bring the chains and handcuffs with me.'

We then quickly arranged a date for our production's first rehearsal, Greg suggesting that we use the same motel as we had the other time - which was convenient for both of us - then we chatted about more mundane matters until I said it was about time I started to make my way home.

During the intervening days - other than finding myself becoming extremely 'hot and bothered' whenever I thought about the excitement of my previous times with Greg - I did a little personal shopping, particularly for some sexy new underwear. Although I saw quite a few things I liked, my regular shops had nothing extra special, so I ended up in one of the far more up-market negligee boutiques, where - at quite exorbitant prices - I did find several items that especially appealed to me. And which I hoped would have a suitably dramatic effect on Greg.

The things I chose for the first of our new meetings were, when I looked at them even more closely than I had when I'd bought them, particularly spectacular. A bras, panty and garter-belt - all three made entirely from dozens and dozens of tiny, blue and white 'forget-me-nots'; the effect of the florets only enhanced by a few thin, pale green tendrils; the coils of which both bordered the edges and then sensuously curled and spiralled around where the tips of my breasts would be, and, perhaps even more erotically, up and around the pubic area.

The only thing I thought marring the general effect, was the obligatory cotton insert beneath the crutch of the panties - but, after a little careful unpicking, I removed that, then couldn't wait to try them on and get a proper look at myself wearing them

And when I did, although I had to admit that I thought they did make me look enticingly sexy, I realised that by trimming my pubic hair to fit within those coiling tendrils I could further improve the overall effect. So, having used a combination of scissors and razor - even taking the opportunity to remove the finer hairs from around my labia - I took another look in the mirror, and have to say I was more than satisfied with my handy-work. The roughly heart-shaped shadow - because it contrasted with the surrounding semi-transparency - clearly showed through, and when I leaned backwards so I could peer beneath me, the tiny flowers definitely seemed to add a romantically feminine appearance to my pussy/

In fact I then couldn't wait to see how Greg would react when he saw them…

But although I imagined, and hopefully anticipated what that might be, I could never, in my wildest imagination, have predicted his actual responses.

He sang to me - well, at least to that particular part of me!

* * * * *

As I really had nothing suitable to wear with the white thigh-highs I'd worn with the 'merry-widow' costume, I'd also bought myself a pair of equally sheer, but pale grey stockings, which went perfectly with the skirt and blouse I'd chosen - and having clipped them on to the skimpy, almost nothingness of the garter-belt, even I thought that any ordinary man would have to find resulting effect extraordinarily sexy.

But if the eagerness of Greg's initial greeting was anything to go by, I might well have worn any old thing. Even before we'd gone across to our allotted room, he'd hugged and kissed me, then clutched my hand so tightly I thought he must worry that I might suddenly fly away. Which of course I had absolutely no intention of doing…

Then once inside, all restraints were cast aside - by both of us. We kissed - each clasping the other tightly - we fondled, we groped - his hands again heading for my breast and buttocks, mine to his arse and the quickly stiffening length of his cock. Our kisses and caresses were so heated that at one stage I wondered if we might end up simply ripping each other's clothes off.

But we didn't - and again it was Greg who wanted to do the undressing, although that time perhaps rather more hastily than he had on the previous occasion. That was until he had removed the outer things - leaving me standing there in just that combination of underwear.

He was silent for quite a long time, his eyes moving slowly up and down the length of me - then. 'Oh Margie - you look absolutely fabulous! I wouldn't have thought it possible to improve on perfection - but somehow, you have!' He said, the expression on his face showing he was not just uttering something flattering, but what were his quite genuine feelings. Then, as an after-thought, he added. 'You really do look good enough to eat!'

'Well I most certainly hope so!' was all I could think of by way of reply.

Although he smiled, it was a tight one, perhaps reflecting the tension that had already risen inside him. 'I'll take that as an invitation - a truly delightful one. You'd better understand I really love caressing and licking that part of you Margie.' He said as he moved me backwards and sat me down on the edge of the bed.

Just hearing him say that - say that he loved going down on me - was more than enough to turn my insides to jelly, and as I yet again recalled the memory of how wonderfully he'd done that previously, even that jelly felt as though it had totally liquefied.

He pressed me back down on to the bed, spread my legs wider apart, then knelt between them - his fingers resting on my upper thighs - at first doing no more than stare up at me.

Having seen myself from a similar angle, I could imagine what his eyes were taking in. The mass of semi-transparent blue and white flowers, the curling, pale green tendrils, the dark shadow of my neatly trimmed pubic hair, the distinctive shape and outline of my, by then no doubt, wetly swollen pussy.

He did no more than just look at me for a minute or two, then I felt his hands move - his fingers curling under the waist-band, then slowly and gently peeling my panties down off me - and once he'd bared me, he again just knelt and looked at me.

Then, although at first I thought I must be hearing things, I heard him humming - then softly singing! Although at first his voice was too low for me to make out the words, the melody itself was somehow familiar. It was only when he repeated the refrain a second time that I recognised it - Edward Lear's '

The Owl and the Pussy-cat'

!

That time he lifted his head so I would hear the final section -

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Right then I didn't know whether to laugh - or cry from the overwhelming emotion I felt.

But when he then used his finger-tips to spread my lips apart, lowered his head, and began gently licking me - I became incapable of anything but allowing myself to sink into the utterly, blissfully transporting sensations he began to provide for me.

* * * * *

When I'd finally had more than enough of the almost totally overpowering rapture his licking and sucking gave me, he moved me up on to the bed, and fucked me - that time, when he was close to climaxing, doing what I'd fully expected him to do the previous time, increasing both the speed and power of his thrusting, then coming with a series of deep-throated grunts of pressure-relieved satisfaction.

Then, as before, we talked awhile - lying half turned towards each other, one of his arms pinned beneath me, using the other to slowly stroke my face, hair and shoulder - my free arm wedged down between us, my hand curled under and around the still stickily thickened length of his thoroughly emptied cock.

Of course, sooner or later I simply had to ask him about the ditty he'd sung to me. 'I've never been serenaded before - well, at least that particular part of me hasn't - so what brought that on?'

He grinned. 'It was only once I'd finished that I realised I might have actually offended you - but your reactions seemed to indicate I hadn't!' he added, with a mischievously wicked glint in his eyes. 'But as to why I suddenly thought of Edward Lear - who knows? Maybe it was the fact that I was kneeling there thinking what a perfectly adorable pussy you have - in fact, a beautiful one. Perhaps there's no other poem that has the words 'beautiful' and 'pussy' in conjunction - maybe that's what brought it to mind.'

'Beautiful? Surely all women are pretty much the same down there?'

'Well I haven't surveyed them extensively, but no - in my somewhat limited experience there's no two exactly alike. Much as I imagine men's equipment isn't. But you'd be a better judge of that!' he added.

'Like you, my experience is pretty limited, but yes, you're right.' I said, immediately thinking of the differences between Frank and Greg's cocks. 'And as far I'm concerned, yours is a particularly handsome one - not only in its actual size, but in the overall shape of it. As well as proving to be extremely physically effective, it's also a very visually appealing one - just the sight of it starts to turn me on.' I admitted a little shyly.

'I see we're back to exchanging compliments - but of course it's nice to know that what I've been given appeals to you. You're pussy most definitely does the same for me. I'll be happy to spend as much time as you like down there - in fact if you ever find yourself wanting me to kiss and lick you in that way, please just say so. Just the thought of seeing you, and of doing it, is quite enough to get me started.'

All that time my hand had remained where it had been - curled around his cock - and in fact I found I had been, quite unconsciously, rolling it slowly back and forth against my thigh. It was only when he said that just thinking about looking and licking me that I realised that the thickened length of him seemed to be growing - slowly getting both longer and perhaps just a trifle stiffer.

Wondering if in fact I could re-arouse him that way, I began moving my hand and fingers just a little more deliberately - at first unknowingly, moving his cock against my stocking-top; from skin to nylon, from nylon to skin.

Maybe it was that combination, maybe it was purely what was going on in his head - whatever it was, as his cock continued responding, Then not long after, Greg began breathing in a more laboured way - every now and then, gasping, muttering - 'Oh Margie - yes! Don't stop, please don't stop!'

To me his reactions seemed unbelievably strange, I'd never imagined a man could respond as strongly as he seemed to be from such indirect stimulation - but given the unbelievable intensity of pleasure he had given me, I wasn't about to stop whatever it was that right then seemed to be pleasing him so much.

So, twisting myself out of his arms, and then adjusting my position so I could more comfortable carry on for however long he wanted - or needed - I continued, from then on not only moving my hand back and forth, but at the same time sometimes slipping my fingers up and down over the rim of his already tightly swollen cock-head.

Given how strongly he'd come inside not too long before, I was utterly amazed when - after perhaps no more than five or so minutes of those unusual caresses - he erupted again. His guttural grunts of satisfaction almost deafening me, and his cock pulsing powerfully, purposefully and repeatedly, spraying a long string of pearly beads up along the entire length of my upper thigh.

That time, not surprisingly, his cock wilted quickly; leaving my fingers to trail through what was left of him - unconsciously gathering the separate drops and splashes, merging them, drawing them higher, until - perhaps as a subconscious way of making at least that part of him an even more intimate part of me - I slipped them inside the already hotter, very much juicier wetness of my waiting pussy.

Chapter 8

In the intervening week I thought even longer and harder about what was happening between Greg and me than I had the other time - and also thought extremely seriously about my rapidly deteriorating relationship with Frank.

He and had, I thought, had at one time had a reasonably good marriage - in fact at the beginning it had been an exciting one - but in more recent months it had certainly both weakened and worsened. In fact by that stage I felt it was nothing but a sham of one. We had in fact become just two people who happened to inhabit the same area of bricks and mortar.

I was - I decided - far too young, too intelligent, and definitely too needful of emotional fulfilment, to continue living under such straitened circumstances.

But - even if Greg had offered it, which he hadn't - did I want to figuratively make a jump from the frying pan into what might prove to be a fire? I thought not. So if the relationship between Frank and me was coming to an end, what would be best for me - with or without Greg?

I had not fully resolved those questions when a woman I was on chatting terms with - who I knew was a Lecturer in Family Law - came into the Library. At first I was merely seeking her recommendation for the name of a legal firm I could visit so as to discuss what options I might have - that was if I finally decided to seek to bring an end to what I thought had then become little more than a charade between Frank and me. But she offered to hear me out, over lunch, and proved to be not only well versed in the rights I had, but also, and on a more personal level, extremely sympathetic.

Now I had by no means come to a final decision as to what I would do, but having been armed with the knowledge of what I could expect, I found myself much better equipped to enjoy the remaining few days of anticipation of my forthcoming meeting with Greg. And in my more raunchily thoughtful moments, decide which of my newly acquired lingerie I would treat him to this time.

Given the boost to my self-confidence that the conversation with the law lecturer had given me, I eventually decided to wear what I thought were the most blatantly sexy ones. The bras and panty set was made from a combination of silk, lace and very fine satin ribbon - the silk in carmine red, the lace inserts and edging in black, and the tiny, shiny bows and ribbons in an artistically chosen shade of pale French-pink.

The bras was a push-up one, cut low enough to leave the upper edges of my aureoles showing, and a matching pair of panties were to all intents and purposes - especially once I had removed their crotch-piece - virtually see-through.

As there was no garter-belt with that set, I had also bought a pair of black, sheer, thigh-high stockings, which had a broader than usual top edging of still more lace. And had even taken the time to find a lipstick and nail varnish in a colour that almost precisely matched the carmine red silk.

Just handling them made me wonder - if Greg had thought I 'looked good enough to eat' in the blue and white flower outfit, what would he think I 'looked good enough' for in these things!

In the event I was most definitely

not

disappointed…