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EROTIC NOVELS

The Bored Housewives Club Pt 01

The Bored Housewives Club Pt 01

by edward_carrington
19 min read
4.81 (2800 views)
adultfiction

Prologue: The New Arrival

Maggie Willis had seen the removal van pull up at Number 12 yesterday afternoon. Her living room window faced down the length of Banbury Road, and she could see all the comings and goings. Not that she was particularly interested, but removal vans are noisy, and it had caught her attention for five minutes, then she had forgotten all about it. Until the doorbell rang.

Maggie had lived alone since her Sebastian had died seven years ago, and the house was far too big for her. But it had the advantage of being right around the corner from her younger daughter and exactly one-third of her grandchildren, on whom she doted and in whom she rested many hopes and ambitions. It was altogether too far from her comfortable sofa to the hallway, and she vaguely grumbled as she made her way there. She was in good health for a sixty-one-year-old woman, but her knees never appreciated the first two or three seconds after getting up from a sitting position, and she was a woman who liked to be comfortable. She opened the door to be met with the sight of an extremely handsome woman in her early thirties, blonde enough to have stepped out of a Wagnerian opera but slim and well dressed. Her cheekbones might have been carved in Eastern Europe, but when she spoke it was with a clipped, upper-class English accent.

"Mrs Willis?" she enquired.

"That's me," frowned Maggie, certain that she'd never seen this woman before in her life. She would have remembered. The woman was ridiculously attractive.

"I just moved into Banbury Road..."

"Number twenty-two. Yes, I saw the removal van yesterday. Welcome to the Village, Miss..."

"Carrington," smiled the woman. "Isobel Carrington."

She extended her hand, but Maggie was so taken aback she stood there frozen for several seconds before remembering her manners. She took Isobel's hand and shook it limply. "I used to know a woman named Barbara Carrington," she began.

"My grandmother," smiled Isobel. "When she found out where I was moving to, she asked me to look you up, and to say, 'Shameless Greetings, sister'. She remembers you with a great deal of fondness."

Maggie narrowed her eyes, refusing to respond. "Not many blonde Carringtons," she said.

"I'm a Barton on my mother's side," replied Isobel, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Hmph. So, you're Tony and Eleanor's daughter."

"I am. I took after mommy."

Maggie pursed her lips. "You'd better come in, then. I never did learn to turn away a Carrington."

Part One: Four Bored Wives

I. The Ennui of Elizabeth Brookes

Age and looks are irrelevant. The only true ugliness is chastity

Sir William Carrington, On Society and Religion, Maxim 7

i. Hosting the BHC

Elizabeth Brookes enjoyed playing the hostess. It gave her a feeling of being in control that was all too rare in her humdrum life. It also went some short way to alleviating the boredom. There were only three guests, friends from around the neighbourhood, all of them mature women with too much time on their hands and too little to entertain them. On the first Wednesday of each month they would get together at one of their houses (they took turns, pretty much), and enjoy a couple of hours of wine, weed, ribald conversation, and raucous laughter. Today was the day of the February meeting.

Annie had been first to arrive, just as she always was. Her oldest friend in the world, Anna Stewart was, by Elizabeth's estimation, the perfect housewife and mother, always elegantly dressed, always polite and proper and always, always, punctual. She was bubbly and friendly though in her grey eyes there was the same boredom, even deep-seated sadness, that Elizabeth herself felt most of the time. She greeted her friend with a peck on the cheek, vocally admiring her bottle-green dress and its plunging neckline. Annie had nice tits, after all. Why not show them off a little? As ever, Annie was surrounded by a cloud of pungent perfume.

Maz was next, flustered and in a slight state of disarray, suggesting she had come out in a hurry, and left a hundred vital tasks unfinished. Having four children would do that to a woman, she supposed. A tall and leggy redhead, Maria McNish could have been quite the glamour puss had she chosen to be. And she

did

scrub up nice when she made the effort, as Elizabeth knew for a fact, but today was not such a day. She was in a baggy sweater and jeans, her lush waves of Titian hair scrunched up into a ragged ponytail. Her makeup was perfunctory.

"Am I last, Beth?" she asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. It was always Maria's first question, as if she both expected to be and dreaded being the last of three visitors to arrive. What did it even matter? "Annie's in the living room. But you surely didn't expect Tilda to get here ahead of you."

Maz laughed. Her kiss for Elizabeth was on the lips, the swift peck of a woman perpetually in a hurry. Unlike Annie, Maz did not smell of perfume but nevertheless had a comforting, womanly scent about her.

Last to arrive was Matilda Ellis - 'Tilda'. A cool, gorgeous blonde, Matilda was pretty much used to the world revolving around her, and was never bound by such dull, worldly concerns as manners or time-keeping. She breezed through the front-door with an air-kiss. She was clad in a powder-blue blouse and matching skirt. She had the looks of a film star and the figure of a model, the bitch, and Elizabeth both adored and hated her in equal measure. She could be as charming and as generous as she was exasperatingly inconsiderate.

Once all four were sitting together, sharing a joint and sipping red wine, they quickly relaxed into the familiar round of chatter and laughter. They had known each other for years. Elizabeth had lived in the Village all her life and so had Annie, and the other two had moved there when they were still newlyweds, so many years ago. They all either had rich husbands or rich inheritances and either worked part-time or not at all. Annie wrote children's books and had done well enough from them that she could afford to write more only when she was in the mood to; Maria's husband owned his own business as did Tilda's, though Tilda had been born into wealth and privilege all her own. As for Elizabeth, her late father had been a millionaire and her mother, who had moved into the Village while still pregnant with her, used to own her own business, though nowadays she was content to paint, to make pottery, and to pass her days in pleasant if industrious comfort. Elizabeth's husband continued to work, but she hadn't felt the need, not since the children were born.

The subject of the four housewives' conversation had meandered to the destination it always and inevitably reached - their boring, boring sex lives.

"I swear," said Annie, leaning forward as if to impart a secret that was in danger of being overheard, "if it wasn't for my battery-operated friend, I would, er, 'clam up' altogether."

That made them all laugh. Elizabeth felt wine snort into her nose, and she had to reach for a tissue.

"I wore out two vibrators last year alone!" claimed Maz. "I mean, Josh does his best, bless him, but a girl has needs. Lots of needs!"

"Will doesn't even do his best," said Annie with a scowl. "He

must

be fucking someone else. No man can have

that

low a libido."

"He's a handsome man, too," observed Elizabeth. "If he wants pussy, it must be there for the taking."

Annie shrugged. "I almost wish he

was

having an affair. At least it would mean he still had a taste for it. Jesus! And now, as you might say, the pussy's come to

him

. Or tell me you haven't seen the blonde bitch who just moved in next door to me!"

"Oh my God, she's fucking gorgeous!" said Maz, who lived on the opposite side of Banbury Road to Anna. "Her little girl's a head turner too!"

"It's her niece, apparently," said Annie. "That's what Elle Hemmings told me."

"Well, her family certainly inherited the gorgeous gene. I've seen them coming and going. If

I

were looking for an affair, even I'd be fucking tempted!"

"I can't wait to see her!" said Elizabeth. Of the four of them she was the only one not to live on Banbury Road, though she was only one street away. "Always nice to see a bit of glamour coming to the Village."

"Hey!" protested Tilda. "Aren't I glamour enough for one little town?"

"I dunno," laughed Elizabeth. "Aren't you getting a bit long in the tooth now?"

"Fuck you, you bitch!" Matilda had turned forty at the end of last year and was still extremely sensitive about it.

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"You're all old, let's face it," teased Maz who, at thirty-seven, was the 'baby' of the group.

"I'm certainly starting to feel it," admitted Elizabeth.

"This is all nonsense and poppycock!" declared Annie. "I can't speak for the rest of you, but there's still life left in

this

old dog! I've heard it said that forty is the new thirty, which makes me a very new thirty-one. I'm a woman with needs, God damn it, and I'm entitled to have them satisfied!"

"Don't we say the same thing every month," purred Tilda. "Yet we never do anything about it."

"So why don't we then?"

"What do you have in mind, Annie?" asked Elizabeth.

Anna hesitated and took another sip from her third glass of wine. But there was a look of resolution on her pretty face, one which Elizabeth had seen before. She was easily the timidest of the four of them, the politest and the most well-mannered, but when she got a notion in that Disneyfied mind of hers, it would not be easily shaken. "OK," she began, "how about this? By the next time we meet, each of us will have had a sexual adventure. And instead of bitching about how bored and boring we are, we'll all tell each other exactly what we've got up to!"

"What, er, what kind of 'sexual adventure'?" asked Maz.

"Anything you like. Your only goal is to impress the rest of us. What do you say?"

"I'm in," said Tilda. "I'm not so over the fucking hill that I can't do

something

good and fucked-up!"

"Beth? Are you too old or too boring to have a sexual adventure?"

Elizabeth eyed Anna, still unsure whether she was being entirely serious. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Annie Stewart," she said enigmatically. "My sex life might have

become

dull in recent years but believe me, I have a much more sordid past."

"Really? And you kept it secret from

me

?"

"It was far too sordid for your delicate ears, Annie. Anyway, I left it behind when I had the kids. I

thought

, naively, that I could pick it back up again once they were grown up. I'd pretty much given up on that, though. Still, you're right. I

could

have a sexual adventure if I really put my mind to it, I'm certain of it. I'm in. Maz?"

Maria pulled a face. "I might be bored, but I'm a happily married woman. I'm not sure about this."

"All right," said Anna, "but if you

weren't

a happily married woman, and were the kind of shameless hussy who went around having sexual adventures, what kind of adventure would you

like

to have?"

"Oh," she said breezily, "in that case I believe I'd give myself to a group of men to have their wicked way with me, all at the same time."

"How many men?" demanded Elizabeth, a little incredulous.

"Probably seven. They take me one after the other, and leave me a naked, sopping wet mess."

"So, bukkake then?" slurred Tilda.

"Maybe," said Maria, who suddenly had a rather dreamy expression on her face. The bitch was

not

entirely joking. That really

was

her fantasy, Elizabeth sensed.

"I'd go full-on lezzie," said Tilda, no doubt annoyed that she was not the centre of attention. "How old's this new woman's niece, would you say?"

"Eighteen or nineteen," frowned Anna. "Why?"

Tilda nodded. "Yeah, maybe I'd seduce the bitch, or someone like her."

"I had no idea you had a thing for little girls!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Well, not

little

girls," said Tilda. "You make me sound like a perv! Eighteen's OK, isn't it?"

"I didn't really know you were into girls at all!"

She shrugged. "Girls are nice," she said defensively. "Or are you telling me there's anyone in this room who has never in her boring life fantasised about a bit of girl-on-girl?"

Nobody quite denied it, and nobody quite admitted it. For herself, Elizabeth had done a lot more than fantasised about it, but she wasn't about to be the first to admit it. "I

do

fantasise about using a strap-on," she told them, "only I kind of picture me using it on a man rather than on a woman."

"Nice!" cooed Tilda. "Oh yes, I like that. Except I

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would

prefer to use it on a girl."

"So... you mean you'd like to peg your husband?" asked Annie. "Or did you have someone else in mind?"

"Don't know really," said Elizabeth. "I just like the idea of being the one doing the fucking, instead of the one being fucked for a change."

"Oh no," said Anna, "I

like

to be the one being fucked. I like my men to be

assertive

. I've been having these dreams recently... In one of them, I had a big, strong man throw me over his knee and give me a right good spanking, followed by a right good fucking," said Annie. "When I woke up, I was fucking

soaking

!"

"Can't you persuade Will to spank you?" asked Elizabeth, her ears pricking up.

"Maybe. It's the fucking that would elude him. I'm not sure whether or not he still fancies sex at all, but I'm absolutely certain he doesn't fancy fucking

me

!"

By the time the other three left, Elizabeth's mind was a daze of sexual fantasy and frustration. Each of them had surprised her. She never had Maz down as longing to be gang-banged, or Annie to be spanked, or Tilda to fuck a girl. In truth, all three sounded super-exciting, and her pussy was wet and tingling. No sooner had she closed the door behind them than she ran upstairs, threw herself on her bed, and wanked herself to half-a-dozen straight orgasms.

ii. #1 Dream

She was all in black, clinging tight to firmer curves than she saw in the mirror. This was a darkling world, a Gothic landscape of haunted forests and vampire castles, and it fitted her as perfectly as her clothes. Here, she was mistress of all she surveyed, a lady, a queen, and her subjects were everywhere, fawning and obedient. Her husband preceded her, connected to her by the leash fastened to his collar, which was the only thing he wore. Her daughters followed at her heel, both of them (though in real life she had only one). They were naked too, save for filmy, transparent camisoles. She was utterly in control, except for a single voice that whispered, from an unseen mouth, urging her to greatness, urging her to shamelessness. And then, before her, stood her mother, dressed like she was, with one hand up in a gesture of warning. "You're nearing the crossroads," she told her, "and you'll have to choose."

iii. A Wife and Mother

Elizabeth's son was a few minutes late coming home from school, and she was already worried. She worried about Owen a great deal. Eighteen years old, and in his final year of school, he was bright, funny, and good-looking. But he was also shy, and his good looks had as much of the feminine as the masculine about them. He wasn't gay, or she had no reason to suppose he was, but he was effeminate enough to have been bullied over it. So when he was late, she would worry herself sick that he had been beaten up, or cruelly teased, and she couldn't bear to see him hurt or upset. Owen was his mother's angel. She doted on him, and he adored her.

Clara was different. Her older child, almost twenty years old now, was beautiful in an entirely and undeniably feminine way, but she was also tough, sassy, and self-confident. Clever, too, though she had not gone to university, and was working now. Just some drone-like office job, but you had to start somewhere. She never worried about Clara, even though she was sexy enough to have to fight boys off left, right, and centre but did not, Elizabeth happened to know, always do so. But if any boy tried to press unwelcome attention half a millimetre too far, she would be more worried about the boy than about Clara.

She heard the key in the lock and fought down the urge to rush into the hall. She was busy in the kitchen but not

that

busy. She heaved a mighty sigh of relief when she heard Owen call out, "Hi mom!" He pushed his way into the kitchen and allowed her to hug him. His shirt was out of his trousers but that was pretty much par for the course for any eighteen-year-old.

"Did you have a good day, sweetheart?" she chirruped.

He shrugged. "It's just the no man's land before exams. There's not really that much left to do."

"You'll breeze them anyway," she told him.

"I know."

She ruffled his floppy hair. "Well, it's the weekend now. You can chill out for a couple of days."

"Don't say 'chill out' mom, it makes you sound like you're an old woman."

"I

am

an old woman!" she laughed. "All aching joints and wrinkles."

He was indignant at that, as she knew he would be. Sometimes, though, even a mother has to fish. "You still look amazing, mom! I reckon all the other boys fancy you."

"You reckon no such thing!" she protested, lapping it up. "But, er, which mom do

you

fancy, Owen Brookes?"

"Like I'm going to tell

you

!" he said, with that adorable, lopsided grin of his. "Anyway, I'm going up to change. Hate wearing these rags."

"Aw, but you look so adorable," she teased.

"Can't wind me up. Can't reel me in," he told her, sticking out his tongue. He disappeared upstairs with the silent grace of a herd of elephants.

Clara got home an hour later. She knew this because she heard the door go, followed by the clatter of feet up the stairs accompanied by a grunt that may or may not have been, "Hi mom, I'm home." If past behaviour was a predictor of the future, she would resurface only when informed that dinner was ready. Her husband got home from work twenty minutes later, and from him at least she could be sure of an enthusiastic greeting, featuring kisses and hugs. She loved Ash, and he loved her. They would be together until death did them part. It was only their sex life that was on life-support, not their relationship. Besides, Ash was one of those men who seemed to grow more handsome as they got older. He was forty-three now, almost a year older than her, and she would still have picked him out of a crowd were she seeing him for the first time.

"Kids home?" he asked, with that slight Welsh lilt that had so attracted her to him in the first place.

"Upstairs, doing whatever teenage children do," she smiled.

"Better not to inquire too closely," he concluded.

"You're right. Best not to inquire." She remembered the things she did when

she

was that age, things even Ash knew nothing about. In that matter, too, he had never inquired too closely. Just as well. She had a policy of not lying to her husband unless it was pretty much life or death.

And it was in that spirit that, as they got under the covers later that night, she found herself telling him about the Bored Housewives Club meeting the other day. He knew about the BHC, of course, though what the four women talked about was yet another thing that came under Ashley's 'don't ask, don't tell' attitude towards marriage and parenting.

"The conversation on Wednesday was a bit, well, a bit spicier than usual."

"Do I need to know this?" he asked, looking slightly scared.

"I wouldn't say you

need

to know, exactly. And I wasn't proposing to give you a blow-by-blow account. You won't be surprised to learn that when four women of a certain age get together, the conversation always eventually turns to sex and relationships. This time, though, we all got a bit more specific."

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