This is the long-delayed third part of the series of stories charting the relationship of Samantha and Paul, the first parts being "Cultural Exchange" and "Weekend at Samantha's". I hope you find it worth the wait. No need to read those first, as this story should stand alone.
CHAPTER ONE - SO FINE
"Hey mum, I'm just off out!"
Paul grabbed a few things and started for the door. He didn't need much; so much of his stuff was at his girlfriend Samantha's house already. But a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt would come in handy, nevertheless.
Girlfriend! He still struggled to believe it, a week into their relationship. He caught his reflection in the hall mirror; the love bite on his neck had faded to that sickly yellow/green/brown shade and would be gone entirely in a few days. Shame; he'd loved being branded by her. It had made their tryst public. He remembered the disbelief of his classmates when he'd gone into school on the Tuesday after the Bank Holiday weekend. The weekend he'd spent in her house, in her bed. Him, the class nerd, with arguably the hottest girl in school - to his mind, anyway. Unreal!
They all rounded on him, determined to find out who had done that to him. "Probably did it to himself with the hoover," said Simon, Paul's arch nemesis. Simon had gut-punched Paul a week or so before, when they were in Canada on a school trip. Simon had got into serious trouble for that incident; the frustrating thing was that he hadn't learned the right lesson, and resented Paul all the more for the punishment.
Paul just shook his head, ignoring him, refusing to breach Samantha's confidence. He'd assured her it would be her secret to tell, or not. The only people who knew the truth were the two of them, and her best friends - the hot blonde twins Immy and Izzy, and Emma, the slightly petulant redhead. The twins had sworn to secrecy; Emma however tended to have a tongue as loose as her morals. But she was usually loyal to Samantha; the secret would be safe from that quarter, at least until Emma got drunk enough.
So Samantha and Paul hid the truth from their classmates, and kept themselves apart at school. Which meant their weekends were even more intense, every possible moment spent together. Hence why Paul was so eager to get back to her place on this sunny June Saturday morning.
"Mum! I said I'm now going!"
Still no reply. He turned off the radio; he was fed up with Cher telling everyone "It's in his kiss" - while he appreciated that song now that he was in love, it had been played to death since making it to number one. He hated it when a single song dominated the charts for ages.
He walked back through their small council flat, knocked on mum's bedroom door, wanting to say goodbye. It was just the two of them in the flat, since his father had passed away from lung cancer earlier in the year. He pushed the door open - was that a thud he heard as the door swung open? - and saw his mum lying in the bed, duvet tucked high under her chin, her face the only thing he could see. The room was dark, blackout curtains drawn.
"Another migraine?" he asked her. She just moaned in reply. "I'm sorry Mum, shall I stay here with you?"
"No, go. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your time with Samantha."
"I can stay. She won't mind. Or she could come here? I feel bad about not spending much time with you recently."
"It's okay, don't worry dear. I have my bingo buddies, and without you under my feet I can get more overtime in. You'll be at Uni in a month or so anyway, so I'll just have to get used to you not being around. Find myself something to do. Run along to that pretty girl of yours and don't worry about me."
"If you're sure."
"Think I'll stay in bed today, I feel funny..."
"Okay Mum. Take care. I'll see you tomorrow."
With that, he left the room, made his way along the hallway and closed the front door of the flat behind him.
"Thank fuck for that," said Mr Martin, crawling back out from under the bed. "I thought he'd never leave!" He whipped the duvet back off the bed, revealing his lover - Paul's mother - all trussed up in exotic black lingerie. "Now, where were we?"
She felt bad about keeping this secret from her son - but what would he think, knowing she was sleeping with his music teacher? Would he think it was too soon after his father, her husband, had passed away? Well, she had needs. Particularly knowing her son was now a man, sleeping at Samantha's house almost all the time, and she knew what that must mean. She was grateful Samantha's parents were so open-minded; it gave her this opportunity to revive her own sex life.
After Paul had returned from Canada, Mr Martin had come round to talk to her about what had happened while they were abroad. The claims that he'd molested Samantha in a public place - which Paul had denied, despite now dating her - and perhaps more importantly the serious incidents of the attempted rape of one of the Canadian students by one of Paul's classmates, and Paul himself being attacked trying to defend her. "He's a good kid, overall," Mr Martin had said. "But I think we need to keep an eye on him." But during their conversation, there had been a subtle but growing undercurrent; a little banter, a little flirting, and by midweek she was screaming his name as he plunged inside her.
"Oh Derek, this is so wrong," she said, as he angled his cock at the gap in her crotchless knickers. "Fuck me hard, make me scream again!"
"With pleasure, Margaret. With pleasure." And he sheathed himself to the hilt in the eager cougar's pussy.
It had been years since she'd been fucked like this. She loved her late husband dearly, but in the last years of his life the cancer robbed him of the energy he'd once had. She'd never strayed, never cheated. And now she had nothing to feel guilty for, knew he'd want her to be happy. Derek was ten years her junior and had the stamina of a twenty-year-old professional football player.
"Fuck, yes! Pound my cunt! Make me come again you bastard!"
