Coronavirus Diary Day 03

Mrs Hendry smiled to herself as she drove to her next appointment with Tim. She had discovered evidence of some of his little 'peccadillos' whilst cleaning his bedroom and intended to incorporate these into her plans. In fact, compared with some of her gentlemen clients, she had found his apparent 'interests' were quite mild, but nonetheless shameful and useful. How she loved this job!

On arrival, she apologised for being late again. 'My husband is on lock-down furlough,' she giggled, ' and he's only got one thing on his mind! In my uniform too. Says he finds it sexy! Would you believe it? I didn't have a chance to change or freshen up before I dashed over here!'

Tim certainly could believe it...

Stepping inside, she then enquired about Tim's health. He said that he hadn't been sleeping very well and complained of a slight headache.

With a sympathetic smile, she told him that she'd dispense with the usual temperature check, but insisted that he sit in a darkened room while she got changed and fetched some medicine.

Tim sat on the sofa and watched her shapely figure as she stretched to close the heavy curtains. However, he was almost on the point of 'nodding off' when she returned, half an hour later. He heard her rustle towards him.

'Now then, Mr Symonds, you don't need to worry. I'm wearing full virus protection today.' She sat close to him on the sofa and he could feel the warmth of her soft thigh through her rubberised plastic cape.

She placed a pill in his hand with a glass of water. 'Now, swallow this for your headache, then we'll do some more tests.'

Tim followed her instructions and handed back the glass.

He felt her gloved hand rest gently on his thigh.

'So, Mr Symonds, as I'm sure you are aware, two of the Corona 19 symptoms are loss of smell or taste. I'm going to test those now, just to be on the safe side.'

'Oh, but I'm OK otherwise. I haven't got a fever or a cough' he replied.

'Now now, we mustn't get complacent about these matters. Hundreds of older men like you are dying every day. Just stay still, and we'll have you finished in no time.'

'I want to test your sense of taste first. Close your eyes for me. I want you to take a sip of this drink.'

She lifted a tumbler to his lips. He sipped the contents. It was warm and rather salty. Not a flavour he could immediately identify. Not a pleasant taste either. Could it be nettle tea?

'Yuck! that isn't very nice,' he said, pushing the warm glass away.

'Very good, Mr Symonds. I think we can safely say that your taste buds are functioning. Now, I want you to drink down the full glass. You'll soon get used to the taste and I am sure it will help to keep the virus at bay'

She smiled wickedly to herself as she again lifted the tumbler to his lips and watched him reluctantly swallow down every drop of her own very personal, warm, fresh golden 'medicine'.

Somehow, he'd managed to ignore the acrid taste of the liquid and even licked his lips after he finished.

'What a good boy, Mr Symonds. All gone!'

'Oh, there are a few drips on your trousers. Here, let be wipe them clean.'

She took a delicate white satin and lace handkerchief from her pocket and began to gently dab and stroke his thighs and crotch, observing the warm stiffness beneath the fabric.

Despite the unpleasant after-taste in his mouth, Tim was in heaven as Mrs Hendry's fingers teased him in the darkness. All too soon, she removed her hand.

'Now I need to check your sense of smell, Mr Symonds. I'll just be a few moments.'

He heard her stand and could see through the gloom that she had made her way behind the sofa. He could hear rustling as she bent over, then returned to sit next to him.

'Now, I'd like you to sit on your hands and close your eyes tight shut. No peeking!'

Still aroused beyond belief, Tim was only too happy to comply.

He could feel a very light piece of fabric, placed over his face. A mixture of aromas began to invade his nostrils.

'Let's just leave that in place for a while, and I'll check you in a moment. Here, let me finish off, cleaning your trousers.'

With that she began ever so gently stroking and probing his thighs and groin.

It was all Tim could do to avoid groaning with pleasure. Meanwhile, the smells from the fabric, draped over his now perspiring face, were beginning to trigger memories. Memories he thought he had buried many years ago. He had once read that the sense of smell could trigger vivid recollections.

Oh, those fingers. Those teasing fingers, tracing his erection, ever so lightly through the fine fabric of his trousers.

Yes, it came to him. That erotic mix of female secretions and something else. Yes, something he had grown to recognise many years ago. Behind his face covering, he blushed slightly, as he recalled those nights, when, after his wife's late night returns from dancing, he would sneak into her bathroom to sniff her panties; always placed conveniently for him on top of the clothes hamper. Masturbating to the scents of his wife and the secretions of one of her dance partners. Oh god, his wife had been so beautiful. So sexy. So Cruel.

'Oh, Mr Symonds, there's another damp patch in your trousers!' She removed the fabric from his face, knelt in front of him and began to mop his groin more vigorously.

Looking down, he could clearly see that he'd stained his pants with an embarrassingly profuse spurt of pre-come; and yes, Mrs Hendry was rubbing it with what he quickly realised, were a pair of panties! Surely she wouldn't use her panties, would she?

'There, its coming out, Mr Symonds. Oh, goodness!'

With a final sqeeze of his cock, he had pumped a fountain of ejaculate into his pants. Mortified, in an attempt to disguise his shame, orgasm ruined, he leapt off the sofa and dashed upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Mrs Hendry, to slowly pull on her panties, highly amused and aroused.

After changing, Tim returned to find the curtains opened and a cup of coffee waiting.

Standing in his dressing gown, with the offending trousers draped over his arm, he approached, sheepishly.

'So sorry, Mrs Hendry, I sometimes can't manage to wait until I reach the toilet.'

'Of course, Mr Symonds, all of my gentleman seem to have that problem from time to time. It's perfectly normal. Believe me, I understand.'

She reached out and snatched the pants from his grasp.

'I'll put these in the wash with your other laundry. We must keep up standards during the lock-down' she grinned. 'By the way, would you mind if I were to try on one of your wife's old dancing outfits?'

Still in a state of embarrassment and unable to gather his thoughts properly, Tim could only mumble his assent.

Shortly after, he heard the washing machine grumble into action and Mrs Hendry making her way upstairs. Perhaps he should go up there and stop her. Did he really want all those painful memories revived? He stood up, then dithered and deflated, returned to his seat, weakened by recent events. Unable to face a confrontation.

A while later, more activity was heard from the laundry as Mrs Hendry placed his clothes in the tumble dryer.

'Well, how do I look?'

Tim's head jerked upwards to the doorway to see Mrs Hendry, draped invitingly against the door-frame, her face fully made up and dressed in a short, tight sequined pink dress, with sheer flesh coloured tights and shiny pink high heels.

He was speechless.

She moved to the center of the room and began to sway and swirl about, moving with an alluring, sensuous ease. Now and again, she would hold Tim's gaze, before twirling around to reveal tiny red satin panties; he immediately recalled, his wife's red satin panties.

'It really suits you. Like a glove.' Tim gulped.

'Would you mind if I kept it on to go home?

'Oh, well, I don't know.' said Tim

She snuggled up next to him on the sofa. Leaning close to his face, she gave him a big wet kiss on the cheek.

'Please, Mr Symonds. I've cleaned up all of your stains. I think I deserve a little treat, don't you?'

Flustered (and aroused) yet again, he could only splutter a response.

'Very well, but you'll bring it back, yes?'

'Of course, silly. Thank you so much. I just know my husband will love to see me dressed like this. Don't you think so?'

Poor Tim could only grunt as he took in this vision of confident, feminine sexuality. So close. So close.

After another wet kiss on the cheek, Mrs Hendry danced to the door and, after finishing the laundry, drove away, leaving Tim almost shell-shocked.