Coronavirus Diary Day 05

Eventually, Tim woke from a deep snooze and dragged himself from the floor. On the one hand, he felt a deep sense of personal disgust at his depravity. On the other, was a niggling feeling that he was on the threshold of an exciting rollercoaster of perverted pleasure.

He screwed up his wife's photo, now encrusted with his dried sperm, and carefully hid it, deep in his rubbish bin. Then he remembered. The red satin panties that Mrs Hendry had deposited in his laundry basket!

Hesitating guiltily, for only a few moments, inevitably, he gravitated towards the dirty linen container. Reaching inside, he retrieved the soft, silky garment and pressed it to his face.

Oh, those scents. Her heady, lingering perfume, the dried female secretions and yes, he was sure: her husband's spent lust.

That night, he took them with him to his lonely single bed, and once again, abused himself.

Next morning he had conviced himself that this erotic saga could no longer carry on. He would call the agency after breakfast to cancel his home-care contract!

But; he delayed and prevaricated; promising himself that he'd call the next day. However, the next day came and went without action. His thoughts were turning irrevocably towards the erotic promise of Mrs Hendry's next visit...

'Good afternoon Mr Symonds' she said with a breezy manner, as she let herself into Tim's house. (She had now had his door keys copied, as agreed.)

'How are we today? No coughs or temperature I hope! Why don't I make us a nice cup of tea and we can have some of this walnut cake I baked yesterday?'

Tim was a little surprised and rather relived at her 'matter of fact' attitude. He had dreaded the thought of enduring her pity or disgust.

'Oh, how lovely. I haven't had a decent piece of cake in years!'

They sat together in the kitchen, talking about the number of coronavirus deaths and her husband's attempts at DIY during his furlough.

Eventually, Tim could resist no longer.

'Do you think I could have an extra hour of care today, Mrs hendry?'

She looked at him with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

You haven't paid me for your last session, have you 'Timothy'?'

'Ah, well, no, I suppose not. Is there any way...'

She interrupted,

'Don't worry. I've thought of a solution. I need to do some more grocery shopping for you today. Why don't I go to the cash machine and collect my little fee? You would have to let me borrow your credit card of course, and the pin number.'

'Ah well, I'm not sure, you see...'

She interrupted again,

'Don't you trust me, Timothy? Perhaps we had better give the 'extras' a miss today?'

'No, please, sorry, you're right of course. Here, let me find the card.'

Credit card carefully stowed, she was soon on her way to the local shopping centre. She withdrew £200 from Tim's account and returned with two bags of food.

'I got enough for four hours of care, Mr Symonds. That should be enough for our next few visits!', she grinned, passing him half of the cash, but keeping the card.

'Oh, yes, I suppose so. Thank you.'

He didn't see much of Mrs Hendry, during her 'regular' two hours of care service. She was busy upstairs again, out of sight, but certainly not out of his mind!

Eventually, she reappeared, peering around the door to his drawing room.

'Are you ready for your extras, Timothy?'

'Oh, well, yes, I think so, madam.'

Still speaking to him through the narrow opening, she continued,

'I've found some more lovely clothes in your wife's old dressing room. I couldn't resist. Would you like to see?'

Tim could only manage to nod his head.

She opened the door and sidled towards him, displaying her outfit in a most flirtatious manner.

Holding his gaze, she began to describe and display each item in turn.

'It's amazing really. Your wife and I share almost the same size in everything! Just look at these high heels. Hardly worn. I think they must be Jimmy Choos! They go so well with this dress; don't you agree?'

Timothy could hardly bare to look at this vision of feminine sexuality, displayed for his leering gaze. As well as the black, patent-leather stilettos, she was adorned in a figure-hugging, ankle length emerald evening gown of the softest, clinging material. As she turned and flaunted her curves, he was stunned by the daring scooped back, revealing her flawless shoulders, lack of bra straps and a large hint of her enticing buttocks. He sat open mouthed, drooling.

'Yes, perfect. Just perfect.'

'Why thank you kind sir! I just knew you'd like them. And the dress; it makes me feel like a goddess; as though I could command any man to his knees. Especially a man like you, Timothy.'

As she held his gaze, he knew immediately that he had to lower himself to the floor.

'Have you heard that phrase, Timothy? The phrase that says 'He worships the ground she walks on.' 'Show me, Timothy. Worship the ground that I walk on.'

Slowly, she began to move away from him, pointing to the carpet behind her steps.

Tim needed no further invitation. With his face pressed to the floor he began to follow her every sacred tread, kissing the carpet as he went.

'That's a good boy. Isn't this fun!'

She led him slowly, enticingly, around the room seveal times, then into the hall. Tim watched in awe as she began to climb the stairs. He followed, on his knees, carefully kissing each step. Looking upwards, he could glimpse her delicate nyloned ankles, and the shapely outline of her tantalising legs.

Lost in his lustful reverie, he failed to notice that she had stopped, on the half landing and was looking over her shoulder at his crouching figure.

'TIMOTHY! were you trying to look up my dress?'

Tim was startled.

'No, honestly. Really, I was just admiring your ankles...'

She giggled.

'If I DID allow you to look up my dress, you'd see that I was wearing a pair of your wife's stockings, from an unopened pack. Authentic, seamed, fully-fashioned nylon stockings in light tan.'

Peter looked up in supplication.

'Oh, my god. You have no idea how those words excite me. My wife never let me see her dressed in fully-fashioned nylons. Please, please let me see them!'

'Well, I suppose I could allow you a little peek. After all, this is your 'extra' time, isn't it, Timmy?'

Now standing directly above him, she began to slowly lift the hem of her gown, posing her legs in a most provocative manner.

Tim was mesmerized.

She lifted her dress to reveal her full, sensuous thighs, showing the mearest hint of stocking tops, then suddenly, letting the hem fall back down to her ankles.

'That's enough for now Timothy, I can see that you're getting overheated. I think you need a little drink. Now, make way and follow me into the kitchen. On your knees, of course,' she sneered.

Kneeling on all fours, on the kitchen tiles, he was instructed to close his eyes tight. As a special treat, she explained, she was going to remove her nylons and blindfold him with them.

In ecstacy, he savoured her warm, perfumed, gossama-like stockings as they were draped around his head and over his eyes and lips.

He could hear liquid being poured.

A dog bowl was placed in front of him and the nylons eased from his lips.

'There you are, Timothy. A nice warm drink for you. Make sure you lap it all up. I'll be watching!'

The smell hit him immediately. It was the same scent and 'flavour' as last week. Now he realised, but still he gulped it down, revelling in his degredation.

'My, my, what a thirsty boy! If you finish it all, I'll show you my panties.'

He picked up the dish and tipped the remaining, acrid liquid down his throat; finally licking the bowl clean.

Stepping forward, she removed his 'blindfold' and handed the nylons to him.

'Take your cock out Timmy. You can wank into your wife's stockings, while I show you her underwear.

He unzipped and began to stroke as he watched her reveal her long sleek bare legs and finally, a pair of sheer black nylon full-cut french knickers.

'Worship me, Timothy. Give me your tribute!'

Her words teased him, goaded him. He could hold back no longer. An arc of sperm spattered into the dog bowl.

Mrs Hendry lifted the bowl to his face.

'Dessert!'