"Get your fat furry ass off my face!"
Marley fell to the floor with casual grace and scuttled out the bedroom door with guilty haste. The cat knew perfectly well that he wasn't allowed in Enoch's bedroom but couldn't resist the warmth and comfort in there. It was raining hard outside now and Enoch lay listening to the heavy drops bombard the window for a minute or two before throwing the duvet aside; cursing his feline friend for disturbing his slumber. It was hard work to rise at four in the morning and if he didn't get at least an hour to cat-nap in the afternoon, he wouldn't be able to enjoy his evening. Enoch saw it was a little after 3.00 pm. and decided to get up, put on an old pair of sweat-pants and a t-shirt that vowed 'Guinness is good for you', and made his way downstairs, remembering to duck in time to enter the kitchen unscathed. Marley looked up and meowed plaintively for food.
"You must have hollow legs," Enoch said and yawned, "You're always hungry; where do you put it all?"
The cat raised his voice, indignant at the presumptuous assertion, becoming shrill in his demand after a fruitless search outside for either food or sex.
"Piss off Porky," Enoch said without rancour, "you're fat enough as it is - you get yours at tea time and not a moment sooner."
Marley thought little of that idea and twirled around Enoch's legs, meowing consistently in the hope of changing Enoch's mind. Enoch ignored him and made more coffee, knowing full well that the cat would probably con a crumb or two from the cheese toastie he was preparing to grill. When he'd found Marley in a back street near his old home in the city he'd been little more than skin and bone, his fur a matted tangle infested with fleas and open sores from ill treatment. Enoch had taken him to the RSPCA and given them what he could afford to pay for his treatment and then cared for him ever since. His girlfriend had raised holy hell about bringing another mouth to feed home with him but Enoch cared little for her opinion, and was pleased to show her the door rather than Marley. That had been two years ago now and both of them had grown sleek since leaving the harsh streets of Birmingham.
He took his snack into the living room and ate it carefully at the computer, holding it away from the keyboard and the inquisitive jaws of Marley who had leapt onto his lap. The computer was his only means of entertainment in the house; he refused to buy a television that held no interest for him, and he refused to pay over 100 pounds a year for something he didn't want; if a programme interested him he merely downloaded it from online sources. The radio provided news and information when he needed it, which wasn't often; the foibles of mankind held no attraction for him.
An e-mail from Vera caught his attention and he had to read it twice for the contents to sink in: Mrs. Potter had been taken to hospital after a suspected heart attack.
"Well, well," he muttered, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "what you been up to now, Deirdre?"
The old lady at number five had often said he'd give her a heart attack and now it seemed she'd had one without his help. Enoch felt sure that Vera had no idea of his relationship with Mrs. Potter but signed into his messenger to see if she was online; she wasn't, but a request from 'Silver_Streak' to add his name caught him off-guard before he remembered the earlier online session with 'Red-Lady'. He almost denied the request then thought better of it and saw she was online, though Vera's light wasn't on, and answered her polite greeting with a cheeky smiley.
'I hope you don't mind me asking,' she typed in bright blue font.
'Asking what?' Enoch replied, pre-occupied in giving Marley a corner from his toastie.
'To pm you,' she answered.
'Oh, right, not at all - you got good references.'
'Gemma's a doll; she told me all about you!'
'Then you have the advantage - I don't know who you are.'
'Silver_Streak' went on to introduce herself as Sylvie, a French-Canadian living in Montreal with her bed-ridden husband who allowed, but turned a blind-eye to, her online voyeurism.
'How come you're still online?' Enoch asked.
'I don't sleep much at my age - time enough for that when they bury me.'
'How old are you?'
'A gentleman wouldn't ask a lady such that!'
'Who said I was a gentleman?'
'Who said I was a lady for that matter,' she quipped. 'I'm sixty-six.'
That was how old Deirdre had been when he met her and Enoch felt a lump of emotion rise in his throat at the thought of her lying in hospital. It surprised him; their relationship was purely physical and no hint of anything deeper had ever arisen between them.
'Are you still there?' Sylvie wondered.
'Yes, I was just thinking.'
'Oh! Do tell - anything nice?'
Enoch didn't think it was very circumspect of him to open up to someone he'd just met online but to whom could he unburden the sudden pain he felt? Marley settled down to purr contentedly on his lap as he began to tell Sylvie that Mrs. P. had been that age when he'd met her - and how she had the largest breasts he'd ever seen; like two over inflated basketball's stuffed down into her chest. Her husband had, with vicious irony, died the day after retiring from his job at the post office and left her vigorous sex drive untended for several years before Enoch came to The Village. Deirdre, as she insisted on being called, had relentlessly teased him from the first day he came to settle her bill, flashing her ample charms and dropping more sexual innuendo than a 'Carry On ...' film, sending him on his way with a painful erection that could only be eased in the privacy of his home. It hadn't taken him long to do more than feast his eyes on those splendid tits, and loved their sensual softness smothering his hard cock until only the tip of his mighty erection popped out like an obscene Jack-in-a-box to be trapped between her moist lips, sucking the stream of pre-cum from his nob until his spunk gushed forth to her cries of delight, coating her face and tits and cumming in her mouth.
Deirdre was the only woman of The Village to take the full pleasure of his cock between her thick flabby thighs, riding him to a satisfying climax whenever the mood took her - which was more often than Enoch imagined she was up to. It was the only time she could look down upon him, being only 5' tall, and she loved to rub her breasts in his face as she bounced on his shaft, using muscles that all women possess but few ever know of to enhance their pleasure, cumming loudly together in her big double bed where the headboard rattled out the beat of the rhythm. On a memorable occasion he had gone where no man, least of all her husband, had ever been after she rode too high in her passion and slipped off his cock only to plunge back down in her haste to have him back in the snug depths of her hairy pussy only to trap his throbbing nob between her plump buttocks. The expression on her face told him something was amiss as soon as he pushed into the tight ring, bringing a shocked gasp from her lips and a stinging rebuke from the palm of her hand across his face. Enoch apologised and they were soon back in the swing of things, humping breathlessly towards a mutual climax that he enhanced (at her insistence) with a well placed finger in that hole to make her cum so hard she almost bit his tongue off. Curiosity and desire got the better of her and, although he used plenty of Vaseline and careful attention, he was only able to lodge the head of his cock in her arse as she lay back on the bed, cursing his enormous girth and craving it deeper nonetheless; stroking him off over her pussy when Enoch couldn't hold back any longer. (The memory brought a lump to Enoch's lap and Marley leapt into his basket to avoid the uncomfortable protuberance).
There was little she wouldn't do to satisfy her sexual desire after so many stifling years of marriage to an unimaginative man, and her libido thrived in the heat of Enoch's lust; taking his spunk in every way possible: on her breasts after pouring a carton of thick cream over them and stroking his cock off between the creamy mounds; in her mouth, in-between mouthfuls of cool strawberry yoghurt; over her large fleshy buttocks when she bent over the kitchen table, and laying back on it with her body smeared in cake and ice cream, for Enoch to eat her up and fuck her pussy until his spunk filled her to the brim.
"Do you like milkshake?" She'd innocently asked him one morning, and proceeded to pour a litre of double cream up her eager pussy when he said he did. Enoch screwed her hard enough to make it splash over his balls then pumped a hot load deep in her gushing cunt; drinking the frothy mixture until she came so hard his head was crushed between her thighs.
Enoch normally preferred to receive than give oral sex but her winsome smile and baby blue eyes would melt his natural reserve and give her what she wanted; like a fast hard fuck up against the wall, five minutes before her daughter was due to pay a visit. Enoch had passed them on the road and gave her and her husband a cheery wave not a minute too soon. Deirdre always tasted clean and smelt fresh, and he grew to relish the tangy flavour of her intimate flesh; sticking his tongue as far up to make her sigh and cry out in joy at finding such an attentive lover.
The last time they'd been together, she'd seemed her old self, and had asked for some 'some extra thick cream' on her cornflakes at breakfast. Enoch duly obliged, fondling her luscious breasts and watching her mouth work up and down with familiar pleasure. Her fat little fingers couldn't encompass his full girth but stroked him nimbly nonetheless, peeling the thick foreskin back and forth over his nob and running her tongue over and over the head until he spurted copiously over the bowl, sprinkling the flakes with hot salty glob's that she contentedly ate while chatting amiably as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
'I hope Deirdre's ok,' Enoch concluded, 'she's been such a good friend, though I don't think it's prudent to visit her - loose tongue's wag in this place and I don't want her smeared in idle gossip.'
'I don't know whether to cry or cum,' Sylvie said, 'that's so hot and it'd be so sad if -'
'Yeah, I know what you mean but I don't want to think the worst.'
'You can always send her flowers - anonymously, or with a cryptic note that she'd understand - to let her know you're thinking of her.'
'That's a good idea, I will, thanks - and thanks for listening, it was good to get it off my chest.'
'Not at all hun, thanks for sharing - here's a little something for making an old woman very horny! Back in two shakes; I have to check on hubby.'
Enoch clicked on the file transfer and thanks to the wonders of broadband, was soon looking at a revealing pose of a portly lady wearing nothing but an open negligee.
"Fuck-a-duck!" Enoch exclaimed to himself. "Is that a cat on your lap or what?"
