Nomansland Ch 03

John awoke the next morning to the sound of activity in the kitchen and some enticing aromas. The crusted residue of Mrs. Cook's earlier passion cracked and flaked uncomfortably across his maw as he yawned. It must be a lonely life out here, he reasoned, reflecting upon last night. Blearily he checked his watch: 6 A.M. His thoughts were an unnavigable maelstrom for now so he decided to take one thing at a time and got up to wash his face.

Mrs. Cook was singing a lilting tune that John didn't recognise as he descended the stairs. Her voice was powerful but lacked the range to carry off her chosen tune. She broke off when she saw him enter the kitchen.

"Good morning, John. Did you sleep well?" she asked. She was wearing a floral print dress that suited her well, emphasising her curves.

Unsure of whether to make mention of their encounter or not, John replied with a rather weak "yes, thanks," as he sat down. He smiled in approval as he registered a fully set table and bacon sizzling on the hob.

"I always have a full English on Saturday," said Mrs. Cook as she sliced some toast into triangles and placed them in a toast-rack. Five minutes she served up two fried eggs each, two rashers of bacon, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and a ladleful of baked beans.

This was an unexpected treat and John tucked in accordingly. He rose to take his plate to the sink after he had finished.

"Very tasty Mrs. Cook," he said, "Where I'm from, you need sausage for a full English breakfast though."

As he returned from the sink, she grabbed hold of his belt and pulled him towards her. "Oh, I intend to have sausage!" she said, unbuckling his belt, popping his button, unzipping his flies, slipping a couple of fingers into his belt-loops, and yanking down. With his trousers gathered around his ankles Mrs. Cook had him where she wanted once more. She lifted her dress over her head and released the clasp of her bra. Her tits were not as big as John had supposed as he had surreptitiously ogled them last night so they had escaped the worst of gravity's ravages and could still be described as pert. She reached across the table and grabbed a dollop of butter from the butter dish which she smeared all over and in between her breasts. "I'll provide the buttered baps," she said as she regarded the growing bulge in his boxers. She shook her head at him in mock disapproval before roughly tugging those down too. John's rigid cock snapped out of the elastic waistband as they slid down and slapped against Mrs. Cook's forehead as she bent.

She smiled lasciviously. "I see that the Hackney sausage is generously proportioned," she said with a raised eyebrow, and she glided a greasy hand along his length. Having thoroughly greased his dick, she leant forward, clasped her boobs together and moaned with pleasure as she began giving him a long, slow tit-wank. John let out his own gasp of satisfaction. Now her other hand reached behind him to grab an arse-cheek and she guided him into her mouth. "Mmph phmph!" John wasn't sure if this was general approval or if she was trying to talk to him, but it continued to feel good and he closed his eyes and savoured the sensation.

An insistent buzzing noise interrupted the moment, making John jump, and Mrs. Cook gagged as his dick thrust against the back of her throat. She let it loll out of her mouth for a moment as her attention turned to a phone that John had evidently missed. He turned his palms toward Mrs. Cook in supplication as she fumbled to answer the phone with her slippery fingers. Irritably she waved a dismissive hand at him, swatting away his protest. He relented easily. It is an unwise man who argues too long with a woman who has his dick in her mouth he mused sagely. Mrs. Cook's preoccupied frown faded as she triumphantly connected the call and activated speakerphone.

"Hi Ibby!" she said, "How are you?" she said before having another quick suck on John's cock.

"Oh, you know, still struggling with my back but getting by," replied a reedy voice.

"Mmph," said Mrs. Cook and the vibration that came from her vocal cords was not unpleasant.

Ibby took that as a cue to continue and John wilted a little as she rambled without direction: "... I flew by the church the other day and you'll never guess who I saw... well, I got no sense from Dr. Hogg, she must be on the Prozac again... don't get me started on Edith's Leylandii, I dread to think what Jim would have said...".

Mrs. Cook responded with a series of spirited "Mmmph!" noises.

"Ooh! Ooh! Has the new one arrived yet?" Ibby's tone livened as her ramble stirred a memory of one of Mrs. Cook's announcements.

"Yeah, he arrived late last night. Kept me waiting till ten o'clock, the selfish git!" Mrs. Cook winked conspiratorially at John as she said this. John was not convinced

"How is he?" asked Ibby.

"OK so far," said Mrs. Cook, "As a matter of fact, I'm sucking him off right now!"

"You're not!" shrieked Ibby.

"Yep!" said Mrs. Cook, "Listen." She moved the phone closer and took an exaggerated slurp of John's cock. "Hang on, I'll call you back on video." She was already mouthing at him to shush before he had a chance to protest. She set her phone up behind her head so that it was facing John. After a moment, a thin, bird-like woman appeared on the screen, slightly older than Mrs. Cook. She reminded John of his high school history teacher. Her eyes lit up as she saw him.

"Ooh! Ooh!" she exclaimed.

"Hi Ibby," said John laughing nervously, abashed at the circumstances of their introduction.

Now Mrs. Cook really went to work on him spitting and slobbering noisily all over the glistening dome at the tip of his penis. He groaned as he felt his balls tightening.

"I say, would you mind holding back a moment boy? I'm not quite there yet." John saw that Ibby's mouth was hanging open and her right shoulder was twitching rhythmically. He winced as Mrs. Cook suddenly gripped the tip of his cock tight in her fist for about ten seconds. Apparently, content that his orgasm had receded she began again, slowly at first, gradually picking up the pace. After a minute or two, Ibby started making a series of urgent "Oo!" noises. Mrs. Cook recognised that Ibby was arriving at her destination and spat on John's cock one more time before biting her lower lip and leaning back to give herself room as she began moving her hand like a jackhammer up and down John's shaft.

There was no interruption this time when John felt his body tensing again. He was gasping. He had never experienced such intense pleasure before. Ibby's hoots were becoming increasingly high pitched, and Mrs. Cook was groaning quietly too. John gave a strangled "Nnnnggg!" as his entire body convulsed and he fired a salvo of three long, thick globs flying through the air. The first sailed straight over Mrs. Cook's shoulder and splatted onto the screen of her phone. Now it sounded as though Ibby could barely breathe, only having enough air to let out an occasional exultant sigh. Mrs. Cook was composed enough to expertly redirect John's cock so that the second shot splashed audibly against her forehead and the third was a direct hit in her mouth. She was emitting a low growl now and she kept pumping John, fast, determined to milk every drop. He fired five more big blasts, giving Mrs. Cook's face a nice, thick coat of gloss. The spunk was still coming though with less urgency now, so Mrs. Cook let it drip onto her tits. His nerve ends were singing "enough!", his knees buckled, and he started giggling uncontrollably. Mrs. Cook finally relented, and her tongue slowly circled her pink lips, licking up all the cum that she could reach and letting out one last long growl. For a couple of minutes there was no sound but for their laboured breathing.

It was Mrs. Cook who broke the silence.

"Have you heard from Gladys lately? She was going to find a marrow recipe for me," she said.

John quietly rearranged himself, feeling rather deflated as she and Ibby continued in this vein. He vaguely waved a goodbye as he left but it didn't register at all with Mrs. Cook who was deep in a conversation comparing the merits of baked and steamed marrow.

John had more questions than ever as he went out to lose himself in his work.