Follows on from 'It's Not Bechuanaland!'
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Stan Dodds was a Buffalo.
Oh good, you're thinking, we are going to get a wildlife story. But in this case I am not referring to the type of bovine animals native to Africa and Asia. They are not to be confused with European Bison. Likewise, they shouldn't be mixed up with the American Bison, both of which are not buffalo, they are bison. That is unless you are actually a resident of The United States of America; in which case they are your Bison so I suppose that you can call them what you want to.
No, I am referring to The Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes.
In England they are usually just called Buffs. They are a men only organisation who meet regularly to do charitable works as well as dress up and do silly but harmless things.
Stan had been a Buff for many years. He liked it because it didn't involve his wife.
Don't get me wrong, Stan loved his wife dearly but in temperament they were as different as chalk and Mickey Mouse's breakfast. Stan didn't like excitement, it wasn't his style.
Beryl liked a bit of excitement, now and again, which is why she went to the Bingo twice a week. She wasn't a gambler, she just liked that feeling when she was getting quite close. Would it happen or not, she felt the sensation building up inside. Most times she was let down but sometimes her number came up. It was the uncertainty of not knowing that she loved so much.
She also did the Football Pools. Every week she would give her coupon to the Littlewood's agent, who happened to work in the Motor Insurance Department where she was employed. She permed any eight from ten. Beryl wasn't entirely sure what that meant. The man said she had to put ten crosses against the teams that she thought would draw their matches. If any eight matched she would win. She didn't know anything about Football so she just guessed.
Stan knew about Football. Ever since he was a kid he had followed West Ham United. He'd never actually been to Upton Park to watch them play. All that getting excited wasn't his style. But, whenever they were on 'Match of the Day', he wanted them to win.
'Match of the Day' with Jimmy Hill was his favourite programme on the Telly. On a Saturday night, he would leave the Buffs early so that he could watch highlights of some of that day's First Division matches.
As well as being a Buffalo, Stan was also a plumber. He was a very good plumber, everybody at Hendy's said so. No-one could quite understand why he hadn't gone into business for himself. He just shrugged his shoulders and told them that it wasn't his style. Stan had served his apprenticeship with Hendy's and, apart from the time he'd spent in the Army, he had been with them ever since. At sixty-two he wasn't going to take any risks now. In fact he was looking forward to retirement.
There was a large Insurance Company in the Essex County Town of Chelmsford, Beryl worked there. She wasn't a high flyer but everyone knew that the office wouldn't run without her. She took care of everything that needed to be done in the background.
The other thing that every male employee knew was that Beryl could be 'touched up'.
So, as each new generation started with the firm, if they found Beryl alone in the stationery storeroom or the broom cupboard or the filing room they would slip a hand into her bra and stroke a nipple or put their hand down her knickers and finger her slit. It was hardly ever more than that, if you spent more than a few minutes out of the office you were missed. Everyone knew that Beryl wouldn't say anything about it.
She didn't know why but she just felt that when a man was taking control she wanted to comply, she liked the excitement. It started during the war. Men would get her up against a wall in the dark. They would take her over and she would let them. Stanley didn't take control, it wasn't his style.
The couple would go on a holiday each Summer. Usually on a coach to some seaside resort on the South Coast. Occasionally, Beryl thought that it may be nice to go abroad. Stan said that it wasn't really his style. Besides, he pointed out, they didn't have passports and he doubted that foreigners played Bingo. Still, these weeks away made Beryl realise that there was another world outside of Chelmsford. She was an Essex girl at heart but she often wondered what it would be like to live in the country.
Every Saturday, before Stan went off to the Buffs and she went off to Bingo, Beryl would watch the Football results and then throw her unsuccessful coupon in the bin.
She was always home in bed by the time that Stanley returned. After he'd watched the Football highlights, he'd get in beside her with the light off, lift Beryl's nightie and climb on top of her. Stan was a firm believer that the secret to a happy marriage was for the man to do his duty. While he wasn't the sort of domination that she craved, Beryl wasn't ungrateful but she sometimes thought that she'd like a bit of a build up and any sort of satisfactory conclusion but she presumed that that wouldn't be Stan's style.
For the umpteenth time, Stan was offered the honour of being Worthy Primo of the Lodge by the Buffs. For the umpteenth time he had declined. Nobody was surprised, they knew that it wasn't his sort of thing.
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Beryl always looked forward to Christmas, not that it was a big thing for Stan. What was a big thing was her works Office Christmas Party. No expense was spared. The wine flowed like wine, the beer flowed like beer, and the Bacardi and Coke flowed into Beryl.
The most important rule of the Office Christmas Party was 'employees only', no partners. The even more important rule of the Office Christmas Party was 'what goes on at the office party stays at the office party'. No kiss and tell and definitely no anything else and tell.
"Right," said Pete, "I've been fingering you for the last four months, ever since I started here. Now I want to find out what it feels like to hump you."
He dragged her into the stationery storeroom and kicked the door shut behind them.
Beryl giggled and said, "You do know that I'm fifty-seven, don't you? Wouldn't you rather shag one of the younger girls?"
"You're joking, I've had most of them. It's Christmas and you're just what every young lad wants."
"How old are you anyway?" asked Beryl.
Pete replied, "Nineteen."
Undoing the wide belt, Pete dropped his flared trousers and revealed his hard cock.
"Well, I suppose it is Christmas," Beryl said. She grasped his penis, pulled it four or five times and then turned and flopped over an old desk.
Pete, being a bright youngster, got the message. He pulled her skirt up to reveal her black nylon stockings and equally black nylon knickers. He pulled the drawers down onto Beryl's shoes. She didn't like this arrangement so she stepped out of one leg.
The young man was just about to slide into her moist fanny when the door opened.
"Don't mind me. I'm happy to go next," said a deep voice boomed out. It was Mr Clive, the Senior Partner.
"I don't have a problem if you'd rather go first Sir, seniority and all that," offered Pete.
"That's very kind of you, young man. You'll go far here with an attitude like that.
"I've had a few drinks so it may take a while for me to get it up. Watching Beryl getting knobbed may just help," slurred Mr Clive.
"Would someone just get on with it," pleaded Beryl.
The older man held his hand out in a sweeping gesture of magnanimity towards the younger man. He with good grace accepted his boss' generosity. Neither considered for a moment that it was in fact a Yuletide gift from the older woman.
Drink did nothing to impair Pete's performance.
He wasted no time in getting balls deep in Beryl. This was just how Beryl liked it. Thighs slamming against buttocks causing ripples that amplified the pleasure. This coupled with his youthful exuberance was just what she wished for. Such a contrast to her Saturday night experiences. Pete doubled Stan's longest fuck, then tripled it. Hard and fast he went on finally dislodging her tits from the safety of her bra.
"Good show, young fellow!" encouraged Mr Clive, "Fuck the ass off her!"
"Thank you Sir," said Pete, "I'm getting very close, would you prefer me to shoot up her or over her ass?"
"No no, fill her up for me."
"Right you are. As you wish, Sir.
"Arrhh! That's good, bloody good," cried Pete as he did as he was instructed.
Gripping her suspenders, he pulled himself right up against Beryl's bum.
