They were both unsteady on their feet as Steve unlocked the door. They turned to wave to Neil and Susan, in the departing car, then, as they crossed the threshold, Steve groped for Joanne's breast. She stopped as he gripped the full, firm flesh over the peasant blouse, and gave it a hard squeeze. Her hand snaked down and felt the outline of his hard cock, beneath the rough denim of his jeans.
"Oh," she laughed. "So there is something else to life but football, then! A whole fucking hour you spent at the bar, talking fucking football!"
"Well," he replied, his fingers tracing the outline of her hard nipple. "There's only so much barn dancing one man can take – and, anyway, you weren't lonely, were you?"
"Oh, no," Joanne breathed, her wide, generous mouth now nuzzling his neck, her hand now fully cupped round her husband's turgid erection.
That was one of the things he loved about his new wife, Steve thought. She was independent, gregarious – not clinging, like Kathy had been. And – she was much more 'upfront' about sex...
His heart beat faster at the memory of how Joanne had casually discarded her top, on their recent Mediterranean holiday, to display her gorgeous tits. He had always wanted Kathy to do that, but she wouldn't even wear a bikini on the beach.
He had seen men watching Kathy’s slim, dark figure, admiring her 'racing-snake' bum, in her one-piece bathing-suit, and he had tried to persuade her to ‘go topless’, to show off her small firm tits, with their amazingly long, stiff nipples, but it had been 'no way' – and, of course, he couldn't tell her that it would excite him, thinking about the men on the beach wanting to get their hands, their mouths, on his wife's tits.
But Joanne was different. Joanne enjoyed the attention. She had sat on the towel, that first morning, and asked Steve to put her sun block on. Kneeling behind her, he had massaged the cream into her back, then, when he had reached round to the front, Joanne had raised her arms behind her head, pulling her tits up, making them stand out...
Steve had oiled her stomach, first, then, when his hands had reached the underside of her breasts, she had breathed – "Give my tits a good seeing-to, Steve – we don't want them burning, do we?" And his oiled hands had slid over her nipples, to find them standing out like pieces of chalk. Over her shoulder, he could see many eyes fixed on her – most of them men, but quite a few women, as well, and his cock had throbbed, and his hands blatantly squeezed and fondled her naked tits.
He had had an almost permanent hard-on, throughout the entire holiday. Joanne had a superb body for her age – of course, she had always worked out in the gym, and done her line dancing. And she had no qualms about being the centre of attention – her singing career had got her used to that. And – most excitingly – she expected men to become aroused at the sight of her tits, and basked in it.
After a day or two, she would whisper to Steve – "Whoops – there's another stiffy over there, lover – think he'd like to slide it between my boobs?" And Steve would turn, to see a furtive husband, desperately trying to hide his erection from his disapproving wife, and his mouth would dry as he thought of the guy dreaming of fucking Joanne's tits as he slid a length up his unresponsive wife in the hotel bedroom that night...
He pushed her back against the wall, standing back and surveying her, in her brightly-coloured peasant blouse and skirt.
"Aha, my proud beauty," he announced, striking a pose. "You won't look so haughty when that blouse is up round your neck, and the skirt circling your waist..."
She cowered, in mock terror. "Oh, master," she quavered. "What are you going to do to me? I'm only an innocent serving-girl..." Her arm crossed, protectively, over her breasts, and her hand flattened against her groin. Her eyes were large, and full of simulated fear. Steve felt the blood flow hotly into his penis.
"Upstairs for you, my girl – into the master bedroom, and await my pleasure," he called, and she scuttled away, still protecting her body, ascending the stairs in quick, hurried steps. His inhibitions loosened by the drink he had consumed, Steve roared after her, quickly assuming the role of the dominant master.
When he entered the bedroom, Joanne was backed up against the wardrobe, still clutching her body, protectively, her head downcast, eyes looking up at him, fearfully.
"Oh, please, sir," she quavered. "I know naught of things between man and woman – I am an innocent servant-girl."
Steve's acting ability did not match his new wife's, though, and he could think of nothing to do, or say, but to stride forward, and envelop her in his arms. To his surprise, he could actually feel her shaking, as though she was really frightened.
Unresisting, she let him propel her towards the bed, and they collapsed on it, together, Steve's mouth closing, urgently, over hers, his hand pushing up between her thighs. With a thrill, he felt the wetness seeping through her thin panties. Then she groaned, and clamped her thighs round his wrist, trapping his hand against her soaking pussy, humping it against her fingers.
Her breathing quickened, becoming harsher, and she thrust herself onto his probing hand. "Oh, oh, oh..." she moaned, then, suddenly, Steve felt her stiffen, and she rocked wildly against his rigid fingers, throwing her head back, in a violent, raging orgasm.
Steve lay, clutching her, his fingers now under the thin strip of cotton stretched across her sex, delving deep into the soaking, twitching flesh beneath. Slowly, the tightness of her body relaxed, and she slid back on the bed, letting out great, shuddering breaths.
Her skirt was bunched up round her waist, her strong dancer's legs played apart, Steve's hand still at their apex, two fingers plunged inside her soaking twat. Joanne opened her eyes and smiled, shakily, uncertainly, up at him.
"Oh, you hit a fucking big trigger there, boy," she murmured. "Fucking hell – can't remember when I last came so quick."
Steve flexed his fingers inside her, and she jerked as if an electric current had gone through her.
"Whoah – steady, boy – I think we're in multiple orgasm territory, right now – but give me a chance to get my breath back!"
Her hand slid down to join his. Steve thought she was going to pull him out of her, but she simply laid her fingers across the back of his hand, and stroked it, gently, idly.
"What trigger?" he asked, quietly, and immediately felt her vaginal muscles tighten round his fingers.
"It's the 'servant' thing," she breathed. "You know – master/servant – the 'big house' – droit de seigneur – that sort of thing. It just – turns me on – always has done."
"Ah," said Steve, a little nonplussed. He was more than nonplussed – he was surprised. He thought he didn't know a woman more self-confident, more independent, than Joanne, and he just couldn't see her in the role of – well, what, exactly?
She laughed, shakily, and squeezed his hand.
"Surprised, eh?" she whispered. "Difficult to see me as a – victim? There's a lot about me you don't know – yet."
Steve felt his cock rise, again – he hadn't even realised his erection had subsided as Joanne had thrashed about in her sudden climax – and he flexed his fingers in her, experimentally.
She sighed with pleasure, and pressed down on his hand again.
"When I was – well, pretty young, I had a holiday with my great-grandma's younger sister. She had a little cottage at the seaside, in Norfolk somewhere, and I was sent there for the summer because my folks couldn't get away, because of the shop. I wasn't looking forward to it. Auntie Mary was pretty old – well over eighty – and I thought it would be really boring."
"But – it turned out to be not bad – not bad at all. We actually got on very well together. Auntie Mary had all her marbles – and she was quite happy for me to go off, exploring the place on my own, and didn't make a fuss about where I had been, or who I was with. I met a few people my own age, in fact, and – well, that's another story. But, in the evenings, Auntie Mary liked a drop of whisky, and she would get talkative, and tell me about her life."
