'Please, harder. Please. Harder! Harder!'
He pressed down firmly with his thumb and flicked it briskly from side to side. She liked that. Her eyes were half closed now and her mouth open as she began to breath heavily. Seizing the moment, he pushed his free hand into the small of her back and dragged her forward on the seat. As he plunged into her, she wrapped her legs around his back pulling him in. She was shouting now, urging him to greater efforts. Her orgasm arrived quickly, accompanied by a load cry. He was close behind, ejaculating several times as he tugged on her incredible nipples, which expressed fluid as she shuddered into a second and then a third orgasm.
Lucinda fidgeted in the chair. She had made herself quite damp thinking about that little session with the sales director. It was a good, all round, result. What started as a means to cover her tracks, ended in getting what she wanted in many ways. It was over two months ago, but she often thought about Mr Billingsgate. He had a stupendous cock, but could do with some instruction to get the best out of it. She turned her attention to the computer keyboard and entered the correct password – NATASHA.
CHAPTER THREE.
Dudley Wink coasted the Post Office van to a halt outside Holly Tree Cottage in Smallfield Lane. The cottage was also known as 41 Smallfield Lane, which was just as well. There were six Holly Tree Cottages in and around the village of Lippinston, not that Dudley would deliver any of Mrs Billingsgate’s mail to any of the others. Having her sign for a package was the highlight of his week. Natasha Billingsgate was an absolute cracker and his hungry little eyes were free to roam over her delicious body as she concentrated on signing. The trick was to put the proof of delivery list on the package and lower it, just as she was about to sign. He’d been treated to more than a glimpse of her cleavage and delectable breasts by using this ploy, and he could say, with all the authority of a self-appointed expert, that her tits were the best on his round.
Dudley Wink was in his early forties, plump and outwardly jolly. His wife, Linda, was a well-respected teacher at Hamsworth High School and in her spare time, District Administrator for the Girl Guides. Dudley was an active member of the Hamsworth Photographic Club and well known for his wildlife pictures. His photographs of a fox and cubs at play were published in the local paper to much acclaim. The Winks were pillars of local society. He took a sheaf of letters, held together with the ubiquitous red elastic band from the tray of sorted mail on the passenger seat. Flicking through the bills and circulars, stopping at a hand written letter addressed to Natasha Billingsgate. He pulled the letter free from the restraining elastic and carefully, almost lovingly, placed it on a small shelf under the steering wheel. Then he reached behind the passenger seat where the package to be signed for was handily placed, together with the ‘proof of delivery’ list. With everything in hand and a pen at the ready in the top pocket of his blue, short sleeved shirt, he set off down the path towards the back of the cottage, hoping fervently that Mrs and not Mr Billingsgate would come to the door.
When the doorbell rang, Barrie, in Natasha’s body, was in the utility room, looking for a cleaning cloth in the cupboard under the butlers’ sink. He had been diverted when leaning down by the way her breasts gently swayed and was holding onto the edge of the sink, swinging them from side to side, hoping to make them contra rotate. It was a difficult business. He could swing them together, but as soon as he tried to get one to go the other way, the little beauties collided and he had to start again. The doorbell rang for the second time. Natasha was obviously not going to come down, probably still in the shower. He looked around for something to cover his female nakedness. That pervert of a postman was not going to catch even a glimpse of Natasha’s cleavage. He selected her favourite apron, with cookery terms printed all over it, from the back of the door and was amazed at how easily he tied the strings in a bow behind her back and how nimble her fingers felt. He held her hands out to look at them. They were slender, smooth and beautifully manicured; artists’ hands, unlike his own, which were strong and square, positively artisan, right down to the nails and fingertips. As he moved her hands he realised that any exaggerated movement would leave her breasts half exposed either side of the narrow apron top. With a pervert like Dudley Wink at the door, that would never do. The doorbell rang for the third time as he rummaged through a basket of items waiting to be washed and found a bath towel. How was it Natasha fixed her towel after a shower? He wrapped it around the upper half of her body and tucked one end over the other, under her left armpit. At the first attempt the towel dropped to the floor. On the second it felt anything but secure. On the third it worked. The bell rang again. He tested the towel with a light tug and walked though the kitchen to the backdoor.
A disappointed Dudley Wink was filling in a ‘missed delivery card’ when the door opened. He looked up to see Natasha Billingsgate wrapped in a bath towel and in a split second, took in her bare shoulders and legs, where the towel ended half way down her thighs, before focussing on her face.
'Good morning Mrs Billingsgate, package to sign for.' He offered his pen, indicating where she should sign. As he lowered the package and delivery note he silently prayed. 'Please, please let the towel fall off.' She gave him a hard look, as if she knew what he was thinking, snatched the pen, scribbled a signature, grabbed the package and slammed the door. A bemused postman was left on the step, squinting at a signature, which he eventually deciphered as Barrie Billingsgate.
Barrie was angry. He had his suspicions – no, he knew Dudley Wink was a pervert. He had seen the way he looked at Natasha, but she would not hear a word against him. Christ, anyone could tell that his little beady eyes were willing the towel to fall off. He gave it a sharp tug, but it held firm. He pulled out the tucked in end and was about to put the towel back in the washing basket, when it occurred to him that it would do to mop the bathroom floor. His male logic told him the towel had to be washed anyway. So, with Natasha’s package under one arm, the towel under the other and a very good idea of what he next wanted to do in her body, he ran it lightly up the stairs.
Natasha was still giving his body a good lathering in the shower as he entered the bathroom. He dropped the towel over the wet area on the floor, crept over to the shower and slowly opened the door. His broad back was towards the door and his right shoulder was moving rhythmically. Was Natasha experiencing her first male masturbation?
'Are you enjoying that, Tash?'
His body turned quickly towards him and he was disappointed to see a flaccid member covered in lather. Undeterred he slid Natasha’s slim body into the shower.
'What are you doing in here, Barrie?'
On seeing her own body enter the shower Natasha felt Barrie’s penis, which had reduced to what she considered a manageable size, twitch and begin to unfurl like a giant tortoise, cautiously poking its head out from under its shell. She leant his body back, allowing the main thrust of the shower to rinse off the lather.
'Go away. You can have a shower in a minute. I’ve almost finished.'
Her face smiled sweetly at her and she heard her own voice say, 'Honey, we haven’t even started.' Natasha was horrified to see her head bob down towards the fast swelling penis and to feel her own tongue run gently around the head. She tried to pull away but was hampered by the shower controls and Barrie’s hold on his own testicles with her right hand. He squeezed enough for her to realise that any sudden movement would cause a great deal of pain. Anyway, she had no control over the blasted thing, which was now fully erect and striving to gain entry into her own succulent mouth.
'Barrie! What the hell do you think you are doing?'
Barrie stopped and looked up with a sly grin. How could he make her face look so depraved? Surely she never looked like that? 'It’s every guy’s fantasy to give himself a blow job.'
'Not with my mouth you don’t. You know very well I’m not into blow jobs.'
'You are now.' With that simple statement, Barrie turned his attention to the end of his own penis. Natasha felt her sharp teeth nibbling delicately at the tip. She wanted to pull away. She was willing herself to pull away, but the penis seemed to have other ideas; ideas she could not deny. As if on autopilot, Barrie’s hips, the hips she thought she could control, began to thrust forward. It was an animal reaction and there was nothing she could do to stop as her own soft mouth enveloped the bulbous head of the throbbing penis. Barrie ran her tongue teasingly around the sensitive rim; then used her teeth to rake playfully along the shaft as it moved towards the back of her throat. Natasha hated her own body for what it was doing and she hated herself for not being able to prevent the body she was in from receiving such gratification. But the need to reach fulfilment conquered all and she found herself
