E Daymuir - Betwixt Natasha

She did not sound much like a cleaner. Not that he would necessarily know how a typical cleaner spoke, but her accent was definitely up market. He took the photo and made a cursory examination of the frame.

'That’s okay, nothing broken.'

'Who is she?'

'My wife, Natasha.' He laid the photograph face down on the desk, which told her all she needed to know.

'I’m Barrie – Barrie Billingsgate, pleased to meet you.'

She smiled up at him. 'I won’t make the obvious reply to that.'

He looked down past the smile into her cleavage. Her breasts were unsupported and magnificent. Somewhat larger and fuller than Natasha’s but every bit as shapely. He would be very happy to look down on that cleavage all day except his ‘old boy’ was beginning to obstruct the view. Embarrassed, he drew away, but she quickly put both hands around the back of his thighs and pulled him back.

'Does this hot weather effect you the same as it affects me?' She kissed and nibbled at the tip of his swollen penis through the thin fabric of his summer suit. As he struggled for an answer, she stood up moving her right hand to the front of his trousers and kissed him with an open mouth. He squirmed to her touch, her sweet breath heightening his excitement. 'It makes me steamy and right now there are two things I would like, Barrie.' Her voice dropped an octave; it was husky and incredibly sexy.

'What are they?'

'Your magnificent cock inside me and a glass of water.' She gave his testicles a gentle squeeze. 'It will have to be water first I‘m afraid. I’m desperate for sex, but we don’t want me dying of thirst half way through – do we?' His mumbled reply was indistinct as he ran towards the door. As he disappeared, she ducked swiftly under the desk and pushed the computer plug back into its socket.

When Barrie Billingsgate returned, with what little water he had managed to retain in the cup, he was bitterly disappointed to find that the gorgeous creature, who promised so much, had gone. The bird had flown. He looked hopefully under the desk, but the space she had previously occupied was empty. He sighed. Not another clipboard day!

Then, with a creak and a groan his high back, black leather executive chair, swung around and there she was smiling at him, her white coat unbuttoned and folded back to a point where she might as well not have been wearing it at all. Her breasts were truly magnificent. Unsupported they curved upward with long erect nipples pointing dagger like towards the ceiling. He lurched towards her, spilling yet more water in the process. She nonchalantly dropped the lace panties dangling from the forefinger of her right hand.

'Come on big boy.' She took the cup from his hand, drank what little water was left and watched in amusement as he desperately fumbled at his belt. After tossing the paper cup into the waste paper basket, she brushed his hands away and expertly unfastened the buckle. Trousers and underpants were pulled down in one deft movement and his unfettered penis sprang out, almost striking her on the nose. She took it in both hands, playfully running her tongue around the rim of the bulbous head before guiding it down towards her vagina. To accommodate her he had to sink to his knees. Half the length of his striving penis slipped into her, it felt wonderful and welcoming, but the edge of the seat prevented deeper penetration – she was in complete control. She gave him a wicked smile. 'Take it easy big boy. We haven’t much time, but I want to come at least twice, how about you?' As he grunted his agreement, she eased gently forward in the seat until the rim of his penis rubbed against the right spot. She groaned, took his hand and guided it to where she wanted it to go. There was no difficulty in locating her clitoris – it was large and prominent. She gave him a smile of encouragement, but her teeth were clenched, almost in a grimace. There was a hint of desperation in that smile.

'You can’t hurt me down there, Barrie. Rub it – please rub it. Rub it hard!'

Taking her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, he massaged in time with his restricted thrusts. Her groans turned to a whimper as she pleaded with him.

'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.

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.