Message-ID: <41386asstr$1048248603@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20030321032427.31493.qmail@web41205.mail.yahoo.com> From: theGreatxIam X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 20 Mar 2003 19:24:27 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Anniversary Waltz #5 - Part 2/3 Date: Fri, 21 Mar 2003 07:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw For more stories like this, visit http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/theGreatxIam/www __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Platinum - Watch CBS' NCAA March Madness, live on your desktop! http://platinum.yahoo.com <1st attachment, "ann05b.txt" begin> NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam Until Death Do Us Part Part 2 (of 3) An Anniversary Waltz story By theGreatxIam After Steve ushered the kids to bed, he went back to the family room and oozed into an overstuffed chair opposite the TV. Breaking the news about their grandfather had gone easier than he'd expected, but the hours of rehearsal for his short speech had left him frazzled. That, and all the beers he'd had to help him think. He grabbed the remote as deftly as if it were a live trout and waved it ineffectively a time or two before he found the correct button. Idly he flipped channels. Everything looked pretty much the same. He couldn't tell which was Howard Stern, which was pro wrestling and which was a Fox News talk show. After a while he settled on an old rerun of "Bewitched." The one good thing about his condition was that he couldn't tell whether it was the good Darrin or the second one. He was half-asleep when he heard someone behind him. He didn't even have the strength left to turn around. Someone in a black shiny outfit flitted through the periphery of his vision. His eyes remained fixed on the TV. It was hard enough trying to focus without adding to the complexity by moving his eyes. Whoever it was walked back and forth, crossing his line of sight several times. He made out that it was a woman, half from the shape and half from the fact that she was cleaning up. He could see her ferrying bottles and other trash in what he vaguely remembered as the direction of the kitchen. By the time the woman returned, another magical domestic crisis had been tidily resolved and Steve had switched off the tube. That allowed him to devote his attention to the mystery woman. He blinked twice, but it did nothing to clear up his vision. He couldn't figure out who it was. It wasn't just the blurriness. He got the impression of two photos superimposed -- or of a person suddenly changing appearance. "Everything is OK?" The woman had Nanny's voice. That seemed natural enough, since she also had Nanny's head. But even as he mumbled a reply, Steve kept staring. Something was wrong. Why would Zosia have Paula's body? For a hazy moment, it looked like Paula had the head of the second Darrin. That particular nightmare did blink away. But that was definitely Zosia's head smiling at him and Zosia's voice talking to him, even if he couldn't quite understand what she was saying. So why did he see Paula's body? Well, he thought, there was the shape. Both of them were in damn fine shape. Damn fine. She was coming closer to him. He grabbed his head with both hands to hold it steady. Ah! He got it. He was confused. It wasn't that Zosia had Paula's body. It was that she had his wife's tits. A dull pain stabbed him just above the right eye, momentarily distracting him. When he next noticed, Zosia-Paula was climbing onto his lap. Yes, he thought, those were his wife's tits. Or at least her nipples, which were all he could really see through the holes in the black satin nightgown. A grasp of the situation flapped around him like a moth for several seconds before it landed in his brain. Not Paula's body. Not Paula's tits. Paula's old nightgown, the one with the peekaboo holes over the tits. The one she'd worn on their wedding night. This was not good, a boozy voice inside him slurred. The only slightly less slurred voice issuing from his mouth said, "Where did you get that?" "This nightgown? Mrs. Steve give me. Is pretty, no?" "No," he said. "I mean, yes. I mean, no, we shouldn't be doing this." The "this" at that moment was Zosia straddling him, rubbing her sex into his crotch. It was only his extreme inebriation that saved him from the inevitable reaction. But that drunkenness also made it difficult for him to resist when she snatched his hands and clapped them to her breasts. Or when she leaned forward and plunged her tongue into his mouth. As the voluptuous young woman writhed on his lap and offered herself to him, Steve felt guilty that he had gotten drunk enough to be put in that position. But he also regretted that he was too drunk to enjoy it as he should. Which made him feel guiltier that he was fooling around with their nanny while his wife was away dealing with her father's death, for heaven's sake. Which made him regret all the more that as long as he was so guilty, he couldn't get it up and really have something worth the guilt. The pain above his eye was spreading across his forehead like an iron vise. Zosia had pulled the gown off her shoulders and was rubbing his face between her breasts. "I'd really be loving this," he thought, "if I had any contact with the nerve endings in my skin." Or, rather, he thought an addled version of that. His mental capabilities were following his physical ones into oblivion. Zosia's hands were inside his shorts, desperately massaging a cock that would not respond. It somehow struck Steve as funny and he began to giggle, then chuckle, then guffaw. Then Zosia was talking but she had Paula's voice, which he thought was awfully presumptuous of her. Trying to take Paula's husband was one thing, but her voice ... Oh. He got it. The big black banana on his face was a phone. Paula was on the phone. Paula was doing all the talking, which was a good thing. He could not make sense of a word she said, which might be a bad thing. Zosia was no longer on his lap, and that was probably a good thing. Oh. She was on her knees with his flaccid cock in her mouth. Bad. Very bad. What if Paula saw? But Paula on phone. Paula good-bye. "Goo-bye, Paula." Zosia still trying. Zosia ... "Goo-bye, Zosia." He woke up around 4 a.m. to find himself still in the chair. He checked and saw his shorts were on and zipped. That made him feel relieved, though he couldn't quite remember why. He stood up and a lightning bolt of pain arcing through his skull knocked him back down. He went back to sleep. ---- ---- ---- ---- The morning after the funeral, Paula stood in the doorway of her parents' house, waving good-bye to Steve and the kids. What a relief that's over, she thought as she changed into a demure beige suit with a slit in the skirt that was very undemure if she sat just right. It was bad enough having to cope with the funeral and all, but Mother had bizarrely insisted on giving the servants the day off. An entire day with no help! All the more reason, she thought, to make sure Steve abandoned the whole get-rid-of-Nanny idea. Steve was still on her mind as she carefully applied lipstick and just enough makeup to give her that natural look. He was such a disappointment. The sight of some of her younger cousins at the cemetery had reminded her of how old he'd gotten. Cousin Billy, for example, tall and tanned and tight-bunned. And he always had that special gleam in his eye for her. Why couldn't Steve be more like that? She pulled on her hose and clipped them to her garter belt. As she ran her hands along the silk, she reminded herself that finery like that didn't come cheap. At least Steve brought home the dough. Not enough, alas, but she could do worse. Cousin Billy worked the graveyard shift at a 24-hour Gap. Paula stepped into four-inch heels and strode to her car. Two years old, it was. She rolled the top down resentfully. Steve should really be making more money, she thought. Especially with all those hours he worked. Which meant even less time with her. Not that the prospect of his pudgy body was all that appealing. But, still, a woman has needs. Yet another reason to make sure Nanny stayed. Traffic was a bitch and she lost half her tall slim cappucino when the jerk in front of her forgot how to merge, but she kept the spill from her suit and kept a smile on her face. She had been listening to a new book about positive mental attitudes and this was exactly the time to test its advice. Her father's attorney, however, had a very negative mental attitude. So much so that he was incapable of forming a sentence that didn't include the word "no." It was "No, Mrs. Oldham, i can't reveal the terms of the will until it's read to everyone" and "No, I can't just tell you what you inherit" and even "No, I can't verify that you will inherit." She was shocked when he actually said "Yes, we can get you a coffee." But, of course, that was followed by "No, we don't have an espresso machine." She had carefully arranged her skirt to show most of her long legs, and when he became politely obstinate she idly fingered her blouse buttons and accidentally undid several. Nothing helped. Paula was not one to give up easily, but somehow the lawyer and his secretary teamed up and she found herself outside his office watching the door close. She bit her lower lip, on the verge of tears. Was she losing it? Over the hill? Had that mortician been her last hurrah? She sagged into a chair in the waiting room. The secretary gave Paula a sharp look, but then the intercom buzzed and she disappeared into the lawyer's office. Paula sat, forlorn, contemplating her mortality. Shortly, a young man in a rather plain suit swam into her vision. He asked if she was all right. God, Paula thought, I must look pathetic. But she bravely produced a wavering smile. He asked a few other bland, solicitous questions, but she lost track of what he was saying. She noticed something much more important. He was staring at her chest. And he couldn't be much beyond his early twenties. Maybe she hadn't lost it after all. "So, tell me," she said, "Mr. -- er --" "Barnes," he said, "but you can call me Jeff." She favored him with a bigger smile and a deep breath that lifted her chest. "Thank you, Jeff. I'm Paula. So you're a lawyer here?" "Oh, no. Well, maybe someday. I wish. No, I'm just helping out. With the files and such. I'm still in school. Law school." Her smile sagged a little. He quickly added "But if you have any questions, I'll be glad to help if I can." He had that eager puppy look, brushing a lock of brown hair away from his cherubic face. Paula was composing a question to test his eagerness when the hatchet-faced secretary reappeared and shooed him away. It was Paula's turn next, and the secretary was only marginally more polite than she'd been to Jeff. Paula declined the icy offer of an escort and said she'd see herself out. But she quickly got lost in the warren of hallways and offices. The third time she'd passed the same painting of some old sea battle, she felt as if she should shout for a life preserver. Then she saw a familiar bland suit crossing the far end of the corridor. She took off after him, turn after turn, as he sped away. She was about to call his name when he pushed open a door and went in. She rushed up and stopped short when she saw the "Men" sign. Paula glanced back and forth. The hallway was empty. She eased the door open with her foot until she was sure there was no one on the other side, then slipped in, keeping close to the wall. Jeff was standing at a urinal on the far wall, next to two stalls. She checked to make sure no feet were peeking out beneath either one. Silently she opened the door and poked her head out. The coast was clear. She eased the door shut again. On tiptoe, she crept up behind Jeff. She waited until he was finished and shaking off before reaching a hand around and taking hold of his soft cock. "Here," she said. "Let me do that." She gave it several firm shakes. It grew more rigid with each one. Jeff's eyebrows were embedded in his hairline as he turned his head toward her. As his mouth dropped open, Paula covered it with hers, shoving her tongue deep inside. He staggered as she pushed his back against the side wall of the nearest stall, her hand rubbing his dick to hardness. Breaking the kiss, she brushed her cheek along his and snaked her tongue into his ear. His cock twitched. She put her lips right next to his ear and whispered. "Jeff, could I be so bold as to ask a favor?" He nodded vigorously. "There's something in the files here that I need to see. Could you take care of it for me?" He swallowed hard. "I'm -- I'm not supposed --" "But you do work with the files, don't you?" "Uh-huh, but --" "And you'd like to do me ... a favor, wouldn't you?" Her hand closed around his cock. Jeff nodded slowly. "You wouldn't be hurting anyone. And I'll make it worth your while." She led him to the sinks and washed his dick off. As he stared wide-eyed, she began to sink to the floor. The sound of muffled conversation came from outside the bathroom. Quickly she got him into a stall and locked it behind them. Paula shuddered when she looked at the toilet seat. She unrolled yards of toilet paper and hastily wrapped the seat before sitting down. As tinkling sounds came from the urinal on the other side of the stall wall, she silently motioned Jeff to step forward. His cock had shrunk slightly, but light kisses and her soft, warm hands soon brought it back. She swallowed him slowly, careful not to make noise and give them away. When she looked up, half his dick inside her ruby lips, Jeff was biting his lips and clutching at the walls. Came the sound of a faucet running and she held him in her mouth, jacking him off with her hand. The whole bathroom thing felt icky, but she hated the idea of not getting what she wanted. When she heard the door open and close, Paula took her hand from Jeff's rod and buried all of it in her mouth. "Oh, jeez," he groaned. "Sweet mother, that's so fucking good. Suck my cock. Suck it! Suck -- aaah!" She went faster, slurping his dick in and out as her hands dug into his ass. His pubic hair tickled her nose on every downstroke. It was actually fun, she thought, doing someone she could totally deep throat. After a few minutes, though, her jaw began to ache. She pulled back to the tip and used a hand to get him off, swallowing as much as she could. When it was over she made him stand guard outside the john while she washed her face and hands thoroughly. With the promise of even more to come, she got him to show her the way out and arranged to meet him in an hour. At the appointed time, she rolled up to the front door of the law offices. Ten minutes later, not even her daily affirmations could make her believe the little shit was just running late. Swearing under her breath, she twisted the key in the convertible's ignition and peeled off. Scarcely had she started moving when a blurry figure came racing around the side of the lawyer's building and dove headfirst into the tiny rear seat of her car. Paula slammed on the brakes, vaulting the intruder over the rollbar to land heels over head in the passenger seat. She grabbed her purse and flailed him with it, landing several solid thwacks. Only when he twisted around to face her did she recognize Jeff. He cut off her questions, yelling for her to drive off. After they were several blocks from the law offices, he crawled into the proper position. His tie was askew and one of the sleeves of his cheap suit was hanging funny. "Shit," he said, breathlessly. "Why'd you go crazy like that? Hitting me and shit?" Paula shot him a dirty look. "Me? What were you doing leaping into a moving car? Why didn't you meet me at the door?" "I barely got out alive. Old Man Carruthers nearly caught me with the will. If anyone saw me getting in your car they'd put two and two together. I had to sneak out -- and then you take off like a rocket! I could have been killed trying to catch up." "Whatever. So you got it?" "The will? Uh, yeah. Sort of." She eased her foot off the gas slightly. "What's that mean? Didn't you make a copy?" "No. What did I just say? The Old Man would can my ass if he caught me walking around with something I wasn't -- hey, what gives?" Paula had swerved to the curb and begun to pull the car into a U-turn. "We're going back," she said. "I want that will. You're going in to get it if you have to cold-cock the entire bar. Remember what your reward is." She shifted in her seat, letting her skirt ride up. Jeff licked his lips as he stared at Paula's legs. "Wait," he said in a rush. "I didn't say I failed." "So you have the will?" She slowed down. "No." She sped up. "But -- but I know what's in it!" Paula pulled to the curb and parked. "Speak," she said. He hesitated. "How do I know you'll come across if I do? And we aren't going to do it right here, are we?" She stared at him, pursing her lips. She let out a big breath. "There's a beach fifteen minutes from here. Nobody goes there because the sand got washed away years ago. It's still got a little parking lot you can't see from the road." "Sounds like you know this town pretty good." "I grew up here. And I had an active youth." She pulled back into traffic. "Now start talking." He looked her up and down. "I still haven't gotten anything -- I mean, since your down payment back at the office. Paula took a hand from the steering wheel and fumbled beneath her skirt. A pair of champagne silk panties appeared on her thighs. After completing a left turn, she slid them down to her ankles. She pulled her left foot out of them and then pressed it to the accelerator, nudging aside her right foot. In one fluid move she lifted her right leg, panties dangling, and deposited it in Jeff's lap. The move also gave him a direct view of her wide-open beaver. He gaped, breathing hard. As if it had a mind of its own, his hand made its trembling way to her trim ankle and caressed upward. Paula rubbed the point of her high heel into his crotch. "Satisfied? Now spill." He was still staring open-mouthed. She pressed down harder with her heel. "OK, OK!" He winced. She eased off. "Talk. Who gets my father's money." "You do." "How much?" "All of it." She glanced at him suspiciously. "Are you sure?" "Positive. 'I leave the whole of my estate to my only daughter, Paula Noonan Oldham.' No one else." She smiled to herself. It looked like Daddy hated Mommy as much as Mommy hated Daddy. Served her right. Paula considered. She would be generous, she thought, and let Mother stay in the house. At least for the time being. But she'd take the cabin at Tahoe. That was fair. Pulling onto the side road that led out to the beach, she felt a momentary pang of doubt. "You're sure there was no one else? No friends? Relatives?" "Just some legal mumbo-jumbo and his signature," Jeff said. "That's it." "Mumbo -- just how close to being a lawyer are you?" "Close enough. This was just boilerplate to make sure no one could challenge the will. And it's solid, too. Carruthers has never had a will of his successfully challenged. You can bank on it. So ... your father have a lot of dough? I mean, he must, to afford the Old Man, right? So you're rich?" She glanced over. "We had a deal," she said menacingly as her heel pointed toward his balls. "Yeah, yeah," Jeff said swiftly. "Absolutely. I just was curious, that's all. On account of rich people need good lawyers. And Carruthers can't live forever." Paula laughed. The kid was right. She'd be the queen of that office when the will was read. She pictured the look on the face of that stuck-up secretary. She gave Jeff a sidelong glance as she turned off the road onto a rutted, overgrown dirt trail. "We'll see about that," she said. "Consider this your tryout." The parking lot was mostly memory, with crumbling asphalt showing through the gaps in the weeds and sand. Paula maneuvered the convertible into the most level spot and looked around. It was as she remembered it. A high cliff cut off any view of the road and curled around on either side of a cut-through to block access from the rest of the coast. They were alone with the pounding surf and a few desultory seagulls. She turned back to Jeff, who had already doffed his jacket and was busily unbuttoning. Her pleasure in his eagerness was mixed with some concern that he might be too quick on the trigger. She was in a celebratory mood and felt like celebrating a long, long time. She twisted the radio dial; nothing struck her fancy. A Beach Boys CD did. As "California Girls" kicked off, set to constant replay, she pulled her leg back from his lap and stood up on her seat, swaying with the rhythm of the music and the waves. Jeff scrambled out of his clothes, leaving them in a clump on the floor of the car. He leaned back against the door, his cock growing hard, and gazed up at her. She shimmied up and down a few times, shaking her chest at him, running her fingers through her blonde hair. Natural blonde hair, she thought, smugly. Nothing artificial on her. When she was sure she had his undivided attention, she kicked off her heels and began a slow, sensuous strip. Her jacket came off first, eased off her shoulders and slid down her arms before she neatly folded it over the back of her seat. She unbuttoned her ivory blouse down to her navel and bent forward, letting him drink in her tits squeezed into a lacy bra. Then her skirt came off. The tails of her blouse gave her the bare minimum of coverage as she writhed and spun, bending over with her back to him and flipping up the blouse to moon him. She stood up again and looked over her shoulder coquettishly. He was rock hard, one hand slowly stroking himself. His eyes almost bulged. She couldn't hold back her broad smile. Still with her back to him, she pushed her blouse off her shoulders. Inch by inch, she let it fall until it slipped off her fingertips and she was naked except for her stockings and garter belt. She danced a little, wiggling her ass. At one point she bent forward, raising her butt so high that Jeff could have seen her slit, but she covered it with spread fingers stuck between her legs. Standing straight again, she did a bump and grind she hadn't tried in years, not since she wore out her Richard Simmons exercise tape. Still got it, she told herself when Jeff whistled and applauded. Paula turned around slowly, swaying side to side, hands covering her tits while her cunt was brazenly on display. She played peekaboo with her breasts before revealing them completely. Hands over her head, she danced over to the passenger seat. Jeff got the idea fast. His tongue wasn't long, but he knew where to put it. Before long she was so hot that she couldn't stand up. She climbed into the back seat and stretched out as well as she could. Jeff crawled between her legs and returned to eating her out. He seemed determined to get her off that way, but it just wasn't happening. Paula produced the appropriate groans and shakes, however -- convincing enough to get him to climb on top of her. She sighed as his dick slid inside her, an abrupt move sinking all the way in. Memories of other days and other lovers at the same spot made up for any deficiencies in his style. Technically, the beach wasn't where she'd lost her virginity -- the old movie house with that honor had been torn down years ago. But there had been a few other firsts at the beach, most of them fondly remembered. Jeff was showing promise of adding to those good memories. He had slowed down and proved to be enough of a contortionist to keep her tits engaged even as his rod drove in and out of her pussy. She closed her eyes and pretended he was boys gone by: Roger, with his long fingers and tickly mustache. Chuck, who always found new ways to tell her she was beautiful. Andrew, so quiet in class, so nicely naughty outside. Interrupting her reminiscences, Jeff grunted and heaved, plunging his dick deep into her as he pumped out a load of cum. He promptly collapsed onto her, just as so many of those boys had, leaving her unsatisfied. But she was older now. More demanding, maybe, but also more experienced. After giving him a few minutes to recover, she used her hands to bring his cock back to life. He seemed surprised, but she knew what she was doing. And she knew that second acts are often the longest. She was counting on that. She took him first on his back, his rod sticking straight up. She squatted above and held it steady as she lowered herself onto him. That one she took fast, as fast as she could manage, bouncing on him so hard he couldn't catch his breath. It took a toe-curling orgasm to get her to stop, leaving him gasping. Next she got onto her knees, resting her elbows on the folded-up ragtop. He took her from behind but she stayed in control, threatening to roll aside when he moved too fast. She wanted it slow then. So slow that she could remember every stroke. She felt her body melting like cheese, oozing down. That orgasm was a warm shiver that went on and on. They were both tired by then, but she had decided to celebrate and he was still stiff. It would be a crime to waste it. Paula crawled out onto the trunk, rolling onto her back with her legs dangling off the back. Jeff walked around and got into position, standing between her thighs. He had a hand at her crotch, twiddling her clit as his cock lunged in and out. The combination made her tingle. She flailed around on the trunk, arms rubbing the smooth, hard metal. She was sixteen again, dating the quarterback, helping him celebrate a homecoming win. Back before she had a care, when her limber body could do anything she asked. Paula remembered the wide-eyed joy in the quarterback's eyes when she told him she wanted to skip the party because she had her own present for him. Jeff had that astonished but ecstatic look, too. She squeezed her legs tighter around his waist, then lifted them high and hooked her heels onto his shoulders. He pushed in, rocking his hips from side to side. Something was building up big time. She spread her legs apart, as wide as she could, almost flat on the trunk. Jeff stepped up, burying his pole. The hand that wasn't frigging her clit was planted on the trunk for support. She could see the muscles standing out under the strain. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch his metronome fucking, a steady in-and-out. She knew the heat rising on her heaving chest wasn't just the sun. Jeff reared back and slammed into her. Sweat sprayed out as he shook his head to get the hair from his eyes. Paula chanted to him: "Fuck me, fuck me, faster, faster, fuck me faster, fuck meeee!" It was like a gear suddenly jammed in a steam engine. Her body locked up, lurched, got stuck again. And then the waves and the speeding heartbeat and the moans rising from deep within. Fireworks soaring and exploding in her brain. Somewhere in the distance, awareness of his cock swelling, pulsing, filling her with hot lava. But that lost in bursts of red and yellow and purple and the Beach Boys still wishing they all could be California girls. The California sun was still shining when she dropped Jeff off in town. She felt too good to go back to her bitter mother. She had daylight, tunes and a blissful buzz. Paula hit the road with the stereo blasting and the top down. ---- ---- ---- ---- The kids had scattered as soon as they got home. Suzy said something about a pickup soccer game. Ricky, who apparently had recently decided he wanted to be called Rlck, was off to the computer store, which meant he would probably be gone all day. That left Steve to haul in all the luggage from the minivan. Zosia appeared as he fumbled with the first load, though, and grabbed the heaviest bags. Steve felt uncomfortable around her. Though his hangover had long since cleared, his memory of that last night with her was still hazy. He wasn't totally sure she'd even been in the room. He could have imagined it all. She didn't seem to be acting oddly anymore. Zosia was always one to pitch in on any chore. And her smile was the same bright, wide ray of sunshine it always was. Still. If Paula wasn't so adamant, he would have had to let her go. He was guilty about the reason. Was it fair to fire someone because every time you looked at her you imagined her naked? Maybe not. But after that close call with Paula a few years back, he was determined to never again give her cause to doubt his fidelity. And Zosia was one walking, talking temptation, innocent as she probably was. He looked at her as she toted the last two bags in. His fears seemed silly. She was pretty, certainly, maybe even beautiful in that Slavic dusky-eyed way. But she was not trying to be seductive, not in that loose T-shirt and blue Capri pants with scuffed brown loafers. She was just the help. She was about to take the bags to the kids' rooms. He told her not to; let them do a little work. Zosia put them on the floor and bent down to slide them under a table, out of the way. Steve watched her. Watched her bend from the waist, watched that magnificent ass ... He shook his head to clear it. "I'll just take a shower," he told her, walking away. A cold one, he told himself. He stopped just inside the bedroom, disoriented but not knowing why. It took a bit for realization to come. Without Paula to remind him, he'd left the room a mess -- bed unmade, clothes strewn about. It had been restored to pristine order in his absence. The lily-white linens were all in place, the floor was clear of socks. The rest of Paula's dry-cleaning, which he'd just draped over a chair, hung on the rack atop the closet door. Zosia the super-nanny, he thought. What would they do without her? Why couldn't he get over his juvenile imagination? Well, then there was the money. He shook his head. It was all a mess. By the time he was naked and ready to turn on the taps, worries had softened his sex drive. He hesitated only a second before dialing in a warm jet. He stepped in and, as he always did, tried to resist his emotions. The big shower with its multiple heads and more settings than Nature itself -- everything from monsoon to London fog, with intricate variations in between -- the whole contraption was Paula's idea. He had said he'd be satisfied with a single showerhead over a plain tub, but she had insisted, never mind the cost. Each time he got in, he told himself it was just a shower. Nothing special. But then those multiple pulsing heads hit his body in just the right places and all his concerns melted away. He closed his eyes and let the warmth poke and prod and massage him all over as he slowly rotated in place. The jets were calibrated individually. His personal program sent invigorating jets at his legs, hammering away at the knots, with just one pointed up to that old sore spot on his shoulder. The streams aimed at his head came as soft, arcing droplets, like standing under a tree in the rain. His torso got a special blend that felt like a water nymph's caress, gentle but firm, flowing over his chest. That was the part he liked best. That day it felt especially good. He fantasized about nubile women massaging him with their fingertips on a tropic isle. The fantasy began to seem very real. He opened his eyes and saw why. Zosia was next to him, water streaming down her naked body, making tendrils of her long, black hair cling to the alluring curves of her full breasts, matting the neatly trimmed patch of curls that guarded her sex. Her fingers lightly skipped over his body, soft as snowflakes but warm as a beating heart. When she stepped closer and lifted her face to him, he could not resist kissing her parted lips. Their bodies merged as they clutched at each other. His hungry kisses found her cheek, her neck, the bud of her ear. Her throbbing nipples pressed into his chest. She curled one leg around his, grinding into his hard cock. God, he wanted her. Wanted her so much there were no words for it. Wanted her young, smooth, supple flesh. Her firm, insistent mouth. Wanted to be inside her, inside her hot cave. Somehow they had gotten to one of the frosted glass walls of the shower. He was backed up against it and Zosia had climbed onto him, arms and legs wrapped around his body. The shower's jets played over them as they kissed and fondled. His fingers found her entrance and slipped inside. As he finger-fucked her, she nibbled his neck, biting when he drove in deep. Then he took his hand away. She raised herself until her opening was rubbing the tip of his cock and took him in, like sheathing a sword, down to the hilt. She was tight, holding him firmly. He could feel her pussy lips dragging along his rod as she lifted up, then parting liquidly as she eased back down. It was all over too quickly, a hot rush building in his loins and spurting into her, a fast deflation as he slipped out. They let the shower wash away their sin and dried each other off with big, fluffy towels before she led him to the bed to sin again. Zosia had him get on his back. She crawled between his legs and gave him a big smile before she kissed the end of his flaccid cock and took the whole thing into her mouth. Her lips closed tight around it and she sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed. That and the sight of it, with her breasts hanging firm and luscious, soon had Steve hard again. She rose to her knees, putting his dick along the furrow of her sex. He stared up at her body, so full of promise, so untouched by age. It brought back memories of his youth. He had been quite the swordsman, he remembered. Clean-cut enough to make parents trust him but close enough to the dangerous crowd to let some of their appeal rub off on him, he had his pick of women. And he had picked them all. Sarah with her auburn curls, lifting her cheerleader skirt so eagerly when he shyly said she'd be his first. Working the same line to get between Tawny's ebony legs and into Rebecca's prim cotton panties. Mrs. Leonsett, the next-door neighbor's long-legged trophy wife who really was his first. Sally and Jackie and a dozen other surfer chicks all jumping at the chance to jump the bones of the new meat when Pete brought him into the circle of friends. He saw all of those women in Zosia as she spread her cunt with her fingers and fit it onto him like a glove. From the very first stroke he knew it was going to be a long session. He reached up and took her breasts in his hands. There was nothing like the feel of a young woman's breasts. He thought of Carole, letting him cop a feel in the back of her brother's Dodge. Merritt, his tutor in calculus, rewarding him for passed quizzes with a minute's worth of nuzzling her round mounds with the thick nipples that fascinated him so. Charlene, the waitress at the diner, who loved the way the college boys licked her pointy tits. Zosia brought him back to the present as she picked up the pace. The bed was creaking beneath them -- it hadn't gotten a workout like that in ages. If ever. He couldn't match her speed, so he just relaxed and let her bounce away, sending his cock deep into her pleasure zone again and again. Every once in a while he'd feel close to the edge, but the sensation would ebb away and he'd stay hard. Zosia took advantage of his persistence to try out several positions -- spinning on his dick to face away from him, giving him the awesome sight of her jiggling ass; rotating back to face him but bending far forward to kiss him or far back, her hair sweeping across his legs; on her back on the bed, their legs scissored together. She ended up on top again. He couldn't muster the strength any more to reach her breasts; his hands rested on her sweat-slick waist. The sheets were tangled around them and all of the pillows had disappeared over the side. As Zosia rode him closer and closer, shaking and shuddering through her own second orgasm, Steve strained to bury himself as deep as possible, desperate to have all of her. It had been so long since he'd been so thoroughly fucked. The thought brought up memories of Paula. Of Paula when they were dating. Over his head he could look back at the portrait of her that hung over their bed. Paula in her youth, fresh-faced, bright-eyed. Looking virginal as a maiden in her frilly white dress, but he knew the vixen she was when they were alone. Or, rather, the vixen she once was. Even as Steve arched his back, sensing the hot blast just seconds away, grabbing Zosia's waist and pulling her down hard onto him, he turned his head and saw Paula in her later years. He knew it was only her dry-cleaned dresses hanging on the rack, but his mind filled them in. Paula just as trim, still so sexy that he saw other men salivate when he took her out to dinner. But that Paula had lost interest -- in him, or at least in sex. She was usually too tired or too busy or too something. Not that he was any great shakes in the ... Reality broke in on his reverie. Zosia was screeching at him to cum in her, and he was just about to fulfill his wish. His cock thickened. "Yes," he groaned, "oh, yes, god, Zosia, yes, yes, yesssss!" It came in three great, draining explosions, blasts of cum that boiled over Zosia's tight cunt and oozed into the sheets already soaked beneath them. He stayed hard for several minutes more, fucking her on autopilot, stroke after stroke until she began to shout. "Mr. Steve! You are so good! Strong like bull! I come! I come! Aaaaaaah!" At last Steve's dick began to recede in her warmth. He let his head fall to the side, exhausted. Paula's face floated before him again. But something was amiss. He rolled his head to the other side. There were her dresses. He rolled back. There was Paula. There really was Paula. And she didn't look happy. To be continued ... <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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