Segments - 04 - Christmas

01 - Meeting Her

02 - The Services

03 - Exeter Hotel

04 - Christmas

05 - New Year

06 - The Old Man

07 - Why He Started

08 - Cambridge

09 - Norwich

10 - The Party

11 - Millau

12 - Heading East

13 - Nice in Nice

14 - Making Progress

15 - Revelations

16 - Doubts

17 - The Connection

18 - Levelling

19 - Space

20 - Finale

The next week at work goes by drudgingly. Each day is like wading through mud and misery. Even the light of signing a few donations barely brings relief. He promises himself each night as he gets back to the tent not to go in the next day. Then each night gets colder and that 5 season sleeping bag draws him back in. Back to the loud woman who practically throws herself at him each morning and evening and the countless unanswered doors and disappointed faces. This is what he hates about travelling. It's not all Taj Mahal with your buddies having the time of your life like the brochures suggest. It's not all awesome mountains and breathtaking lakes like the adventure magazines would have him believe. Those people must have been rich or they've skimmed over the unpleasantness.

It's not what he'd expected at all. He'd seen the UK, both nice and ugly. He'd met plenty of people and the social side of the internet kept him sane. Over the first year he learned to re-adjust his expectations and now he's grown comfortable with it all. He does miss a warm dry home, a comfortable bed and a real settee. He does miss knowing which pubs to go in and which to avoid. He had never realised just how much of his time would be spent trying to earn a living rather than enjoying the places he was visiting. He stupidly thought he'd be perpetually happy, he's accepting that overall he's happy.

She plays on his mind a lot. He spent an age in the office one cold evening searching on line for the name "Goodier" but to no avail. He spends his nights masturbating about her in the cute outfit, the silk night dress and the bondage mittens. He realises he wants to see her again then gets angry with her and himself because he can't contact her. Stupid selfish manipulating cruel controlling bossy teasing bitch. Cow. God I'm horny again.

Saturday comes and goes with no sign of her. He's not working today, Sunday, and he now has enough money for the fancy sleeping bag. He finds a stockist in Exeter via the internet and takes a long walk across the city to the shop. Hot damn! They've got an end of season sale and it's been reduced, he feels like splashing out on a curry in a warm restaurant but ever prudent he realises he might need the pennies for something else. He does splash out on a better brand of curry sauce and some sliced chicken to make his own back at the tent. He's a dab hand at this 2 pan one fire cooking now.

That night the new sleeping bag is a revelation he wishes he'd invested in 2 years ago. Oh my goodness it's been worth the weeks of misery and rejection to feel this warm and comfortable in a bed. The last time he felt this good was, was, oh damn, was last week when he was with her in the fancy hotel. It is good to feel this good. He can't help but wish she was lying there with him. Is he becoming obsessed he wonders?

Christmas is almost upon him too. The sleeping bag will serve as a most welcome present to himself. He doesn't miss the traditional Christmas though with all the commercialism, one-upmanship, expenses and family feuds or fall outs. It's now Monday morning and Christmas day is only 3 days off. He would like some company however and a friend back home up north has offered him some digs which could be fun.

With the sleeping bag purchased there's no motive now to stay on at the charity. He bids his farewells and he can tell it is time to go, they seem pleased he is leaving, he assumes it's because they would have let him go after the festivities anyhow. The loud woman gives him a hug that is actually painful it's so tight. His next concern is how to get all the way back to the Preston area in the next 2 days, for Christmas eve.

Standing at the end of the M5 gets him a lift to Frankley Services. It takes him a whole day to find a truck driver who'll drop him in Preston as health and safety deems unknown, untrained and non-employee people as a danger. There's always an independent owner driver or a rebel rule breaker to help out. The downside is this time driver is gruff, smelly, sleepy and talks of nothing but how fast he is on a motorcycle when he mentions them.

With relief he's collected by the friend and his wife at the motorway junction. His friend is doing well for himself judging by the smart BMW and the refurbishment in progress at the house. He's a good lad is John, built like an Ox, strong as steel and yet a true gentle man. He speaks with no anger or ego in his voice. It's his strength and confidence that exclude him from the fear that causes bragging or posing. He's far more Zen than he realises or understands. Perhaps the lack of desire to be anything else other than who he is makes him at peace.

The wife is quite different. Brash, boisterous and full of a different kind of confidence, that of a spoiled child with good looks and a private education. She's nice enough and polite yet he can't help but feel it's false, rehearsed and polished rather than natural. He soon learns how John's been allowed to have his scruffy friend over for Christmas, there's a handful of tasks on the refurbishment that require 2 pairs of hands. He doesn't mind at all, spending time with John is always a delight.

This being Christmas eve he spends the evening in a bar in Preston with John. John's wife has excused herself by visiting relatives so they stand against a pillar letching and making rude comments about the various girls that pass by, much as they did 8 or 9 years ago when John was still single and he was dating Mandy. Mandy flashes into his head. He feels sad for a moment, he dismisses the thoughts, he's getting much better at that these days.

John can put some drink away and yet never seems drunk at all. He just relaxes even more and the conversation get coarser and ruder. A few girls look at them, one comes over to talk with John and she's obviously impressed with John's confident, light and spontaneous conversation. Clem just looks on in admiration and with a little jealousy, the girl is pretty in a youthful way. John's not interested in her number though and she leaves with a sad face and a sweet wave.

He just can't help but think of her again. Seeing the women out in town having fun and dressed for the night out makes him want a piece of the action. He smiles at each and every one and while a few smile back none of them show anything more than a passing interest as they walk by. It's never been easy for him. Some blokes just have this air of confidence and bravado he just can't emulate. It seems to have little to do with looks, He watches a real "player" making a move on some poor drunk woman and so far she seems to be falling for it. Damn it. Damn it I wish she was here. Damn her. He wonders if she's at home. It's not far from here.

After an excellent Christmas meal and 2 more days of relaxed steady work with John on the refurb he senses it's time to move on. He doesn't think he's outstayed his welcome, more like he's at risk of outstaying his welcome. John's wife is a little more present today and quite clingy with him. Also the major work is done. John offers him some cash which is embarrassing, he politely refuses. John insists and places £100 into his hands so firmly it hurts a little, he means it. He thanks them profusely and hitches the rucksack on his back. John looks sad, his wife looks relieved.

Outside the weather is dry but cold and damp. It's going to be rough tonight and possibly for a few more months now until spring arrives. He smiles though when he remembers the new sleeping bag. His next task is to sort out some new boots, these ones are getting past their best and some cement from the work with John has finally seen off the leather on the left boot. The charity shops are the best bet he reckons, they're all closed over the holidays though. These will have to do for now. He starts to walk south again, the idea of going further north sends a shiver down his spine. At least he's got some more cash. That puts a smile back on his face.

As he walks he finds a McDonalds with WiFi and starts up the tablet to check what's happening, maybe there's somewhere else he could go. Facebook is filled with Christmas wishes and complaints of awful presents. His email is rather sparse, mostly junk. There is a twitter message from a "@tgsadventures" who he's never heard of. It simply states "See you within the hour". He checks out the twitter account, there's only the one message. No images, no extra details, it's a new account. It must have been a stray sent to the wrong person. Anyhow it was sent almost 5 hours ago. Ho well. He trips over a broken flag and almost drops the tablet. He puts it away and focuses on where he's going.

After an hour and a half he stops to rest on a bench beside the main road. The traffic is quite light as no-one is working so it comes as a shock to hear a car screaming down the road. He looks up to see an Audi whizz past then screech to a halt in the middle of the carriageway. Goddam it's her! The reverse lights come on and she whizzes back to him. The window slides down and she looks flustered, relieved and cross too. "For gods sake man! Shit. Shit. Sorry I'm late. Where the hell have you got to? Where's your tablet?"
"Er...like hello?"
"Oh crap. Sorry....sorry...damn...sorry...get in you fool get in" He opens the door and climbs in, bewildered by her words and surprise arrival.
"How the hell..."
"Shush" she barks, hard and meaningful "Shush" calmer this time. "Shush. Let me relax and calm down. Please. I'm a bit of a dither"

He sits there thinking. "Where's your tablet" she said. Why? The message from @tgsadventures? Was it her? Is she @tgsadventures? Adventure, that word, coincidence? Probably not. "Within the hour"? It's over an hour since he read it's but close enough. How the fuck could she know where he was and find him? Is that why she's flustered? The tablet. The tablet. The new tablet off her. The new tablet off her when his was stolen the first night he met her. Yeah...she could possibly use the tablet to find him. She could if she was a CIA or MI5 agent. But...but he didn't have the tablet the second time he met her. Whoa. Everything else about the tablet works except that.

Why? He's a dweeb, a nothing, a scruffy guy travelling around the UK with stupid ideas of seeing the world yet he has no money or wherewithal to actually make it happen. He's not a secret agent or a master criminal or a genius or political revolutionist. He's just Clem Willows, a nothing. A nothing. Nothings can disappear and no-one would notice. This makes him feel uncomfortable in the extreme. He looks at her, she's still flustered.

"For gods sake level with me...what the hell is going on"
"Shit shit shit. I've spoiled it haven't I?"
"Spoiled what. Jesus Christ" and he slams his fist onto the armrest of the door
"Sorry...sorry....sorry...I'm so sorry..."
"What!?" She goes silent for a while. She looks genuinely upset. He feels guilty. Then cross with himself for feeling guilty when he's done nothing wrong. Then cross with her. Then he looks at her face again and he feels guilty again. Damn, she might want to murder him or something and he feels sorry for her? What a bloody idiot.

"What have you worked out?" she says, sheepishly.
"There must be something with the tablet you gave me" he says, as calmly as he can muster.
"Damn. Shit. I guess you've already worked out my magic trick"
"Am I right? Is that how you find me?"
She sags in the driving seat, slows down to a legal speed and he notices a tear in her eye. "Yes. Yes it is"
"How? That's the sort of thing governments do not business women from Chorley"
"It's easy when you have a real computer nerd working in your business"
"OK...how?"

He learns of a man called Carl. This man is something of a real life hardware hacker. The tablet is actually a telephone internet (3g) enabled model in a non 3g case. There's a tracking program that reports an approximate location when it's switched on. Impressive, he thinks. It's a fair old trick to swap the components around, to alter the operating system to hide the 3g connections yet keep them working. This isn't the work of a script kiddie or a low level systems engineer like he used to be. This is serious stuff. That man will go far.

"What is your business"
"I'm not telling you." He looks worried "No...no nothing serious or malicious I just don't want you to know too much about me. Please let me retain some of the magic"
"You're creeping me out. This is all too weird and surreal and it makes me feel uncomfortable. You've talked of trust but how can I trust you when I've already discovered you're stalking or tracking me in some queer way."
"I'm not!...Well...Ok...yes I have if you put it like that. Look Clem I like you and just like you I want my own adventure, my own sparkle, my own excitement. If you know everything about me then I can't be who I want to be with you. I'm a businesswoman from Chorley with an ordinary life rather than your sexy mystery woman. Can't you just be happy with what has happened and what might happen?"

He thinks about this. The look in her face seems honest. He can understand the fantasy thing. But why not the truth then pretend, rather than the unknown? "What about your husband?"
"Ha!" She sounds sarcastic "Him...he's well out of the way, you've no need to worry about him"
"You said he's not far away?"
"He's not. Look I'll explain one day. But not today." She adopts that baby face again "Pweese?" Goddam it he hates himself. He's falling for it all over again.

After some tea at her place she whispers "Go and get a shower. There's a dressing gown for you up there"
"Where?"
"The bathroom, idiot"
"Where's the bathroom. Remember, I've not been upstairs here"
"Oh yeah...ha! On the landing, door's open" And with that he goes upstairs to the sumptuous bathroom. It's warm, well appointed, tiled and clean.

As he walks back down stairs he can hear a rustle from the kitchen. He walks in and his eyes widen in lustful awe. Her hair is up in high pigtails secured with pink ribbons that fall to her shoulders. She's made up with pink rosy checks and bright red lipstick. She's wearing a baby pink sissy dress complete with puffball shoulders, satin and lace details and the skirt flares almost straight out below her bust. The smooth shiny skirt is supported upon layers of rich creamy organza and chiffon ruffles. White stockings are held up with suspenders but he can't quite see her panties. High heels in soft pink complete the most wonderful look.

"...wow..." She looks around then takes on her cute face again, looking up at him through her false eyelashes.
"Do I look pretty Daddy?" He feels dizzy. This is too close. This is too much. This has been picked from his own mind, his own masturbation imaginings. He pauses for a moment to ask but thinks better of it. His penis is in control now, the questions can wait.
"Oh my lord, yes, yes you do". She turns back to the work top, arches her back and bends over enough to reveal the softest pink satin panties he can imagine. He has to lean against the table to stop himself falling over. His mind flashes with thoughts.
"I've been a naughty girl haven't I Daddy"
"Yeah...ahem. Yes. Yes you have been very naughty" She looks back around and nods at the table. On it is a kitchen towel. He looks quizzically at her.
"Beneath the towel" she whispers. He lifts the towel and there's a small leather spanking paddle.
"How hard?"
She whispers again "You'll know"

He picks up the paddle and walks towards her, she turns back to the worktop. Holy jeez, this ain't happening, I'll wake up soon. This is wrong. She's going to let me paddle her then get me arrested for assault. Stuff it, this it too good to miss, I could wank in prison for years just remembering this. He stands to her left and pushes her face and arched back down, closer to the worktop a little. He hits her with the paddle, not too hard. "Oh..." she sounds sexy but disappointed. He brings it down harder with a firm crack. "Oh!" she sounds more impressed. He brings it down as firmly as he dares and releases a surprisingly loud crack. "Ohhhhh!".

He repeats this 5 or 6 times then looks at her face. There's a tear in her eye and another running down her check "Oh god I'm sorry!"
"Shush...don't stop!"
"I...I don't want to hurt you"
"Hurt me for fucks sake!" He brings the paddle back down a few more times. With tears she looks at him and winks. That wink, that makes it all OK. He carries on 10 more times.
She whispers "I'm sorry Daddy, I won't do it again..." and he stops. He wonders for a moment what to do. He wants to pull her panties down and see her bright red bottom, to feel her moist pussy. He wants to touch her, but he resists out of uncertainty and the fact he's trying to capture this moment forever. She stands up with her hands by her shoulders, tears and make up down her face. She looks so cute. He wishes he could photograph her with his mind, hold this image of her forever. Nothing could ever be better than this moment right now, surely.

"I'm sowee Daddy...I'll be a good girl" He's aching with desire now. He wants to cum so hard. "What should I do now Daddy?" He wants to be cruel some more, something he never considered he would in this situation. He'd fantasised a little about pain and domination but not as much as he did about the way women look and dress. He wonders...
"Take your panties off. Naughty little girls are not allowed to wear nice panties" She looks at him with a hint of horror and surprise for a fleeting moment, she hadn't expected that he thinks. Then she accepts. With delicate fingers she slowly slips of her panties to the floor, steps out of them and stands straight, looking at him. He can tell she's nervous, she's shaking. He notices he is too. He has made a tent out of the dressing gown, he feels embarrassed, then laughs at his self conciousness.

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Come and sit on this chair" She walks to the wooden dining chair and sits down. It must sting judging by the look on her face. "Now you must stay there until I tell you that you can move"
"Ok Daddy"
Sit up young lady!" he barks. She straightens her back "And sort your dress out!" She straightens the dress with delicate movements and her little fingers stick out. She's good at playing this game, she truly is. He walks behind her, she looks like a delicate doll. He runs his hand over the satin, revelling in the smooth sensations, then through the layers and folds of the petticoats, then to her bottom. He prays she doesn't ask him to stop.

Her bottom is hot. It's hot and smooth and soft, squidgy. He runs his hand over her thigh towards her pussy. She takes a breath, oh no, here it comes, that "no". She says nothing. He continues down towards her pussy and finds her clitoris easily. She's wet. He rubs it gently. Her breathing deepens. He rubs it a little harder, she gasps. He continues for a minute and he can feel her tense and building excitement. He stops. "What!"
"Shush" He feels good saying that to her this time. "Shush. Naughty little girls do NOT get orgasms. Not until they earn them."
"What must I do Daddy?"
"Wait..." And with that he sits down on a similar chair next to her, facing her. He needs to relax, to think, to ensure he's not tripping out.

With a shake of his head he snaps out of his thoughts "Stand up!" She stands, on the chair is a wet patch. He'd fantasised about things like this before and she's delivered, that's why he'd asked her to sit and played with her. She looks a little shocked too. He can see her thinking, maybe she's as befuddled as he is. He stares at her, her at him, then they start to laugh. "Oh...my ...god"
"I know" she says "I know. This is madness. Amazing madness but madness."
"You are good, and you look stunning"
"Thank you, Mister Willows" and she bites her fingers, all cutesy, rocking from side to side "Daddy..."
"What my princess?"
"Will you cum on my wet patch?"
"If you show me how cute you are"

He pulls back the dressing gown and stands next to her chair. As he plays she skips around the room saying things in her little girl voice, things like "Daddy spanked my bottom because I was naughty", "Daddy's going to cum on my juices" and "Daddy says I'm pretty". At one point she bends over and he finally gets to see her bright red bottom and her pussy. Her smooth, shaven, neat little pussy. She stands up again and looks at him over her shoulder, make up still streaked, biting her finger and giggling. He cums over the chair and onto the floor then flops into his own chair, shivering.

"Can I cum now Daddy?"
"Yes" and she walks up beside him,
"Play with me, pweese". Feeling spent and weak it takes a great effort for him to move his hand under the delicate petticoats to rub her. Luckily she's wet, excited, shaking and staring longingly at the cum laden chair. It takes a few minutes before she grabs his arm, squeezes it tight, twitches on his hand and unleashes a groan that a bodybuilder would be proud of. She goes to sit on the cum covered chair then thinks better of it before moving another out from under the table and sitting there instead. He can't help but look forward to seeing what she deposits on that one too.

This time he sleeps with her in her bed, at her house. It's a big king size bed and she lives well, the sheets are quality and the room is well appointed. He does notice it lacks some personal touches. There's no pictures of her kids in here and there's no signs of a husband either. No man's boots or clothing or shaving items. Perhaps she's divorced, separated or he's missing. Perhaps he's buried under the patio! Oh no, not those thoughts again. He giggles to himself, he doesn't care right now if she killed him, he'd die having experienced the perfect sexual experience. He can worry about that another time.

They talk as they snuggle up for the night. He asks where she got the dress, "The internet, you've heard of that?" she says cheekily.
"Ha, cheeky cow. How'd you know I'd like it?" That is in fact a big question. She could have chosen some lingerie, a different colour, different style but that was just spot on.
"Oh...just luck I guess"
"There's an awful lot of luck when it comes to you"
"You make your own luck"
"Maybe, maybe, but, no, I'm not having that much luck, it's not possible" He feels her sag.
"Look, I keep on telling you, don't spoil the magic! You've already worked out one of my tricks please don't spoil the rest of it."
"It still scares me"
"Why can't you just enjoy yourself for gods sake. Why can't you let ME enjoy myself too. I've told you, this is MY pleasure as well as yours, at least I hope it's yours too."
"Well it certainly was tonight. My god you looked perfect but that's wha..."
"Shut up!" she moves closer into him "Shut up. shut up you silly man. Shut up and hold me, touch me, feel me. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel sexy. Let me have my fantasy by fulfilling yours"
"but" she presses her finger onto his lips.
"Shhhhhh. You study Zen a little. Accept what is. Accept what happens to you." She squeezes him, it feels good.

He feels safe and he feels good. She's a little off on what he understands about Zen. Acceptance is good, but you only have to accept what you cannot change. You have to accept the rain or the sun for you can't alter that. But you don't have to accept your worn out shoes if it's possible to repair or replace them. You only have to accept you need to earn the money to repair or replace them. He does not have to accept her affections. He could walk out of here now, leave the tablet and she'd never be able to find him again. He could do that, but he doesn't want to. "You wanted adventure, well now you're having it". This is an adventure and although it's puzzling and scary, it's a good one.

After breakfast he's expecting he'll be on his way again and starts to repack the rucksack. "No, no Clem I'd like you to stay till the new year."
"Huh?"
"Stay with me for a couple more nights. I've only a short meeting this morning then after that I'm free until the second. Please stay."
"What about your husband, your kids, your friends, how will you explain me?"
"Relax! My husband is not a concern, there is zero chance of him turning up, believe me. As for the kids they live elsewhere, they're not due to turn up. If any friends arrive I'll tell them you're an old flame or someone who's passing through, it's sort of the truth" and she smiles.
"As long as you...you don't mind"
"Of course not, otherwise I wouldn't ask would I."

"If I'm to stay I need to know at least one thing." She sags, again, she does that a lot he notices "Your first name?"
"Call me Tabby...it's Tabitha but call me Tabby or Tabs" Well that's something else to go on he thinks, he can narrow his searches down.
"OK. Ok Tabs...so what are we going to do today?"
"Well I'll be out for a couple of hours then after lunch we can take a walk and dine out somewhere. How does that sound?"
"Fine." He gives her a big smile and she returns it then disappears to do whatever it is women do before they go out. He sits there, he wants to get online and search for her name again but he notices he's a little uncomfortable about that. She's right, he doesn't want to spoil the magic but then his curiosity is bouncing around inside his mind.

Hmmmmmm. His searches reveal nothing. There's a few people out there by that name but nothing that connects to business, the North West, her face or any other key that strikes a chord. No-one is off the grid like that. His unusual name makes him infinitely traceable and sometimes that can be frustrating but to not be online at all seems surreal in this age of social media, business networking and meta data. He thinks she's given him a false name.

A quick walk down the street gives him the address he's at. You can't hide everything and he finds out that the house was sold 3 years ago then was available for rent 2 and a half years ago and again 5 months ago. That would explain the impeccable condition of the property and the lack of a "lived in" feeling. Maybe she's just moved here and met him that night? Maybe she's separated from the husband and this is her first place after living with him? Coincidence? Too many bloody coincidences again.

He makes a decision. He doesn't feel threatened by her quite so much now and the thoughts of her being an agent or psycho killer are fading. There's a lot more going on here and a puzzle to be solved. He's going to play her at her own game. He's going to go along with this charade but keep on searching, learning and finding things out. In the meantime he gets to play with a rather attractive middle aged woman and has a bed for the next couple of nights. It's not all bad is it.

It's still not right. The tablet. Yeah, he can accept that she's been tracking him using the "hacked" tablet. But...how did she find him the second time to give him the tablet? How did she know his tablet had been stolen? Maybe it was her who arranged to have his tablet stolen? Well how the devil would she know where he was camping? Who did it for her? Why? It's still not right. He's still a long long way from solving this puzzle.

Maybe she worked out his tablet had been stolen because of a lack of online activity? Well if that's the case maybe she's a Facebook friend in disguise? The lack of posts might indicate a stolen tablet? Yes, and no. It's not uncommon in the past for him to not post for a few days, maybe even a week. It's the same with the blog. If he can't find somewhere to charge the tablet or to get online he can't blog. So it's possible she worked out the tablet had been stolen from his silence but it's not a foregone conclusion.

If, oh dear, oh deary me, if it was her that had the tablet stolen then it must have been organised before he even met her. That means he's been targeted, selected, chosen before the apparently chance meeting at the bar that fateful night. In which case none of this is coincidence at all. I mean lets face it she's fulfilling fantasies one by one pretty much verbatim from his own imaginations. One or two little coincidental fetishes is good, but this close? Nah, never, not possible. She'd tell him not to spoil the magic. It just scares him.

Oh and the clothes. The clothes were there after the first night, in his size and his style. He feels almost sick at that thought.

What to do, he thinks to himself. She'll be back soon and if he's to duck out now is the time. He wants to, he's feeling a little used and confused which does not sit well with him at all. Then there's a mystery to be solved and by ducking out he'll never solve the mystery. Then there's the wonder and excitement of whichever fantasy she might fulfil for him next. She's lied to him, of that there is no doubt whatsoever. If he stays he feels like he's being used but he's also using her to fulfil his sexual fantasies. Fuck it. Who cares, go with it, let it run, see what happens, life is short, it'll be all right, "You wanted adventure, well now you're having it"

She returns. As he hears her car door close he shuts off the tablet. She says "You're still here then?"
"Er...yeah I reckon so"
"Good. I wasn't so sure." She smiles at him, he smiles back but right now it's a false smile. He's logically convinced himself he's staying but emotionally he's not sure.

She goes upstairs to get changed out of her business suit. She comes back down looking the very picture of femininity. A long crisp white cotton hippy skirt flows from her waist to the floor with what he assumes are brown leather boots poking out beneath the tiers and folds of material. They're sensible enough to have a small heel yet stylish and smooth to be ladylike. Her waist is held tight in a "waspie", sort of a short corset or a very severe belt, it accentuates her curves especially her hips and peachy bottom. Above that one of her big baggy t-shirts hangs over her bra which hints at her breasts without flaunting them. She looks classy.

He thinks in staying he's made the right choice as they make a few sandwiches together. He can't help but look at her and be impressed. He also notices he feels proud. How odd. Then cold at that thought. If he'd pulled her fair and square then he could feel proud but if as he suspects he's been targeted for some other reason then feeling proud is foolish. In fact he might be a fool and is being duped into something by her beauty and his vanity. Tread carefully my boy, tread carefully.

She drives them to a countryside park they both know some 20 miles away. They walk around a reservoir and in a few minutes he feels her hand looking for his. If he's being duped or manipulated she's doing a very good job. They walk hand in hand and even with the cacophony of doubts running though his mind he feels comfortable, natural, safe and as though he's in the right place for once. It feels healthy.

That evening they dine out at a local curry house. He want's to ask so many more questions but he already knows what her answers will be, evasive or dismissive. Instead they talk of the winter weather, his new sleeping bag, his motorcycle history and her kids growing up. There's no mention of the father, presumably the missing husband. The curry is tasty and filling and soon they're sat there both looking over full. She suggests the waspie is perhaps not a good idea when eating such a large meal.

All through the day he's felt up and down about her. She's pretty, intelligent, exciting and refreshing. She's also a liar and manipulator and evasive and bossy. He wants to drag the answers out of her, disappear and avoid her, take her to bed and tie her up then kiss her passionately. He remembers a comment on a motorcycle forum, "If it has tyres or tits you gonna get trouble". He laughs to himself. Yeah, he's felt the same way about motorcycles, they're great fun and awesome machines, but you can hate them when they don't work and they sure as hell will try to kill you. She's a lot like a motorcycle I reckon.

That thought switches a mindset for him. Rather than run away maybe she can be mastered, controlled and handled. Maybe he can put himself in the driving seat. Oh what the hell is he thinking, he never understood women in the past, he's not going to start now is he. As he sits back in the chair, his belly distended from Chicken Tikka Massala, he relaxes. This is good, stop fighting it. He wonders what's beneath those flowing folds of her skirt.

That evening back at her place she makes a brew and they sit in the living room, snuggled on the settee watching an action film. It's a pleasant distraction for him, from the good and bad thoughts about her and from the growing arousal he's feeling towards her. Every now and then she'll tease him when the adverts are on by "accidentally" placing her arm or hand across his pants, over his penis. She stands up to go to the bathroom and hitches up her skirt just enough to see the cute calf length boots and what he hopes are stockings and not tights. No matter what he thinks of her she's a tease. Tease, that reminds him of Mandy. Mandy would tease him all day long by flashing him a certain look or making a rude suggestion.

As the credits to the film scroll across the large screen TV she stands up in front of him, looks at him sternly and places her hands on her hips. This highlights the curves and she looks splendid if a little scary. "Lie down on the floor, here!"
"What, why?"
"Just do it boy!" He shuffles off the settee and lies down the the carpet, on his back looking up at her as she stands over him. This is new. He doesn't think he's in any real danger but a little nagging voice is just heard in the back of his mind. This is it? She moves and stands over his chest a leg either side. She looks down on him. "Do as I say."
"OK..." he lets out a joking little whimper, she gives him a humorous funny luck, then sticks her tongue out.

Then she moves forward and stands above his face. He looks right up the skirt he's been admiring all day. Beneath there are stockings, suspenders and pure white panties. No...not panties, they're bloomers! He'd often fantasised about looking up skirts but never considered bloomers. Mind you, they're satin and soft and around her bottom they look delectable. He moves his arm up to touch them, he wants to feel the soft material against the warmth of her skin. She senses this and barks "No!" He moves his hand down to his pants, again she barks "No!" He just has to lie there, She gently rolls her hips. To see her curves moving from below is seductive and enticing.

There's something erotic to him about hiding beneath her skirt. He's in his own world of white cotton skirt, stockings, suspenders, the softest gentlest bloomers and it's all white. There's a touch of the bridal, a touch of virgin in that whiteness. There also innocence as she could be stood above him completely unaware of his lustful eyes trying to feel the delicate softness of her underwear. He knows she's no innocent virgin but the erotic is as much in the mind as it is in the flesh. He's dying to unzip his pants, to the point of frustrated anger. This is tortuous pleasure.

After maybe a minute that feels like an hour she kneels. She's closer and the detail is killing him. The gathered zig zag of the elasticated leg holes, the suspenders with lace trim and the pretty silk bows fixed to the back of her stockings. He feels like a naughty boy hiding under a young girls petticoats, like a dirty old man from a carry on film getting an eye full. He moves his hand towards his pants again. "NO!"

She stands up and without ever letting his face out from under her skirt she turns. He can see her backside better and she kneels again. This time she slowly, gently, teasingly lowers herself inch by gnawing inch closer to his face. He wants to feel the soft warm satin against his face but she's going so slowly. He also feels her hands upon his pant's pulling at his button. He preys she'll release his penis and caress it. She struggles and laughs, the spell is broken for a moment and he giggles too, He has to do it for her. Her hand slips into his trousers and he groans with pleasure.

If only she'd bring her soft warm bottom and pussy closer to him. His eyes flash from side to side, trying to record, take in and enjoy it all. Lower and lower, he lifts his head just enough to feel the smooth lush satin against his cheeks and mouth. She lifts herself just enough out of reach and he curses quietly, she then drops herself fully onto his face, smothering him. He groans a muffled groan and she squeezes his penis in reply. She then lifts herself just enough and starts to rub herself over his face. She starts out with a light touch, he can just make out her crack then the front where her clitoris is through the bloomers and just a waft of moisture. She's being frustratingly delicate with a touch on his cock now.

She builds up her pressure on his face, using his chin as the focal point for her pleasure. As she does she gains a little firmness in the grip on his penis much to his relief and enjoyment. He can hear her breathing deepen and while it's good to know she's happy he's pretending he's not there, she's just a naughty girl rubbing herself on "something" and he's a witness to her indulgence. He imagines watching her too, what she must look like from the outside of his little satin and lace hiding place. She's getting closer to orgasm and the pressure on his nose and chin is getting to be a tad uncomfortable, he's happy to endure though. For a minute she lets go of his manhood to concentrate on her sensations then finally plants her whole weight deep into his face. He can't breathe, but that can wait. The satisfaction of hearing her whimpers and the feeling of the wet satin is more than compensatory.

After a short time to catch her breath she takes hold of his penis again. With her grip the stiffness returns and he senses it's his turn now. She plays and she strokes him and it is good but she's not an expert, he's surprised! Everything else has been fantastic but there's a gap in her knowledge and this is it. It's uncommon for British men to be circumcised and few women know what to do without a foreskin to act as a wanking sleeve. He gently pushes her hand aside and resumes the action himself, he senses her sagging again. Time out. She moves aside and lets him out of his hiding place. She looks gutted.

"You've not played with a circumcised cock?"
"no, but..."
"Chill!" He flashes her a big smile and she seems to be relieved. "You can't be excellent at everything you know, I was beginning to think you were some kind of professional sexologist or something. I'm glad I've found an imperfection, it means you are human after all"
"But it's spoiled this moment"
"It's broken the flow and the magic for a minute, sure, but we're human. One thing Mandy taught me was to laugh at sex, to laugh at the floppy willy times, to giggle at a fanny fart, to not worry about stopping for a cramp. This ain't a movie is it"
"No. No, it's that I wanted it to be just right, for both of us"
"It's great and it's not over yet. Now, lets' have a brew and we'll finish off soon" She looks a little happier as she walks into the kitchen. He's relished her bloomers and stockings long enough, he is re-enjoying seeing her in the skirt and waspie again, knowing what is beneath this time, those wet bloomers. She didn't ask who Mandy was, as though she already knew.

As she walks back into the room he requests "You kneel on the floor and spread that gorgeous skirt out around you". She passes him his cup and kneels before him. It takes a while for her to open the skirt out into a big broad circle all around her. She looks as pretty as a picture to him. He can't explain but there's something about this scene that appeals to his mind. She sips on her cup and gives him a cute look.
"What now?" she says, as sweet as sugar.
"Drink first young lady." As they drink they laugh a little and agree that sex should be laughed at. When she's finished she passes him her cup and he places both to the side of the settee.
"What now, Mr Willows?"
"Oh...I'm in charge now am I?"
"I want you to cum"
"I bet you do. You like cum don't you"
She actually looks embarrassed, another surprise. "Yes, yeah. It's...oh, I don't know...it's like...it's like a...an...a gold star off a teacher...a....or a good score in a test. It makes me feel like I'm pretty or sexy. It makes me feel like a woman to see a man cum because of me. I guess that's why I feel so bad about not playing with your penis properly"
"I think I understand, it makes me feel...er...powerful when I make a woman orgasm"
"Powerful, yeah, maybe. No. It's not about power it's about me feeling sexy and like I'm worthwhile"
"Well let me show you how sexy you are"

He sits on the edge of the settee and removes his boots and pants. He looks longingly at her and starts to play with himself, in the way's he learned since his circumcision. She gets a little breathy watching him and this only adds to the pleasure. To see her there looking so cute, so effeminate is making this all too easy. "Remove your t-shirt". She does, she's wearing a matching white satin bra with a little padding. This pushes her breasts into a round shape high on her chest, far above the waspie belt and cotton skirt. He stands up and walks towards her, standing above and in front of her. She looks up at him, flutters her eyelids, realises something then sucks on her finger. That's it, that's the key, that pushes him over the edge. His juices squirt over her face, a little into her eye and the weaker pumps land juice on her chest.

It's a good job they can laugh now, the cum in her eye stings like hell. She grabs the edge of the skirt to wipe it out and he collapses onto the settee again. She looks good covered in cum. Once the sting stops in her eye she looks at her chest and immediately reaches down inside her bloomers and starts to play. It's a horny thing to watch but he's too far gone to join in. While the mind is willing he's not a teenager any more and has to accept he needs a breather.

After a quick shower she's changed into her smooth night dress and he's in a dressing gown. They sit with another brew and the TV is on some music channel. Tonight he's learned she is in fact human, she has her own sexual "things" and it's been good. She's still not mentioned anything about the name "Mandy" though.