Ding Dong

Jim chuckled to himself at the irony. He didn't dwell on it. But from time to time a circumstance arose, so to speak, that reminded him of the strange twist his life had taken. When most men had admitted to themselves that it was time to see the doc about a prescription, Jim's libido and physical capability had increased beyond what was expected of an older man. Hell, they were beyond what was expected of a younger man-certainly he'd not been able to keep it up as long in his earlier years. Contemplating how long he had had the erection nestling in his trousers caused Jim to chuckle yet again. Damn, if some hot lady were available, boy, would she be pleasantly pleasured!

A Scotch and water in hand, a steak on the grill, Jim was thinking about his week to come. The wife was away visiting her sister. The Scotch and the steak were verboten when the wife was home. So, the first thing Jim did on the way home from the airport, dropping the wife off to board the plane to Minneapolis, was to buy Scotch and lots of beef. Halleluiah! Real food and real drink!

It had been over a decade since Jim and the wife had had sex. Circumstances beyond either's control had, in effect, ended the marital bedroom bliss. Various methods had aided Jim over the years to keep from losing his mind. Or other things. That was what was so ironic. He could really be pleasing a woman now, more than ever. Longer than ever. Jim didn't contemplate leaving-there were the kids and other considerations. But it would be nice to have a source of regular physical release.

Twice a year, Jim met up with Marci, a high school sweetheart, back in his hometown. Even though Jim was retired, the money spent on the motel was well worth it when he met Marci. She still worked-the all-too-often fate of the divorcee. Jim and Marci had not begun their trysts until after he and his wife had stopped having sex. Somehow, some way, at a school reunion, Jim and Marci had discovered a renewed interest in one another. Not that either of them desired a relationship. They didn't. Marci had work and survival on her mind. Jim was still married. Period.

Although hooking up with Marci was a great physical release those couple of times a year, it wasn't really enough to satisfy Jim's emotional needs. In fact, it didn't satisfy the physical ones nearly enough. She lived too far away for regular sex, and they didn't really even care for one another on a much deeper level than sex. That's not to say that they didn't enjoy one another's company when they were together-they did. But they didn't have anything more going for them than decent sex and a mild compatibility.

The rock hard cock inside Jim's trousers wriggled as he thought of Marci's ample tits. God, he'd like to be suckin' those things right now. He could then really stick it to her-for a long time! Damn. Jim turned the steak, thought about getting a refill on the Scotch, thought about relieving his hard on, and then jumped when he heard the front doorbell through the sliding glass door. He slid the door open and traversed the length of the dining and living areas to the front door. He opened it, surprised to see the wife's cosmetics saleslady. Yeah. That's right. The ding-dong lady. Jim almost burst into a raucous laugh, but quickly stifled it. She really did ding the doorbell dong.

Jim had always considered Betsy pretty hot. Even better, Betsy knew she was hot. She was a petite thing, but some of her attributes were certainly not petite. Betsy's breasts were impressive. Firm, high, and round. She wasn't ashamed to show them off either. Not that they were uncovered all the time, but she frequently wore form-fitting blouses and t-shirts. Jim had once even seen a grade school boy stop dead in his tracks and turn to follow Betsy with his eyes as she sashayed down the sidewalk.

Betsy's hair was a beautiful chestnut brown, long and shiny. Her brown eyes were accented by a tad too much makeup for Jim's taste, but they were arresting, nevertheless. Sure, she was more than twenty years younger than Jim, but she had made a few rounds around this little town. Not enough to make her unsavory or anything, but enough that Jim knew she had an itch that needed scratching from time to time.

Betsy was married, but no one had seen the husband in five or six years. No kids either. She worked at a mortgage company in addition to her cosmetics sales job. As Jim's eyes quickly took in the high heels, short skirt, and form-fitting blouse, he wondered what fuckin' her would be like. He wasn't even uncomfortable that the bulge in his pants was quite visible to the woman. In fact, he sort of hoped she'd see it.

"Oh, hello, Jim," she said following a brief pause after he'd opened the door.

"Hi, Betsy. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I have your wife's order here. Is she home?"

"Well, no, Betsy. She's gone. For at least a week, maybe more. In Minneapolis visiting her sister."

Betsy looked momentarily confused. She was surprised to hear that Nancy was away. She hadn't known she wouldn't be here. She eyed Jim, recalling how she'd always admired the way this man moved. He was absolutely elegant in his carriage. So unusual for such a large man. Betsy felt rather dwarfed in his presence. His piercing blue eyes were always direct and his square-jawed face quick to break into a smile. Suddenly, she remembered how he'd looked at the Fourth of July parade last month--tanned, erect, handsome, gliding along in the parade as if he walked on air. After a few seconds, she seemed to have made up her mind about something, looked down, cleared her throat, looked up, and spoke.

"Well, Jim. I can just come in and leave this order with you. Do you think you can pay me? A check is fine." She paused, eyed his drink, then continued.

"I have to say though, I was supposed to give your wife a nice foot rub with this new product she ordered. Supposed to make your feet feel soft and refreshed. I guess I'd better demonstrate on you so you'll be able to show her, huh?"

Jim knew he should be blushing. He knew he should be shutting the door. He knew he should be doing almost anything except what he was doing-contemplating fucking this woman. He also knew that she probably would not be too adverse to following through with his thoughts, especially since she'd offered to give him a foot rub.

"Sure, c'mon in. I'll just get the checkbook."

"How 'bout one of those drinks, too, eh, Jim? I could use a stiff one."

Now Jim really almost choked on the laughter he'd been holding back since the earlier ding-dong thought. Stiff, I guess. I'll give ya a stiff one, darlin'. He took control of his thoughts and asked Betsy if Scotch was all right to which she replied that it would be perfect.

When he returned to the living room with the checkbook and their drinks, Betsy had kicked off the high heels and positioned herself on the floor in front of the chair that Jim called home. She was removing items from a large canvas bag that had been thrown over her shoulder. As she pulled things out of the bag, a small egg-shaped item partially revealed itself, but Betsy quickly scooped it back inside.

"This your chair, isn't it, darlin'? I thought you could get comfy and let me go to work on those feet. You walk a lot, don't ya?" She did not pause long enough for Jim to answer. He didn't suppose she really wanted an answer anyway. She continued. "I sure didn't know Nancy was gonna be gone. She didn't say a thing. Guess she was just too excited about gettin' outta this heat for a while. Guess it's cool up there in Minneapolis, huh?"

This time she paused for a breath as she motioned Jim into the chair. He handed her drink down to her before he walked to the front of the chair. Betsy looked up at the giant man towering over her. Her thoughts wouldn't behave. She certainly didn't subscribe to the old tale about men's feet, or noses, or hands being an indication of their cock size. But for goodness sakes, this man's cock could be less than average and he'd be a great lay because of the body mass pumping it. Whew. Imagine that.

Jim folded down into the chair and placed his drink on the table to his right. When he had fixed Betsy's drink and freshened his own, he'd also removed the steak from the grill and placed it in the fridge. No beef tonight. Perhaps some other treat would be in store.

"You wanna slip off those boots, sugar, or do you want me to give 'em a pull?"

"Oh, I got 'em," Jim replied as he reached down, tugging off the boots, first right then left. He tossed them to the side and removed his socks. He wriggled his toes a bit. Betsy gently cupped the bottom of his left foot.

"I'll start with this one, ok, hon?"

"Sure," Jim murmured. "Whatever."

He watched Betsy's face, suddenly focused on his foot, and realized that she was quite serious about the massage. She removed her hand from his foot and reached over to uncap a bottle and squirt some liquid into one palm. She then rubbed her hands together and began to massage Jim's left foot. It felt good. Real good. Soon, Jim's head went back to rest on the chair's back and he allowed the pleasure of the massage to fill his mind. He barely noticed when Betsy switched to his right foot.

Jim did notice, however, when Betsy's hand began to move softly up his inner thigh. He didn't raise his head immediately, thinking he might be daydreaming. Nope. Her hand had just stopped its travel right on top of his hard on. Now his head did come up and he stared at her brown eyes with his blue ones. Neither of them flinched.

"Well," Betsy said. "I don't have any particular cream for that appendage, but I could massage it anyway," she grinned.

"Oh, you could, could you?" Jim asked.

"I sure could. That is, if you'd want me to. I mean, I know you're married and all. But I also know that things aren't normal for you either."

Jim was rather surprised at this statement, a surprise that must have been reflected in his face because Betsy spoke again.

"Well, you know. You know how people talk. I mean, well, everybody knows that Nancy doesn't, well, you know, anymore. It's not like she can help it or anything. I mean, women do talk, you know." Betsy looked at Jim without blinking, without a trace of embarrassment.

"In fact," she continued, " a lot of us have wondered what you do about, well, you know, about sex. I mean, when you get horny. Like now. Whaddya do with that thing?" Betsy smiled warmly at Jim.

"Whaddya think I do?" Jim smiled back.

"Hmmmmm." Betsy paused and then rose up on her knees, moving closer to Jim's. Her other hand joined the one resting on Jim's crotch. "Maybe you do one of my favorite things to watch a man do. Something that makes me really hot."

"And what would that be, Betsy? What makes you really hot?"

"I like to watch. Like to watch a guy get himself off. It gets me so excited I just can't stand it!" Betsy really emphasized the word "stand" as she spoke.

"Uh, huh. I see," Jim murmured. His hands went down to cup Betsy's. He brought them to his lips and softly kissed them. She crawled up into his lap as he continued kissing her, moving from her hands to her neck to her face. Finally, Jim wrapped his arms tightly around Betsy's waist and kissed her hard on the lips. Betsy squirmed on Jim's lap, increasing the bulge still enclosed in the trousers. Betsy shifted her weight back and her hands, which had been wrapped lightly around Jim's neck, now found their way to Jim's zipper and freed his cock from the pants and underwear.

"Oooooooooooo," Betsy giggled. "We better get this thing to bed. It feels like it has fever or something. Plus, it's so swollen." This time she stressed the word "swollen."

Jim shifted his hands to cup Betsy's ass. Ummm, he thought. Firm. As he stood up, Jim easily and quickly lifted Betsy, who wrapped her legs around his waist, with him. Betsy grabbed her glass as Jim headed through the bedroom door. When he reached the side of the bed, Jim loosened his grip on Betsy's behind and she slid her legs down to stand before him, reaching over to the bedside table to deposit the cool, perspiring glass. She then reached her arms up to encircle his neck and pull his face down to kiss him. Jim, however, was just too tall to comfortably bend down to Betsy's height. He eased her down on the bed in a sitting position and sat beside her.

Betsy quickly began to cover Jim's face and neck in hot little kisses and licks. A moment or two of this and Jim stood to remove his shirt, then his trousers. Betsy, still seated, quickly undid the top few buttons of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Magnificent breasts were visible through a lacy bra. Jim almost gasped. He wanted to suck those nipples. He pulled Betsy up and placed his hands at the hem of her skirt, slowly moving them upward. He felt for the sides of her panties, then pulled them down. God, there wasn't a half ounce of fabric in the things. Tiny. Meanwhile, Betsy had unfastened the lacy bra and removed it, unleashing the large, rounded breasts.

Betsy's hands moved to the band of Jim's underwear and tugged them down. Meanwhile, Jim's hands swiftly undid the zipper on Betsy's skirt. She wiggled as he pulled it down. Skirt and underwear on the floor, Jim pushed Betsy down onto the bed, spread her legs, and admired the neatly shaved pussy staring up at him. Ah, what a tasty treat it looked to be!

Jim buried his face between Betsy's thighs. God, he hadn't tasted pussy this good in a long time. She was sweet and wet, humping up to his mouth. She tasted of vanilla and womanhood. He wanted to fuck her, hard. But he wanted to taste her, too. She moaned and twisted. When he pulled away a little, she'd push her pussy to follow his mouth. He loved it when she did this, so he did it a lot.

At some point, Betsy started babbling.

"Umm. So goooood. Keep it up. Right there. Yes, right theeeeeeerree. God, I'm hot. Fuck me, Jim. Fuck me." Betsy began to raise the upper part of her body off the bed to pull Jim up to her. But he had a better idea, an idea born from glancing at the bedside table as he'd raised his head to look at her when she'd begun to talk to him. There it was-cold, shiny, wet. Betsy's Scotch glass. Jim suddenly determined to cool Betsy down in more ways than one.

As he rose on his knees, Betsy was certain that she would be deliciously impaled any second. But Jim continued his movement until he reached beyond and above her. What was he doing? Oh, getting a drink. Jim repositioned himself, knees straddled around Betsy's body. He leaned over her and placed his lips on hers, letting her discover that he still held a couple of partially melted ice cubes in his mouth. Then he raised his head, smiling, to look her in the eyes. Suddenly, it dawned on her what were his intentions. She looked at Jim and grinned wickedly.

"Well, sir, exactly what do you intend to do with that ice?"

"Well," Jim replied. "You said you were hot, so I thought I'd cool ya down a bit."

"Ohhhhh. How very thoughtful of you." Betsy smiled widely.

Jim took Betsy's left nipple into his mouth and began to suck. The ice cubes circled 'round and 'round the hard protrusion, making it even harder, if possible. The heat of Betsy's body soon melted what was left of the ice, but her nipple remained quite cold. She shivered, but it wasn't from being too cold. She proffered her right nipple to Jim, arching her body up to his mouth. He had to retrieve more ice from the glass before he could comply.

When Jim took the right nipple into his mouth, Betsy started talking again.

"That's it, baby. Cool it down. Suck on it and make it behave. Suck hard."

As Jim responded to Betsy's request, his right hand fingers went to her left nipple to pinch it while the other one received the ice treatment. Betsy squirmed. Jim noticed her right hand traveling down to rest between her legs.

"No you don't," Jim said, pulling his mouth from Betsy's stiff nipple. "If that's hot, I have the ice treatment for that, too."

"No-ohhhhhhh," Betsy screamed in mock consternation. "No-ohhhhhhhh. You better not!"

She began to sit up to protect herself, but to no avail. Jim's left arm easily pushed her back down to the bed and held her there gently. She mildly complained. Jim's right hand went between Betsy's thighs, spreading them apart. He used his thumb and forefinger to spread her lips wide. Although the ice was gone, Jim's tongue was still very cold. He lapped his tongue up Betsy's slit with a long, slow stroke. She shivered, her body moving side to side as a long moan issued from her mouth. Jim continued to lap for a while, but thought more ice might be called for. As he eased up to reach for the glass, Betsy's body moved to follow him. He no longer held her down with his left arm. Betsy's eyes opened as she felt Jim get farther away, but closed again when she determined that he was getting more ice.

Then her eyes flew wide open. He'd left the bed. Oh, god. Surely this wasn't it. Oh, no.

"Jim, Jim where are you going?" she implored.

"More ice, darlin'. You're so hot you've melted what was in the glass. Gotta get lots more ice for all your hot spots." Jim chuckled as he moved through the bedroom door and to the kitchen. Betsy had followed his last comment by saying he'd better bring an ice chest 'cause she had lots of hot spots. Yeah. I bet, Jim thought. Meanwhile, his cock was beginning to ache for release. A bit more ice, and then it was time to ride.

When Jim returned with a large insulated mug of ice cubes, Betsy had re-arranged herself on the bed. Her upper torso was propped up on the pillows, her legs spread so widely that each foot neared the edge of the queen-sized bed. What a view, Jim thought.

As he crawled back into bed, Betsy smiled and leaned over to kiss Jim on the cheek.

"Thanks for coolin' me, Jim. I need it."

He smiled, removed a large ice cube from the mug and held it to her left nipple. Betsy jumped slightly, involuntarily moving away from the ice attack. Jim cupped Betsy's shoulder and moved her back. He circled the cube around and around, each circle edging Betsy away from the icy cold. Finally, Jim spoke to Betsy in an authoritarian tone, not seriously, of course, but enough for her to react.

"Betsy, if you don't stop pulling away from me, I'm going to have to tie you to the bed. Now you know as well as I do that you need a coolin', and if you don't be still, I'm gonna hafta take action. Do you understand?"

Betsy understood perfectly. Understood that when Jim said he might have to tie her to the bed that her twat started twitching of its own volition, that is if pussies have volition, and her mind reeled. Oh, god. He wouldn't, would he? Would he? Did she want him to? Betsy's brain told her no, but her body yelled yes. Yes, she would. Would like that.

"You wouldn't tie me up. You wouldn't do that, would you? Jim? Would you?" Betsy sat up, straining against Jim's arm.

Jim saw a flicker of hesitation, fear, in Betsy's eyes. He cupped her chin in his right hand and whispered to her.

"No, not if you don't want me to." He paused, then continued. "But if you do want me to, we could sure get ya cooled down." He grinned at her. Jim didn't want her to think he was a perv or anything, so he added that he'd make the bindings very loose and that he'd untie her anytime she asked. Betsy stared into Jim's eyes for a half a minute, then nodded assent.

Betsy couldn't believe this was happening. She'd always wanted to be tied up. But this was scary. What if she didn't like it? What if she freaked out? What if, what if, what if, you ninny, she chided herself. You wanna know what it's like? Then here's your chance. Shut up and enjoy it.

Jim was moving to his closet. He retrieved four silk ties. Never wore them anymore. Around her limbs would be a much better place for these than his neck, he thought. He reassured Betsy some more, patting her gently as he positioned her arms and legs. Damn, no four-poster bed. Good thing the bed was low to the ground. The ties were going to have to go around the legs of the bed.