Murphy's Law

Gordon was not a happy chappy. He'd awakened that morning, smiling. The smile had lasted all of thirty seconds, which was when he'd noticed that he'd slept through the alarm.

By skipping breakfast and doing a very fast final hundred yards he'd got to the station barely in time to catch his train. But he'd caught it. No seat, but he'd made the train.

Then came the announcement. A passenger had had a heart attack and the train would be held up until an ambulance arrived to remove him. In Gordon's opinion, the passenger could have done everyone a favour by dropping dead. They could have tossed the body off the train and kept going.

Arriving (late) at work, the first thing Gordon did was switch on his computer. Fat lot of good it did him. An unrecognised device error message flashed up and the computer would not start. An urgent call to the IT department resulted in a guru coming up to tell him his computer was bust. He'd already worked that much out, himself, thank you very much.

It turned out that the hard drive had died. Totally.

"No worries," said the guru. "We have some hard drives available and everything was backed up. You'll be up and running in an hour or so with all your files restored."

That was the way the day went. Murphy ruled supreme, with anything that could go wrong, going wrong. The only time something went right was when Murphy was setting him up for a bigger fall.

Gordon arrived home from work (late) to find he was supposed to be at a barbecue one of the neighbours was throwing. Would he please change into casual clothes and haul his arse down to where it was supposed to be.

Thinking nasty thoughts about parents who make appointments for you and forget to tell you about them, Gordon changed into cooler clothes and wandered down to the neighbour's place.

What with one thing and another, Gordon had missed breakfast, morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea. He was ready to eat. All you had to do was wave the cow gently in front of the fire and then stand back. He'd do the rest.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the cook had found a tough old bull to barbecue, one that had obviously died from a combination of old age and starvation. To make matter worse, Gordon was convinced that the idiot had used napalm on the barbecue. Nothing else could account for the charred mess he called a steak.

As the sun vanished Michael, the idiot ruining the meat, had flicked on his new solar powered spotlights. This resulted in the immediate barbecue area being floodlit with the rest of the backyard deep in shadow. Grabbing a bottle of beer, Gordon faded into the shadows to sit out the rest of the barbecue.

Wandering down the yard, Gordon came to a rest under an apple tree, leaning against the trunk and looking towards the highlighted barbecue. How long, he wondered, before he could make his excuses and get the hell out of there?

"Not enjoying our barbecue, Gordon," queried a soft voice.

Gordon looked towards where the voice was coming from. He could make out a figure silhouetted against the lit area and, while not able to see her clearly, he knew who it was; Alison, Michael's wife.

"Not particularly, Alison," he said apologetically. "Not your fault. It's just that I've had a hell of a day and your husband's cooking hasn't exactly improved it."

Alison laughed. "I know. He's a hell of a cook, isn't he, but he does enjoy doing it. So I take it you're going to hide away until you feel you can decently leave?"

"Something like that," admitted Gordon. "I'm just not good company to day."

Gordon's eyes had adjusted to the lighting and he could see Alison quite clearly. He could also see and appreciate the way her breasts bounced when she gave a soft laugh.

"Well, feel free to hide if that's what you want," she told him. "If there's anything I can do, just let me know."

Gordon fought temptation, took another drink from his bottle, and yielded.

Alison was wearing a strapless sundress, and the way her breasts had bounced Gordon was willing to swear that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Actually, Alison," he said, "you can help me with something I've always wondered about. Are these natural?"

With that Gordon reached over and tugged the top of Alison's sundress over her breasts, freeing them for his greedy hands. He cupped both breasts, gently squeezing and probing for any inserts.

Alison gave a startled yelp.

"Gordon, you fool," she yipped at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Just checking them out," murmured Gordon. "They are real, aren't they?"

"Yes, they're real. Now let go of them."

"OK. In a second," said Gordon, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

"Stop it, you idiot," gasped Alison.

Her hands tangled in his hair tugging his head away from her breasts. Somehow or other, she found her tug wasn't very hard or very effective. Gordon kept appreciating her breasts, mouth drifting from on to the other.

Concentrating on what Gordon was doing to her breasts, Alison didn't really notice his hands running down her back. The fact that he was pushing her sundress further down didn't register until she felt the material drifting down her legs and Gordon's hand closing upon her bottom.

Indignantly, Alison jerked harder on Gordon's hair, this time pulling his head away from her breasts. The feel of his hands on her bare bottom told her that her panties had dropped with her dress. Her hands moved to Gordon's chest, intending to push him away, only to find them trapped there when Gordon's hold on her bottom tightened and pulled her hard against him.

Her eyes opened wide. She knew damn well what that was pressing against her tummy. What she didn't know was how Gordon had found time to unzip while manhandling her.

Opening her mouth to protest, Alison gasped instead when she found herself being lifted. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of Gordon seeking an entrance to her body.

"Gordon," she managed to say, and then found that Gordon had found what he was looking for and was sinking into her.

"God, I needed this," muttered Gordon as he sank fully into Alison.

He turned slightly, pressing Alison against the apple tree while he pressed into her. Apart from that one soft cry of his name Alison hadn't said a word, just stood there, eyes wide, as he took her.

Looking back at Alison, Gordon started moving. A gentle press to feel Alison out, to feel her respond, and then he was away.

Alison, astonished, found herself pressing back against Gordon's first stroke. She heard him groan in response and then she felt him go berserk. He hammered into her, hard and fast and Alison found herself reacting to that urgency.

For every move that Gordon made, Alison responded. She matched him, move for move, pushing hard against him as he thundered home into her. Alison was appalled and enthralled. Without so much as a by your leave Gordon was taking her, seemed desperate to have her, and she was responding with every ounce of her being.

Excitement was building within the pair of them as they came together. If there had been light they would have been in plain sight of the crowd at the barbecue, but in the dark like this they were isolated, a million miles away.

They mated savagely, Gordon showing a desperate craving for Alison's body and Alison responding to his desire, knowing that she was the one he wanted.

It couldn't last. It had come upon them too fast and too hot, and Alison found Gordon's mouth closing over hers as she opened it to scream her release. She sensed him swallowing her cries while at the same time she felt his hot life flooding inside her.

Gordon wandered back up the yard to the barbecue, feeling relaxed. Alison, as soon as her dress was straight, had faded inside to take a quick shower before returning to her hostess duties, feeling strangely energised.

"Ah, Gordon."

Gordon looked up to see his mother bearing down upon him.

"I thought you might have snuck home already. You seemed a bit out of sorts earlier."

Gordon smiled.

"I'm fine, mum," he told her. "Wouldn't have missed this for the world."