The Disappearing Lady

'And what else is happening?'

'At the moment? I'm not sure,' she said. 'I think that you might need to remove your trousers.'

'My trousers?'

'Yes.'

'Now?'

'Yes. I think that we need to see how we are going. I can do it for you if you like.'

She didn't wait for me to reply. She reached forward, unbuckled my belt, and then lowered my zip before reaching in and retrieving my fattening cock. 'Well ... something is happening,' she said.

Vanessa gave my cock a few gentle strokes and watched as it stiffened. 'How am I doing?'

'You're doing very well,' I said. 'I would be hard pressed to do better myself.'

'Oh, good.' Vanessa continued to stroke my cock until it was more impressive than it had been in many a month. 'Nice, she said. 'Very nice. Now we just need to find somewhere warm and wet to put it. Just as well that I wore tall shoes, isn't it?' And she turned around, placed her hands on the table, and thrust her perfect peach of a bum in my direction.

'Can you find your own way in?' she said. 'Or do you need a hand?' And without waiting for an answer, she lent a hand anyway, reaching back with her elegant fingers and helpfully parting her now-plump outer lips.

My cock slid along her slick valley like a well-waxed toboggan on warm ice. Once. Twice. Three times. And then, with a little extra manual guidance, it slipped into her waiting tunnel. 'Somewhere warm and wet,' Vanessa had said, and somewhere warm and wet it certainly was.

And Vanessa had been right about the tall shoes too. They may not have been the most practical footwear for a country lane, but they put everything at just the right height.

We started out slowly with me filling Vanessa with long, deep strokes, and Vanessa taking care of her own little man-in-the-boat. And then we gradually picked up the pace. Vanessa's breathing got shorter and shorter, and she stared to make soft little grunting sounds. And then we became more urgent still. As my hips slammed into her beautiful buttocks, and my swinging balls bumped into her busy fingers, her little grunts turned into animal-like squeals.

As strange as it may sound, at some stage I must have fallen asleep. When I awoke, just after 2 am, I was sitting in my favourite armchair -- my 'thinking' chair -- with an empty wine glass and an almost empty wine bottle on the table beside me. Oh ... and my belt was unbuckled and my zip was unzipped. There was no sign of Vanessa. She must have gone back to her own place -- although not before tidying my kitchen and putting everything away. The perfect supper guest if ever there was one. I took myself off to bed, and I must have been asleep again even before my head hit the pillow.

I was still on my first cup of coffee when Towzer called by later that morning.

'Looks like you're going to have new neighbours,' Towzer said. 'Kimble Cottage has finally been let. Someone's moving in.'

'She already has,' I told him. 'A woman from London. Vanessa. She's very nice. I think she'll fit in very well out here in the flatlands. You might want to tempt her with a few of your free-range eggs.'

'Oh?' Towzer looked slightly puzzled. 'Ngaire -- you know, from the estate agents -- she said that it was a Scottish couple. Miranda and Gordon, I think she said. Yes, I'm pretty sure that's who it was. Miranda and Gordon.'

'Miranda and Gordon?' I nodded. 'Those two again, eh?' And then I said: 'Can I ask you something, Towzer?'

'Of course,' he said.

'Do you and Mutty actually exist? Outside of my head, I mean.'

Towzer laughed. 'I think you'd have to ask Nancy that,' he said.