My Erotica – Out to Dry (8 page)

And then the
stench hit me. Oh my fucking god. It had obviously taken a few
moments to waft its way up to my nostrils. Now it was trying to
kill me again. Once again I tried to continue like a true
gentleman, but fuck the stench was killing me.

Then she smelt
it.

She
screamed.

She cried. She
broke down in massive embarrassment.

She was
mortified and so embarrassed. And, of course, I missed out on my
climax again. I hugged her and assured her it was ok. Was it?? She
was so upset and didn't know what to do. I told her not to run away
but to stay.

She did. Oh god
it was bad though. The smell was as bad as the first time when she
had dropped her gas bomb right on my face. This girl had a problem,
a big problem.

It took
sometime before she recovered, a little. I tried to cheer her up by
suggesting it was the chicken and wine combination. I think she
liked that idea. At least she felt more in control if she knew what
was causing it.

But what was I
going to do? Could I live my life with someone who could fart in my
face anytime during sex?

Oh my.......
that would be hard.

It started to
put a barrier between us, even though she insisted it was the first
time in her life that she had this problem. We struggled along but
I think the relationship was now doomed. Then one day she told me
her mother was ill and she would have to go back west to look after
her for a while. I don't know if that was the truth, or whether it
was just her way of leaving me gracefully. We kept in touch for a
while, by mail and phone back in those days. Then she stopped
calling. Then she stopped writing.

And it was
over.

I never heard
from her again.

I don't know
what happened to her problem, I don't know if she has it fixed or
if she still farts away during sex. Poor husband if she does.

But I will
never forget the sight of her ass opening and the hot gas blowing
at my face. And I will never forget the stench, oh my fucking god
it was horrid.

I hope she had
a good life, good luck to her.

THE MAID

Brian had
often fantasised about their having a maid, but was stunned when
his wife actually arranged for one to move in with them. Of course,
the inevitable happened, he fell in love with her but he did not
expect the wild twisting of events that would follow, and he had
not anticipated his wife's deception.

BRIAN

They were
sitting in the sun one afternoon, yes it is possible to have a
sunny afternoon in England, and he made one of his typical silly
jokes.

He was feeling
in the mood for a beer, but neither he nor his wife wanted to
move.

“I suppose we
need a maid,” he joked.

His wife, who
had heard him jokingly comment on this before, replied quickly,
“Yes, a maid would be useful and she could also pull you off.”

“Hmmm, what a
lovely idea,” Brian said.

“Oh well, if
you can afford a maid, go and get one and she can pull you off and
suck you off, and pour your beer, I don't care anymore, I just want
someone to clean the house.”

Oh my, what a
temptation, thought Brian.

Could he really
afford to get a maid and could he get away with having sex with
her?

Later that
evening, just to provoke the issue since he was feeling cheeky and
excited by the idea, he said to his wife, “And what sort of maid
should we get, my darling?”

“I suppose she
would have to be French, named Fifi, and wear a very short skirt
and have a feather duster.” Brian was in such good form.

“I suppose she
should also bend over often, maybe when I drop my hankie.”

He laughed.

His wife said,
“Or maybe she could be fifty, she could be a German woman called
Helga and be built like a brick shithouse and when she pulls you
off she does it to the sound of German marching music and your dick
would be sore for a month.”

She laughed;
she always thought she was funny. He, of course, didn’t see the
humour in it.

He went back to
his image of Fifi, sadly Helga kept interrupting.

Oh well, he
sighed inwardly.

A few weeks
later his wife came to him and said that she had seen an advert on
the Internet for a maid. The woman was about forty, she wanted a
live in position and didn't want much money since the live in would
be worth a lot to her. She was Irish and she wanted to spend twelve
months with a household.

They looked
over her details and Brian checked out her photos.

Actually she
looked ok for a forty year old. It said she didn't have any kids
and it showed. Her tits still looked firm and upright, they looked
small and she was slim.

I wouldn't
have minded giving her one, Brian thought.

But he didn't
seriously think they would ever have a maid.

KATRINA

He was very
surprised to find a few weeks later that they did indeed have a
maid and her name was Katrina, she was the Irish girl.

His wife had
organized everything; she said all he had to do was pay for it
all.

He was
introduced to Katrina and she was more attractive than in the
advert.

She had lovely
reddish, brown hair; it was mid length and curled into hug her
face. He loved her accent. She was about five foot eight, small
breasted and slim - for a middle aged woman, that is.

She seemed to
be a happy woman.

She thanked
them for giving her a chance; she said it was too hard finding
decent employment in Ireland at the moment.

His wife showed
her to her room; it was upstairs at the end of the house, in the
spare room next to his study.

Brian carried
her bags, under his wife’s direction, to Katrina’s room and they
let her settle in.

Once they were
back downstairs his wife asked, “What do you think?”

Brian shrugged
and said, “I suppose time will tell, we will have to see how she
goes but she seems ok and nice and happy and friendly.”

His wife looked
at him and added, “And please don't try to get into her panties, we
don't want to drive her away because you are a randy old goat and
want to stick your silly little dick into her.”

Brian ignored
her stupid comment and went outside into the garden.

The rest of the
week went well, Katrina settled in and he thought both he and his
wife enjoyed the extra help around the house.

His wife
actually seemed like a new woman and not so stressed.

Life's simple
chores did always seem to wear her down, he never understood
why.

But if she was
more relaxed and happier that was good, there was always the chance
it might translate into more frequent sex for him.

But it
didn't.

The next week
he was away traveling with his work.

When he
returned Katrina had clearly settled in and the house looked great.
Everything was spotless and she was treating them like royalty. She
cooked their dinner and poured the wine, and baked for them, making
cakes and biscuits.

His wife
realized too late that it wasn’t good for her waistline but she
always wanted something to whinge about.

Now it was
living too well.

The weekend
came around and it was lovely sunny afternoon.

They sat around
the pool getting a bit of a tan, yes, I know, getting a tan in
England.

His wife
invited Katrina to join them.

When their
Irish maid came out poolside she looked stunning. Luckily he was
wearing sunglasses so he could perv on her curves out of the corner
of his eye without it being obvious to his wife.

He wondered if
she now regretted inviting Katrina.

She had a
stunning body, and wore a lovely one piece black swim suit.

She bent over
to feel the water temperature with her fingers; he kept his eyes on
her tits as they jiggled inside her swim suit and hang downwards
under the power of gravity.

He could feel
his cock rising proudly under the stimulation of her breasts.

He lay there
admiring her body and watched her dive in and swim slowly through
the water.

The sun was so
nice on his body, washing over him and making him day dream. Sexual
fantasies flooded through his mind as he watched her.

He hoped his
wife wasn’t looking, but she was.

“Enjoying the
view, you old pervert,” she said, and laughed.

“Oh, you men
are so predictable.”

She sipped her
champagne, and was soon asleep in the lovely sunshine.

Katrina stepped
out of the pool, the water running down her body, she brushed the
water from her hair and then reached for her towel.

Brian watched
as she towelled herself dry, and could not help himself from having
very evil sexual thoughts about what he would like to do to
her.

As he was
mentally pushed the straps off Katrina’s shoulders, his wife
stirred, sat bolt upright and said, “I have to go out.”

She picked up
her towel and looked at him and said, “Katrina can make dinner for
you, I will be out until late, I am having a girl’s night out with
Barb and Sally.”

“Be good,” she
blew him a kiss and said; “See you tomorrow,” to Katrina and left
to get ready.

Oh, my god, he
thought, she is going to leave me alone with Katrina tonight?

That might be a
bit dangerous. He wondered if it was real, or if his wife was
playing some kind of annoying game, or laying a trap for him.

Katrina came
over to him and asked if there was anything he needed.

Well, there was
something he really needed, but he couldn't ask her that.

“Why don't you
sit down and relax, Katrina,” he offered her a seat; she sat down
on his wife’s chair.

He looked at
her, his focus on her breasts but she couldn't see that due to his
dark sunglasses.

HER BREAST

She reached for
them, removed them and said, “I cannot see what you are looking at
when you have the glasses on,” she giggled.

“I need to know
what part of my body a man is interested in,” she giggled
again.

“Really, and
what part do you think I was looking at?” he asked her.

She looked at
him, looked around the pool area, and looked back at the house.

She slipped one
strap off her bathing suit, off her shoulder and let it fall.
Nearly all of her right breast above the nipple was exposed.

She looked at
him, knowing how wildly excited he would be at this raw display of
exhibitionism.

“If you want to
see more of my breast,” she said, “You will have to make that step,
Sir.” She smiled warmly.

His heart was
racing, his eyes on her right breast.

He so ached to
touch her.

He wanted to
reach out and cup her small breast in his hand.

He could see
her nipple bursting to break open the fabric of her swimsuit.

There is
something about a woman’s breast and how driven a man is to touch
it, to feel it in his hands. He was no different; he was dying to
touch her boob.

The sexual
tension between them was high. She had set the challenge and was
waiting for his move.

Her breast was
there in front of him and within reach, to see it all he had only
to flick the fabric above her nipple, and allow her right breast to
swing free.

He looked into
her eyes, her gorgeous green eyes. He looked at her face; her skin
was soft and freckled.

He reached out
and brushed her cheek, she responded, moving her face towards his
hand.

She was such a
sexually intelligent soul.

He ran his
finger from her cheek to her lips.

They were
painted red, bright red.

He ran his
finger across her upper lip; it glistened and trembled with
anticipation.

Her mouth
opened slightly, his finger coursed its way across the expanse of
her mouth.

Her lips
moistened from excitement.

She opened her
mouth; he let his finger touch the inside of her lip.

She sucked
tenderly and ever so lightly on his finger.

He watched as
she took it in her mouth, and he fantasized, he imagined it was his
cock.

Her eyes were
fixed on his, she touched his cheek, and he kissed her finger.

He let his
finger trace its way onto her chin and downward, then followed it
as it moved further down to the top of her chest.

He circled
softly between her breasts, at the top of her cleavage, she closed
her eyes, and she was his.

This was beyond
the point of return; he knew that, he knew he was already
emotionally committed.

He knew from
what he could see in her eyes that they were already connected
through time and space, he knew this chapter had already been
written by fate, that they were just acting their parts.

He felt
internal warmth, realizing that this was special.

His finger
touched the fabric above her nipple; he took it in his fingers. Her
eyes were on his, her nipple standing so hard.