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and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration
is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam

Until Death Do Us Part
Part 1 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Paula Oldham glanced at the Caller ID as she flipped
open her cell phone. She smiled. Mummy! Probably
calling to invite them up for the weekend and unveil
another wonderful anniversary present. The gifts almost
made it worthwhile to have been married to Steve for
seventeen years.

Not that he was awful, but, well, nineteen years! She
certainly felt she had earned every one of the
paychecks he brought home. Especially since he got that
promotion.

Mother's voice sounded odd. Paula asked her to repeat
herself.

In cold, flat tones, her mother said, "Your father,
Paula. He is dead."

Daddy! Dear, sweet Daddikins, who always had a kind
word and a blank check for her. She would have
collapsed if her still-svelte body wasn't already flat
on a lounge chair by the pool.

Paula wiped away a tear, brushed blonde hair from her
eyes and collected herself. "I'll just throw some
clothes in a bag," she said, figuratively, "and drive
over to the house right away."

Her mother cut in. "Whyever for?"

"To -- to take care of things, of course. The funeral
and the cemetery and -- Oh, Mother, just to be with
you!"

"If you feel you need to, dear, very well. But don't
put yourself out on my account."

"Mother, are you all right? You must be in shock."

"Hardly. I just can't get very upset by anything that
happens to that awful man. I'm glad, mostly. Glad the
charade is over."

Amid expressions of stunned dismay from Paula, her
mother's story emerged. Her parents had stopped
speaking eight years ago, when her mother had walked in
on Mr. Noonan in bed with their dental hygienist.
"And," Mrs. Noonan noted, "I had really liked that
dentist. He was very polite."

"But, Mother, all those times we visited -- I never
knew!"

"Yes, dear. I did wonder about that."

"But -- you lived together. Why?"

"Why does any couple stay married? For the children."

"I'm an only child!"

"Yes, and so sensitive, dear. We didn't want to upset
you. But, now -- well, I'm just glad I can talk about
it at last. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean
out his closets. The Goodwill's coming in a half-hour."

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve air-kissed his wife and watched her walk to the
car. Just after she started it, Paula rolled down her
window and called to him.

"Be sure to pick up my dry-cleaning. I'll want the
black sheath for the funeral. And don't crease it."

He nodded. "I'll have Nanny pack it. She'll know what
to do."

Paula had let the car roll back. She stopped it with a
jerk and poked her head out the window to stare at him.

Steve caught himself just before he would have frowned.
He did not want to have the Nanny discussion at that
moment. He just waved. "I'll tell the kids good-bye for
you," he said. 

"Whatever." She pulled out and peeled away.

Steve pulled the door shut and padded back into the
house. His slippers slapped against the tile. When he
was a teenager, surfing all summer, he ran. When he was
a young man, with good money and a hot girlfriend, he
strode. Somewhere into marriage and parenthood he
started walking. Pushing 40, he padded in shorts and a
T-shirt bearing the faded logo of a concert he no
longer remembered, sucking in the beginning of a paunch
when he passed a mirror.

He flopped onto a couch and flicked on the TV. Three
times around the dial and nothing captured his
attention. He looked through the pile of magazines on
the coffee table. They were all Paula's. He decided he
didn't need to know thirty-nine ways to tighten his
buns.

Between getting older, struggling to keep up with his
job and trying to build up their meager savings before
the kids got to college, he had pretty much convinced
himself his life sucked. The only saving grace was
Paula, beautiful Paula, and their marriage. Almost
seventeen years, and all of them sweet.

So when Paula was in a bad mood, his world crumbled.
And the mess with her father had her in a very bad
mood.

A faint song floating down from the second floor
reminded him of the other reason for Paula's
displeasure.

Nanny had been with them for several years, and she was
terrific, but the kids didn't need her anymore.
Flame-haired Suzy was a gangly soccer goalie with one
state championship already on her record. Ricky had
been a flop at soccer -- coming from a family of
athletes, his dark skin wasn't the only reason they
called him the black sheep -- but he was so book-smart
that he'd been skipped ahead two grades. He joked that
he'd lap Suzy before she finished college, and he just
might.

So, with the kids growing up and out of the house more
than not, it didn't make sense to keep paying a nanny.
Paula pouted whenever he brought it up, though. She
seemed very attached to the girl -- well, woman. 

Zosia had matured from the coltish au pair they'd
brought in. Though she still had her delightful accent,
she was thoroughly American. Somewhere she'd picked up
a talent with cosmetics to rival Paula's. Even though
she spent most of her time in the house, cleaning or
cooking, Zosia still made herself up every day,
bringing out her high cheekbones and full lips. And her
glossy black hair was always in the latest fashion, as
far as he could tell by comparing it to the covers of
Paula's magazines.

Yes, she was a woman, and quite talented. Talented
enough to find another job in a snap, he'd told Paula
more than once. But his wife wouldn't hear of it. And
so hearing Zosia sing -- or seeing her long legs coming
down the stairs as she brought down the laundry -- just
reminded him of what they could do with her salary.

He was still frowning over that when she walked across
the archway opposite him. She stopped, propping the
laundry basket on one hip.

"Mr. Steve, something is wrong?" 

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

She shifted the basket to her other hip. "But you
frown. Over father-in-law? Or missing Mrs. Steve
already?"

He forced a thin smile. "I think I can manage until the
weekend when I take the kids. No, I was just ... Just
thinking."

"Don't think so hard, maybe?" With a smile, she left
the room.

He was still moping a few minutes later when she
reappeared, minus the laundry but with a frosty mug and
an ice-cold beer. She set them next to Steve and sat
down across the room.

"So," she said. "My papa always say, 'Drink some, think
some.' Well, it sound better in our words. But idea
still good. You drink. Zosia keep you company."

He had to smile at that, an honest smile. She had been
so shy around adults when she first arrived. So much
had changed. She came with just three dowdy dresses,
all of them so poorly fitting that she looked like a
potato. She had built a better wardrobe than Suzy. His
daughter lived in sweats. Zosia was the one who wore
outfits like the loose red shorts and tight yellow tube
top she had on then.

No one would mistake her for a root vegetable anymore.
She had a very attractive figure, and she didn't seem
to mind showing it off. That was one thing that puzzled
Steve about Paula's ardent defense of Nanny. His wife
usually didn't like it when he was around other
good-looking women. It was crazy to think he'd stray,
of course -- or, he thought, that he'd even have a
chance after what all those years behind a desk had
done to his body. Still, Paula had a jealous streak.

Yet she didn't mind Zosia. Paula even helped her pick
out clothes, and sometimes those were the ones that
showed off her body the most.

Maybe, he thought as he sipped his beer, Paula had
chosen the outfit Zosia had on. It certainly displayed
her body. He could see her breasts clearly outlined
inside the top. And the loose shorts not only left her
shapely legs exposed, but when she sat with her legs
crossed underneath her -- as she was -- he could almost
see all the way to her ...

He almost choked on his beer and tried to cover it up
with a cough. Had he seen what he thought? Zosia's skin
was pale and he could see her thigh clearly
disappearing into the big opening of her shorts. Then
she had shifted slightly and he'd seen a dark patch
that -- it couldn't have been. But he was the one who
had to shift around, crossing his legs to conceal his
growing boner.

She seemed oblivious, just sitting quietly and smiling
at him as he drank his beer. He was embarrassed. She
was Nanny, after all. Practically a member of the
family.

Oh, great, he groaned inwardly when that thought
bubbled up. That only added to his guilt about wanting
to let her go.

The silence was becoming awkward. Her smile made him
squirm. He cast about for conversation. It was the same
tongue-tied feeling he had when he found himself
trapped in an elevator with one of the people who
worked for him. He had no small talk.

"So," he said leadenly. Zosia tilted her head
expectantly. His brain froze.

"So," he tried again. Nothing came. It was the elevator
thing again. Think, he told himself. What do you say to
your workers?

"So -- Do you like it here?"

Inside his head, a bright neon sign began flashing,
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Sure enough, her reply only made him feel worse.

"I love it here! Is so good! You very nice peoples,
very nice to Zosia. Give me my own room, pay good so I
can buy pretty clothes, everything good." 

Her hands waved around, conducting a symphony of joy.
"Is best job ever. All my friends back home, I write,
they say, 'Zosia, you so lucky!' Is true. I only wish I
could -- you say, 'repay?' Yes. Wish I could repay you
for all you do."

She was so excited, she couldn't sit still. Her legs
stroked against each other and she arched her back,
pushing her chest out. Steve felt like a cad for
talking to Paula about -- well, about firing her.

He raised a hand. "You don't have to repay us, Zosia.
You've done more than we could ever have imagined. We
couldn't run this house without you ... Uh, I mean --"
His face grew warm. "I mean, you're -- you're so
talented. You could do anything."

A broad smile shone on her face like the sun. "Thank
you, Mr. Steve," she said. "But you are too kind. Zosia
can not do enough for you. I would do anything --
anything! -- to thank you."

She rose from her chair and approached him. Steve was
ashamed to catch himself staring at her jiggling
breasts with their prominent nipples. He stammered and
looked away as she loomed over him.

"Oh, look," he said, pointing to the window. "Suzy and
Ricky are home."

Zosia turned to look. "I will go make snack," she said.
Just before she left, she retrieved the empty beer
bottle and took the glass from Steve's hand. Her
fingers brushed his and he felt his cock twitch. He had
to wait a minute to cool down before he could get up to
tell the kids the news, feeling old and dirty.

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula's mother, who had all the beauty money could buy,
was incapable of a frown. So it was with the same
rigid, wide-eyed expression accompanying all her
comments that she said, harshly, "Why are you still
married?"

Paula laughed politely. "I love Steve."

Her mother dug her hands into the arms of her chair.
"Bullshit. You're young enough to snag a good looker
yet. Dump him before it's too late. Biggest mistake I
made was to stick with your father after he got old and
fat. I should have kicked him out when I still had
prospects. All men are rotten, and the secret to life
is to throw them out before they really start to
smell."

"Mother, don't be so bitter. Daddy was a good
provider."

"Money? Is that why you're holding on? Give it up. If
he isn't rich by now he never will be. Take half of
what he's got and move on. You'll survive."

Paula shuddered at the prospect of "surviving" on half
of what Steve kept insisting was next to nothing. But
there was no arguing with Mother on that point, she'd
already learned. So she changed the topic. Shopping
always cheered them up.

"Put your shoes on," she said. "Let's go look at
caskets."

Mrs. Noonan rolled her blue eyes. "They can stick him
in a pine box or throw him in a sack for all I care."

That was how Paula ended up at the funeral home alone.
She had packed for the weather, so she felt slightly
out of place in a summery flower-print dress when the
man who greeted her in hushed tones wore a somber black
three-piece suit. Still, she reminded herself, the
dress did show off her tan. 

And it made her feel happy, which was a needed antidote
to the cold, gray atmosphere of the place. The
generically religious paintings, the muted colors, how
quiet everything was -- it gave her the creeps. 

Even the live bodies around were a little stiff. The
man she was talking to -- Eric, he said -- could have
replaced Disney's animatronics, although he looked less
like Abe Lincoln than Denzel Washington. His voice was
as monotonous as the thrum of a distant train. She
wanted to pinch him just to see if he was real.

But she just sat back into the leather chair as he
droned on about perpetual care. It seemed selfish of
her father not to have taken care of such arrangements
himself.

Finally they got to picking the casket. Paula had been
looking forward to it. She imagined it something like
car shopping, with all the colors and options and
dickering over the price. And she loved dickering.

The casket showroom was carefully arranged, she could
tell. An experienced shopper, she recognized that the
layout was designed to draw her toward the most
expensive models. That was fine with her. She always
wanted the best. She just didn't want to pay for it.

The money wasn't even the point. It was the process.
Paula hung bargains in her closet like hunters put up
moose heads.

This trophy, she thought, would be more like a lion.
Eric was a worthy opponent, with smooth patter and a
deft way of steering the conversation away from prices.
His monotone was gone, and he made "mahogany" sound
like a symphony. His description of the satin pillows
made her knees weak. When he rubbed his hand across the
bronze handles she felt as if he were rubbing her
thigh.

Yes, he was good, she thought. But she was better.
Subtly she laid the foundation for her bargaining. "And
the inlay -- oh, that's right, no inlay. Yes, I see.
And so, this is your very best -- I mean, the best YOU
have?"

Eric didn't ruffle. His brown eyes tracked her face,
homing in on her. It took all her control not to betray
her emotions. She danced the discussion to money, but
he sidestepped her again and again. 

Paula allowed herself a ghost of a smile. She was
enjoying this, having such an estimable foe. 

With her guard lowered for just that second, he moved
in. "Then we can definitely say you prefer the Regency
Ultima. Would you like that in gold, claret or black?"

It was an old trick: Move the customer quickly past the
big decisions and get her committed to options. She
could counter, but he deserved the moment. She went
along. "Black," she said, caressing the dark wood. "I
believe black is always the best choice." She looked
into his eyes. "Don't you?"

He looked flustered for a second. Paula awarded herself
a point. 

"Yes," he said, "black is best. Though I myself
sometimes like lighter shades."

Paula gave herself two more points. "Variety is the
spice of life," she said. "And we all need spice, don't
we?"

That got a ghost of a smile from him. Paula pressed her
advantage. "Now this is a fine specimen," she said,
grasping a handle and rubbing her thumb along its
length slowly. She glanced down shyly. "But I have to
wonder if I could afford to ..."

"This model is only twelve thousand dollars," Eric
said. 

Paula looked up and caught his eye. She saw the flicker
of defeat. It was no longer a question of whether she'd
get a discount, only of how much. She thought she could
knock a thousand or two off easily. But she scented
bigger game. And she always like big game. The bigger,
the better. Eric looked like a big cat indeed.

The casket had a split lid; only the upper piece was
open. She asked him to lift the other side, which meant
he had to step between her and the box. Paula didn't
move aside, so her leg lightly pressed his as he picked
up the lid.

She reached around him, her breasts just barely
touching his back, and ran a hand across the lining. "I
like the feel of that," she said, moving
infinitesimally closer to him.

With such dark skin, Eric could be blushing like a
crazy and she wouldn't know. Paula suspected she had
him going, though. Just to be sure, she leaned in and
whispered, "What do you think?" 

Her breath in his ear made him shudder. He got out a
standard line about quality, but she knew she had him.

Time to move in for the kill.

"I wonder," she said, staying close to him, "I -- but
this is naughty of me ..."

She heard him suck in his breath. 

"This is naughty," she repeated, "but -- Could I, ah,
try it out?"

His head whipped around to face her.

"Try --" He stopped, got his voice under control. "Try
it out?"

"Yes -- the casket. It's just -- well, I bet you have.
Just to see how it feels? Just for a minute."

Eric looked around nervously.

She plucked at his sleeve. "There's no one else here,
is there?"

"No," he said, drawing it out into three syllables.

"Well, then." She lifted a leg up to the casket stand,
letting the hem of her dress fall back to reveal most
of her thigh, and made what looked like an effort to
jump up. Instead she slipped back, clutching at him for
support.

"Oh, dear. That won't work. Do you think you can lift
me?" She grabbed his hands and put them around her
waist. "You look strong enough."

She put her hands on his broad shoulders and he hoisted
her up, depositing her inside the casket. Paula let her
rear slide down, folding her up like a jackknife with
her high-heeled sandals high in the air.

"Whoopsie!" She giggled, then put a hand over her
mouth. "Shouldn't laugh in here, should I? Ah, could
you -- I'm a little stuck."

He grasped the bare skin of her legs and swung them
around and down. She lay back, hands at her side,
blonde hair draping over the small pillow.

"Comfy," she said, wiggling around. "But the mattress
is a little harder than I prefer." She smiled. "But
then hard is good, I guess -- to keep them in place, I
mean."

He was leaning over her, a hand on the side of the box.
"Yes," he said, "it provides excellent support,
although sometimes you get an exceptionally floppy --
uh -- Do you think you're ready to get out?"

"All right." Paula hooked a leg onto the side of the
box and heaved upward. The only thing that accomplished
was to make her dress fall to her waist, exposing a
pair of white thong panties.

"I guess I need you again," she said, taking hold of
his arms. But instead of pulling herself up, she
somehow dragged him down. As she flopped back on the
mattress, his head landed on her chest. He tried to get
up, but her hands were tangled in his jacket and he was
stuck with his face just an inch or two from hers.

He hovered there, so close she could feel his breath.
Her body was on full alert, nipples erect, warmth
flooding her groin. She parted her lips and looked deep
into his eyes.

He bent down and kissed her. Nothing tentative, a full,
lusty kiss. Paula wrapped her arms around him and held
tight.

Their mouths crushed together. She felt an urgent need
to feel his naked flesh, but she couldn't even get his
suit jacket over his shoulders. He had the advantage
and he took it. His large, soft hands explored her
body, caressing her, fluttering over her thighs,
cupping her breasts.

Paula unbuttoned the top of her dress, pulling it open.
He kissed his way down to her nipples, sucking first
one, then the other, tugging at them gently with his
teeth. She felt her temperature rising. She clawed at
his clothes, managing to yank his tie loose and pop
several buttons on his shirt, but his vest still
defeated her. She was wild with lust. "I need you," she
sighed. "I need you in me."

Eric straightened up and offered her a hand to climb
out. "No," she said, a gleam in her eye. "Let's do it
here. If you dare." She reached down and pulled off her
panties, flinging them aside.

His eyes grew wide, but his broad nostrils flared. He
stood over her for just a few seconds before he started
taking off his clothes.

First into view was his chest, as smooth and
well-muscled as she had hoped, glistening like a
chocolate bar. As his pants came down, she poked her
head over the edge of the casket and whistled at the
bulge in his brown satin boxers. At last they came off
and she licked her lips and let out a soft moan. He was
as long and thick as she'd ever had, a solid rod of
dark flesh. She couldn't even wait; just the sight of
him drew her hand to her slit, frigging herself in
anticipation.

Paula's dress was bunched up around her waist. One leg
was hooked over the edge of the casket; the other
stretched high, leaning against the satin lining of the
upturned lid.

He climbed into the far end and knelt there, stroking
his cock. His eyes roamed over her body, making her
feel wanton and wanted. "Take me," she growled.

He bent over her, not quite touching but so close that
she could feel his body heat everywhere. The tip of his
shaft made contact first, rubbing her inner thigh. She
hissed in pleasure as the rubbery tip rolled along her
slit, but he pulled back.

Her eyes narrowed. Tease her, would he?

She drew her legs tight around his waist and pulled him
down. He slid into her like she was melting butter. She
sank back into the casket as he pushed in deep, deeper.
She felt filled, but he went deeper. When she finally
felt his groin grinding against hers she was so stunned
she couldn't move. 

He slowly withdrew. Paula looked down, surprised to see
his cock wasn't pulling her inside out.

Then he began to stroke, faster and faster, long
driving strokes that buried his rod inside her before
almost leaving her completely. At first she tried to
ride with him, bouncing on the thin mattress. But he
had incredible staying power. His arms like steel
columns held him above her while his ass pounded away
without a break. She gave up and lifted her legs, toes
pointing to the ceiling, just reveling in the feel of
him inside her.

Their bodies grew so covered in sweat that she began to
slide back and forth. She had to grab hold of the sides
of the casket to keep from smacking her head into the
end on every stroke.

There were no words, just moans and grunts. What they
were doing was beyond words. She felt as if she were
divided into two women. 

One was experiencing the fuck of her life, filled up as
never before, losing track of the orgasms that flashed
past like trains in a subway tunnel, ecstatically out
of control.

The other was outside that body, watching everything,
fascinated by the contrast of light and dark flesh,
mesmerized by the rhythm of the strokes.

The two sides of her blurred together and rolled apart
as minutes rushed by. Eric had finally slackened his
speed, though not his hardness. His strokes were slow,
and they felt even slower to her. Time was stretching
like taffy. 

She was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Her
legs had long since wearied and fallen back against the
casket, her heels propped along either side. Her hair
was matted to her head, her thigh muscles aching. She
knew she'd be paying for it for days of stiffness, but
it had been worth it.

Eric's body slipped lower and lower until his elbows
crushed the mattress on either side of her. His hot,
sweaty body eased onto hers. He kissed her deeply,
tongues tangling.

And then he pulled back his head and let out a roar
that echoed off the walls. She felt his cock become
impossibly thicker, drive into her. He roared again,
arching his back.

Paula's weary body responded as well. She writhed under
him as one wave after another seized her, flooding her.

Eric knocked three thousand off without her even
asking. She pointed out some scratched from her high
heels and got another thousand. "And," she said, "make
sure they put in a new mattress. A softer one."

To be continued ...