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theGreatxIam

Until Death Do Us Part
Part 2 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

After Steve ushered the kids to bed, he went back to
the family room and oozed into an overstuffed chair
opposite the TV. 

Breaking the news about their grandfather had gone
easier than he'd expected, but the hours of rehearsal
for his short speech had left him frazzled. That, and
all the beers he'd had to help him think.

He grabbed the remote as deftly as if it were a live
trout and waved it ineffectively a time or two before
he found the correct button. Idly he flipped channels.
Everything looked pretty much the same. He couldn't
tell which was Howard Stern, which was pro wrestling
and which was a Fox News talk show. After a while he
settled on an old rerun of "Bewitched." The one good
thing about his condition was that he couldn't tell
whether it was the good Darrin or the second one.

He was half-asleep when he heard someone behind him. He
didn't even have the strength left to turn around.

Someone in a black shiny outfit flitted through the
periphery of his vision. His eyes remained fixed on the
TV. It was hard enough trying to focus without adding
to the complexity by moving his eyes.

Whoever it was walked back and forth, crossing his line
of sight several times. He made out that it was a
woman, half from the shape and half from the fact that
she was cleaning up. He could see her ferrying bottles
and other trash in what he vaguely remembered as the
direction of the kitchen.

By the time the woman returned, another magical
domestic crisis had been tidily resolved and Steve had
switched off the tube. That allowed him to devote his
attention to the mystery woman.

He blinked twice, but it did nothing to clear up his
vision. He couldn't figure out who it was. It wasn't
just the blurriness. He got the impression of two
photos superimposed -- or of a person suddenly changing
appearance.

"Everything is OK?" The woman had Nanny's voice. That
seemed natural enough, since she also had Nanny's head.

But even as he mumbled a reply, Steve kept staring.
Something was wrong. Why would Zosia have Paula's body?

For a hazy moment, it looked like Paula had the head of
the second Darrin. That particular nightmare did blink
away.

But that was definitely Zosia's head smiling at him and
Zosia's voice talking to him, even if he couldn't quite
understand what she was saying. So why did he see
Paula's body?

Well, he thought, there was the shape. Both of them
were in damn fine shape. Damn fine.

She was coming closer to him. He grabbed his head with
both hands to hold it steady.

Ah! He got it. He was confused. It wasn't that Zosia
had Paula's body. It was that she had his wife's tits.

A dull pain stabbed him just above the right eye,
momentarily distracting him. When he next noticed,
Zosia-Paula was climbing onto his lap.

Yes, he thought, those were his wife's tits. Or at
least her nipples, which were all he could really see
through the holes in the black satin nightgown.

A grasp of the situation flapped around him like a moth
for several seconds before it landed in his brain.

Not Paula's body. Not Paula's tits. Paula's old
nightgown, the one with the peekaboo holes over the
tits. The one she'd worn on their wedding night.

This was not good, a boozy voice inside him slurred.

The only slightly less slurred voice issuing from his
mouth said, "Where did you get that?"

"This nightgown? Mrs. Steve give me. Is pretty, no?"

"No," he said. "I mean, yes. I mean, no, we shouldn't
be doing this." The "this" at that moment was Zosia
straddling him, rubbing her sex into his crotch.

It was only his extreme inebriation that saved him from
the inevitable reaction. But that drunkenness also made
it difficult for him to resist when she snatched his
hands and clapped them to her breasts. Or when she
leaned forward and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

As the voluptuous young woman writhed on his lap and
offered herself to him, Steve felt guilty that he had
gotten drunk enough to be put in that position. But he
also regretted that he was too drunk to enjoy it as he
should.

Which made him feel guiltier that he was fooling around
with their nanny while his wife was away dealing with
her father's death, for heaven's sake.

Which made him regret all the more that as long as he
was so guilty, he couldn't get it up and really have
something worth the guilt.

The pain above his eye was spreading across his
forehead like an iron vise.

Zosia had pulled the gown off her shoulders and was
rubbing his face between her breasts. "I'd really be
loving this," he thought, "if I had any contact with
the nerve endings in my skin." Or, rather, he thought
an addled version of that. His mental capabilities were
following his physical ones into oblivion.

Zosia's hands were inside his shorts, desperately
massaging a cock that would not respond. It somehow
struck Steve as funny and he began to giggle, then
chuckle, then guffaw.

Then Zosia was talking but she had Paula's voice, which
he thought was awfully presumptuous of her. Trying to
take Paula's husband was one thing, but her voice ...
Oh. He got it. The big black banana on his face was a
phone. Paula was on the phone. Paula was doing all the
talking, which was a good thing. He could not make
sense of a word she said, which might be a bad thing.

Zosia was no longer on his lap, and that was probably a
good thing. Oh. She was on her knees with his flaccid
cock in her mouth. Bad. Very bad. What if Paula saw?
But Paula on phone. Paula good-bye. "Goo-bye, Paula."
Zosia still trying. Zosia ... "Goo-bye, Zosia."

He woke up around 4 a.m. to find himself still in the
chair. He checked and saw his shorts were on and
zipped. That made him feel relieved, though he couldn't
quite remember why. He stood up and a lightning bolt of
pain arcing through his skull knocked him back down. He
went back to sleep.

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

The morning after the funeral, Paula stood in the
doorway of her parents' house, waving good-bye to Steve
and the kids. 

What a relief that's over, she thought as she changed
into a demure beige suit with a slit in the skirt that
was very undemure if she sat just right. It was bad
enough having to cope with the funeral and all, but
Mother had bizarrely insisted on giving the servants
the day off. An entire day with no help! All the more
reason, she thought, to make sure Steve abandoned the
whole get-rid-of-Nanny idea.

Steve was still on her mind as she carefully applied
lipstick and just enough makeup to give her that
natural look. He was such a disappointment. The sight
of some of her younger cousins at the cemetery had
reminded her of how old he'd gotten. Cousin Billy, for
example, tall and tanned and tight-bunned. And he
always had that special gleam in his eye for her. Why
couldn't Steve be more like that?

She pulled on her hose and clipped them to her garter
belt. As she ran her hands along the silk, she reminded
herself that finery like that didn't come cheap. At
least Steve brought home the dough. Not enough, alas,
but she could do worse. Cousin Billy worked the
graveyard shift at a 24-hour Gap.

Paula stepped into four-inch heels and strode to her
car. Two years old, it was. She rolled the top down
resentfully. Steve should really be making more money,
she thought. Especially with all those hours he worked.
Which meant even less time with her. Not that the
prospect of his pudgy body was all that appealing. But,
still, a woman has needs. Yet another reason to make
sure Nanny stayed.

Traffic was a bitch and she lost half her tall slim
cappucino when the jerk in front of her forgot how to
merge, but she kept the spill from her suit and kept a
smile on her face. She had been listening to a new book
about positive mental attitudes and this was exactly
the time to test its advice.

Her father's attorney, however, had a very negative
mental attitude. So much so that he was incapable of
forming a sentence that didn't include the word "no."

It was "No, Mrs. Oldham, i can't reveal the terms of
the will until it's read to everyone" and "No, I can't
just tell you what you inherit" and even "No, I can't
verify that you will inherit." She was shocked when he
actually said "Yes, we can get you a coffee." But, of
course, that was followed by "No, we don't have an
espresso machine."

She had carefully arranged her skirt to show most of
her long legs, and when he became politely obstinate
she idly fingered her blouse buttons and accidentally
undid several. Nothing helped.

Paula was not one to give up easily, but somehow the
lawyer and his secretary teamed up and she found
herself outside his office watching the door close. She
bit her lower lip, on the verge of tears. Was she
losing it? Over the hill? Had that mortician been her
last hurrah?

She sagged into a chair in the waiting room. The
secretary gave Paula a sharp look, but then the
intercom buzzed and she disappeared into the lawyer's
office. Paula sat, forlorn, contemplating her
mortality.

Shortly, a young man in a rather plain suit swam into
her vision. He asked if she was all right. God, Paula
thought, I must look pathetic. But she bravely produced
a wavering smile. He asked a few other bland,
solicitous questions, but she lost track of what he was
saying. She noticed something much more important. He
was staring at her chest.

And he couldn't be much beyond his early twenties.
Maybe she hadn't lost it after all.

"So, tell me," she said, "Mr. -- er --"

"Barnes," he said, "but you can call me Jeff."

She favored him with a bigger smile and a deep breath
that lifted her chest. "Thank you, Jeff. I'm Paula. So
you're a lawyer here?"

"Oh, no. Well, maybe someday. I wish. No, I'm just
helping out. With the files and such. I'm still in
school. Law school."

Her smile sagged a little. He quickly added "But if you
have any questions, I'll be glad to help if I can."

He had that eager puppy look, brushing a lock of brown
hair away from his cherubic face. Paula was composing a
question to test his eagerness when the hatchet-faced
secretary reappeared and shooed him away. It was
Paula's turn next, and the secretary was only
marginally more polite than she'd been to Jeff.

Paula declined the icy offer of an escort and said
she'd see herself out. But she quickly got lost in the
warren of hallways and offices. The third time she'd
passed the same painting of some old sea battle, she
felt as if she should shout for a life preserver.

Then she saw a familiar bland suit crossing the far end
of the corridor. She took off after him, turn after
turn, as he sped away. She was about to call his name
when he pushed open a door and went in.

She rushed up and stopped short when she saw the "Men"
sign.

Paula glanced back and forth. The hallway was empty. 

She eased the door open with her foot until she was
sure there was no one on the other side, then slipped
in, keeping close to the wall.

Jeff was standing at a urinal on the far wall, next to
two stalls. She checked to make sure no feet were
peeking out beneath either one. Silently she opened the
door and poked her head out. The coast was clear. She
eased the door shut again.

On tiptoe, she crept up behind Jeff. She waited until
he was finished and shaking off before reaching a hand
around and taking hold of his soft cock.

"Here," she said. "Let me do that." She gave it several
firm shakes. It grew more rigid with each one.

Jeff's eyebrows were embedded in his hairline as he
turned his head toward her. As his mouth dropped open,
Paula covered it with hers, shoving her tongue deep
inside. He staggered as she pushed his back against the
side wall of the nearest stall, her hand rubbing his
dick to hardness.

Breaking the kiss, she brushed her cheek along his and
snaked her tongue into his ear. His cock twitched.

She put her lips right next to his ear and whispered.
"Jeff, could I be so bold as to ask a favor?"

He nodded vigorously.

"There's something in the files here that I need to
see. Could you take care of it for me?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm -- I'm not supposed --"

"But you do work with the files, don't you?"

"Uh-huh, but --"

"And you'd like to do me ... a favor, wouldn't you?"
Her hand closed around his cock.

Jeff nodded slowly.

"You wouldn't be hurting anyone. And I'll make it worth
your while."

She led him to the sinks and washed his dick off. As he
stared wide-eyed, she began to sink to the floor. The
sound of muffled conversation came from outside the
bathroom. Quickly she got him into a stall and locked
it behind them.

Paula shuddered when she looked at the toilet seat. She
unrolled yards of toilet paper and hastily wrapped the
seat before sitting down. As tinkling sounds came from
the urinal on the other side of the stall wall, she
silently motioned Jeff to step forward.

His cock had shrunk slightly, but light kisses and her
soft, warm hands soon brought it back. She swallowed
him slowly, careful not to make noise and give them
away. When she looked up, half his dick inside her ruby
lips, Jeff was biting his lips and clutching at the
walls. 

Came the sound of a faucet running and she held him in
her mouth, jacking him off with her hand. The whole
bathroom thing felt icky, but she hated the idea of not
getting what she wanted.

When she heard the door open and close, Paula took her
hand from Jeff's rod and buried all of it in her mouth.

"Oh, jeez," he groaned. "Sweet mother, that's so
fucking good. Suck my cock. Suck it! Suck -- aaah!"

She went faster, slurping his dick in and out as her
hands dug into his ass. His pubic hair tickled her nose
on every downstroke. It was actually fun, she thought,
doing someone she could totally deep throat.

After a few minutes, though, her jaw began to ache. She
pulled back to the tip and used a hand to get him off,
swallowing as much as she could.

When it was over she made him stand guard outside the
john while she washed her face and hands thoroughly.
With the promise of even more to come, she got him to
show her the way out and arranged to meet him in an
hour.

At the appointed time, she rolled up to the front door
of the law offices. Ten minutes later, not even her
daily affirmations could make her believe the little
shit was just running late. Swearing under her breath,
she twisted the key in the convertible's ignition and
peeled off.

Scarcely had she started moving when a blurry figure
came racing around the side of the lawyer's building
and dove headfirst into the tiny rear seat of her car.

Paula slammed on the brakes, vaulting the intruder over
the rollbar to land heels over head in the passenger
seat. She grabbed her purse and flailed him with it,
landing several solid thwacks.

Only when he twisted around to face her did she
recognize Jeff. He cut off her questions, yelling for
her to drive off.

After they were several blocks from the law offices, he
crawled into the proper position. His tie was askew and
one of the sleeves of his cheap suit was hanging funny.

"Shit," he said, breathlessly. "Why'd you go crazy like
that? Hitting me and shit?"

Paula shot him a dirty look. "Me? What were you doing
leaping into a moving car? Why didn't you meet me at
the door?"

"I barely got out alive. Old Man Carruthers nearly
caught me with the will. If anyone saw me getting in
your car they'd put two and two together. I had to
sneak out -- and then you take off like a rocket! I
could have been killed trying to catch up."

"Whatever. So you got it?"

"The will? Uh, yeah. Sort of."

She eased her foot off the gas slightly. "What's that
mean? Didn't you make a copy?"

"No. What did I just say? The Old Man would can my ass
if he caught me walking around with something I wasn't
-- hey, what gives?"

Paula had swerved to the curb and begun to pull the car
into a U-turn. "We're going back," she said. "I want
that will. You're going in to get it if you have to
cold-cock the entire bar. Remember what your reward
is."

She shifted in her seat, letting her skirt ride up.
Jeff licked his lips as he stared at Paula's legs.

"Wait," he said in a rush. "I didn't say I failed."

"So you have the will?" She slowed down.

"No."

She sped up.

"But -- but I know what's in it!"

Paula pulled to the curb and parked.

"Speak," she said.

He hesitated. "How do I know you'll come across if I
do? And we aren't going to do it right here, are we?"

She stared at him, pursing her lips. She let out a big
breath.

"There's a beach fifteen minutes from here. Nobody goes
there because the sand got washed away years ago. It's
still got a little parking lot you can't see from the
road."

"Sounds like you know this town pretty good."

"I grew up here. And I had an active youth." She pulled
back into traffic. "Now start talking."

He looked her up and down. "I still haven't gotten
anything -- I mean, since your down payment back at the
office.

Paula took a hand from the steering wheel and fumbled
beneath her skirt. A pair of champagne silk panties
appeared on her thighs. After completing a left turn,
she slid them down to her ankles. She pulled her left
foot out of them and then pressed it to the
accelerator, nudging aside her right foot. In one fluid
move she lifted her right leg, panties dangling, and
deposited it in Jeff's lap. The move also gave him a
direct view of her wide-open beaver.

He gaped, breathing hard. As if it had a mind of its
own, his hand made its trembling way to her trim ankle
and caressed upward.

Paula rubbed the point of her high heel into his
crotch. "Satisfied? Now spill."

He was still staring open-mouthed. She pressed down
harder with her heel.

"OK, OK!" He winced. 

She eased off. "Talk. Who gets my father's money."

"You do."

"How much?"

"All of it."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. 'I leave the whole of my estate to my only
daughter, Paula Noonan Oldham.' No one else."

She smiled to herself. It looked like Daddy hated Mommy
as much as Mommy hated Daddy. Served her right. Paula
considered. She would be generous, she thought, and let
Mother stay in the house. At least for the time being.
But she'd take the cabin at Tahoe. That was fair.

Pulling onto the side road that led out to the beach,
she felt a momentary pang of doubt. "You're sure there
was no one else? No friends? Relatives?"

"Just some legal mumbo-jumbo and his signature," Jeff
said. "That's it."

"Mumbo -- just how close to being a lawyer are you?"

"Close enough. This was just boilerplate to make sure
no one could challenge the will. And it's solid, too.
Carruthers has never had a will of his successfully
challenged. You can bank on it. So ... your father have
a lot of dough? I mean, he must, to afford the Old Man,
right? So you're rich?"

She glanced over. "We had a deal," she said menacingly
as her heel pointed toward his balls.

"Yeah, yeah," Jeff said swiftly. "Absolutely. I just
was curious, that's all. On account of rich people need
good lawyers. And Carruthers can't live forever."

Paula laughed. The kid was right. She'd be the queen of
that office when the will was read. She pictured the
look on the face of that stuck-up secretary. 

She gave Jeff a sidelong glance as she turned off the
road onto a rutted, overgrown dirt trail. "We'll see
about that," she said. "Consider this your tryout."

The parking lot was mostly memory, with crumbling
asphalt showing through the gaps in the weeds and sand.
Paula maneuvered the convertible into the most level
spot and looked around. It was as she remembered it. A
high cliff cut off any view of the road and curled
around on either side of a cut-through to block access
from the rest of the coast. They were alone with the
pounding surf and a few desultory seagulls.

She turned back to Jeff, who had already doffed his
jacket and was busily unbuttoning. Her pleasure in his
eagerness was mixed with some concern that he might be
too quick on the trigger. She was in a celebratory mood
and felt like celebrating a long, long time. She
twisted the radio dial; nothing struck her fancy. A
Beach Boys CD did. 

As "California Girls" kicked off, set to constant
replay, she pulled her leg back from his lap and stood
up on her seat, swaying with the rhythm of the music
and the waves. Jeff scrambled out of his clothes,
leaving them in a clump on the floor of the car. He
leaned back against the door, his cock growing hard,
and gazed up at her.

She shimmied up and down a few times, shaking her chest
at him, running her fingers through her blonde hair.
Natural blonde hair, she thought, smugly. Nothing
artificial on her.

When she was sure she had his undivided attention, she
kicked off her heels and began a slow, sensuous strip.
Her jacket came off first, eased off her shoulders and
slid down her arms before she neatly folded it over the
back of her seat.

She unbuttoned her ivory blouse down to her navel and
bent forward, letting him drink in her tits squeezed
into a lacy bra. Then her skirt came off. The tails of
her blouse gave her the bare minimum of coverage as she
writhed and spun, bending over with her back to him and
flipping up the blouse to moon him.

She stood up again and looked over her shoulder
coquettishly. He was rock hard, one hand slowly
stroking himself. His eyes almost bulged. She couldn't
hold back her broad smile.

Still with her back to him, she pushed her blouse off
her shoulders. Inch by inch, she let it fall until it
slipped off her fingertips and she was naked except for
her stockings and garter belt.

She danced a little, wiggling her ass. At one point she
bent forward, raising her butt so high that Jeff could
have seen her slit, but she covered it with spread
fingers stuck between her legs.

Standing straight again, she did a bump and grind she
hadn't tried in years, not since she wore out her
Richard Simmons exercise tape. Still got it, she told
herself when Jeff whistled and applauded.

Paula turned around slowly, swaying side to side, hands
covering her tits while her cunt was brazenly on
display. She played peekaboo with her breasts before
revealing them completely. Hands over her head, she
danced over to the passenger seat.

Jeff got the idea fast. His tongue wasn't long, but he
knew where to put it. Before long she was so hot that
she couldn't stand up. She climbed into the back seat
and stretched out as well as she could. Jeff crawled
between her legs and returned to eating her out.

He seemed determined to get her off that way, but it
just wasn't happening. Paula produced the appropriate
groans and shakes, however -- convincing enough to get
him to climb on top of her.

She sighed as his dick slid inside her, an abrupt move
sinking all the way in. Memories of other days and
other lovers at the same spot made up for any
deficiencies in his style. Technically, the beach
wasn't where she'd lost her virginity -- the old movie
house with that honor had been torn down years ago. But
there had been a few other firsts at the beach, most of
them fondly remembered.

Jeff was showing promise of adding to those good
memories. He had slowed down and proved to be enough of
a contortionist to keep her tits engaged even as his
rod drove in and out of her pussy. She closed her eyes
and pretended he was boys gone by: Roger, with his long
fingers and tickly mustache. Chuck, who always found
new ways to tell her she was beautiful. Andrew, so
quiet in class, so nicely naughty outside.

Interrupting her reminiscences, Jeff grunted and
heaved, plunging his dick deep into her as he pumped
out a load of cum. He promptly collapsed onto her, just
as so many of those boys had, leaving her unsatisfied.

But she was older now. More demanding, maybe, but also
more experienced. After giving him a few minutes to
recover, she used her hands to bring his cock back to
life. He seemed surprised, but she knew what she was
doing. And she knew that second acts are often the
longest. She was counting on that.

She took him first on his back, his rod sticking
straight up. She squatted above and held it steady as
she lowered herself onto him. That one she took fast,
as fast as she could manage, bouncing on him so hard he
couldn't catch his breath. It took a toe-curling orgasm
to get her to stop, leaving him gasping.

Next she got onto her knees, resting her elbows on the
folded-up ragtop. He took her from behind but she
stayed in control, threatening to roll aside when he
moved too fast.

She wanted it slow then. So slow that she could
remember every stroke. She felt her body melting like
cheese, oozing down. That orgasm was a warm shiver that
went on and on.

They were both tired by then, but she had decided to
celebrate and he was still stiff. It would be a crime
to waste it.

Paula crawled out onto the trunk, rolling onto her back
with her legs dangling off the back. Jeff walked around
and got into position, standing between her thighs. He
had a hand at her crotch, twiddling her clit as his
cock lunged in and out.

The combination made her tingle. She flailed around on
the trunk, arms rubbing the smooth, hard metal. She was
sixteen again, dating the quarterback, helping him
celebrate a homecoming win. Back before she had a care,
when her limber body could do anything she asked. 

Paula remembered the wide-eyed joy in the quarterback's
eyes when she told him she wanted to skip the party
because she had her own present for him.

Jeff had that astonished but ecstatic look, too. She
squeezed her legs tighter around his waist, then lifted
them high and hooked her heels onto his shoulders. He
pushed in, rocking his hips from side to side.

Something was building up big time. She spread her legs
apart, as wide as she could, almost flat on the trunk.
Jeff stepped up, burying his pole. The hand that wasn't
frigging her clit was planted on the trunk for support.
She could see the muscles standing out under the
strain. 

She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch
his metronome fucking, a steady in-and-out. She knew
the heat rising on her heaving chest wasn't just the
sun. 

Jeff reared back and slammed into her. Sweat sprayed
out as he shook his head to get the hair from his eyes.
Paula chanted to him: "Fuck me, fuck me, faster,
faster, fuck me faster, fuck meeee!"

It was like a gear suddenly jammed in a steam engine.
Her body locked up, lurched, got stuck again. And then
the waves and the speeding heartbeat and the moans
rising from deep within. Fireworks soaring and
exploding in her brain. Somewhere in the distance,
awareness of his cock swelling, pulsing, filling her
with hot lava. But that lost in bursts of red and
yellow and purple and the Beach Boys still wishing they
all could be California girls.

The California sun was still shining when she dropped
Jeff off in town. She felt too good to go back to her
bitter mother. She had daylight, tunes and a blissful
buzz. Paula hit the road with the stereo blasting and
the top down.

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

The kids had scattered as soon as they got home. Suzy
said something about a pickup soccer game. Ricky, who
apparently had recently decided he wanted to be called
Rlck, was off to the computer store, which meant he
would probably be gone all day.

That left Steve to haul in all the luggage from the
minivan. Zosia appeared as he fumbled with the first
load, though, and grabbed the heaviest bags.

Steve felt uncomfortable around her. Though his
hangover had long since cleared, his memory of that
last night with her was still hazy. He wasn't totally
sure she'd even been in the room. He could have
imagined it all. 

She didn't seem to be acting oddly anymore. Zosia was
always one to pitch in on any chore. And her smile was
the same bright, wide ray of sunshine it always was.

Still. If Paula wasn't so adamant, he would have had to
let her go. He was guilty about the reason. Was it fair
to fire someone because every time you looked at her
you imagined her naked? Maybe not. But after that close
call with Paula a few years back, he was determined to
never again give her cause to doubt his fidelity. And
Zosia was one walking, talking temptation, innocent as
she probably was.

He looked at her as she toted the last two bags in. His
fears seemed silly. She was pretty, certainly, maybe
even beautiful in that Slavic dusky-eyed way. But she
was not trying to be seductive, not in that loose
T-shirt and blue Capri pants with scuffed brown
loafers. She was just the help.

She was about to take the bags to the kids' rooms. He
told her not to; let them do a little work. Zosia put
them on the floor and bent down to slide them under a
table, out of the way.

Steve watched her. Watched her bend from the waist,
watched that magnificent ass ... He shook his head to
clear it. "I'll just take a shower," he told her,
walking away. A cold one, he told himself.

He stopped just inside the bedroom, disoriented but not
knowing why. It took a bit for realization to come.
Without Paula to remind him, he'd left the room a mess
-- bed unmade, clothes strewn about. It had been
restored to pristine order in his absence. The
lily-white linens were all in place, the floor was
clear of socks. The rest of Paula's dry-cleaning, which
he'd just draped over a chair, hung on the rack atop
the closet door. Zosia the super-nanny, he thought.
What would they do without her? Why couldn't he get
over his juvenile imagination? 

Well, then there was the money.

He shook his head. It was all a mess.

By the time he was naked and ready to turn on the taps,
worries had softened his sex drive. He hesitated only a
second before dialing in a warm jet.

He stepped in and, as he always did, tried to resist
his emotions. The big shower with its multiple heads
and more settings than Nature itself -- everything from
monsoon to London fog, with intricate variations in
between -- the whole contraption was Paula's idea. He
had said he'd be satisfied with a single showerhead
over a plain tub, but she had insisted, never mind the
cost. Each time he got in, he told himself it was just
a shower. Nothing special.

But then those multiple pulsing heads hit his body in
just the right places and all his concerns melted away.
He closed his eyes and let the warmth poke and prod and
massage him all over as he slowly rotated in place. The
jets were calibrated individually. His personal program
sent invigorating jets at his legs, hammering away at
the knots, with just one pointed up to that old sore
spot on his shoulder. The streams aimed at his head
came as soft, arcing droplets, like standing under a
tree in the rain.

His torso got a special blend that felt like a water
nymph's caress, gentle but firm, flowing over his
chest. That was the part he liked best.

That day it felt especially good. He fantasized about
nubile women massaging him with their fingertips on a
tropic isle.

The fantasy began to seem very real. He opened his eyes
and saw why.

Zosia was next to him, water streaming down her naked
body, making tendrils of her long, black hair cling to
the alluring curves of her full breasts, matting the
neatly trimmed patch of curls that guarded her sex.

Her fingers lightly skipped over his body, soft as
snowflakes but warm as a beating heart. When she
stepped closer and lifted her face to him, he could not
resist kissing her parted lips.

Their bodies merged as they clutched at each other. His
hungry kisses found her cheek, her neck, the bud of her
ear. Her throbbing nipples pressed into his chest. She
curled one leg around his, grinding into his hard cock.

God, he wanted her. Wanted her so much there were no
words for it. Wanted her young, smooth, supple flesh.
Her firm, insistent mouth. Wanted to be inside her,
inside her hot cave. 

Somehow they had gotten to one of the frosted glass
walls of the shower. He was backed up against it and
Zosia had climbed onto him, arms and legs wrapped
around his body. The shower's jets played over them as
they kissed and fondled. His fingers found her entrance
and slipped inside. As he finger-fucked her, she
nibbled his neck, biting when he drove in deep.

Then he took his hand away. She raised herself until
her opening was rubbing the tip of his cock and took
him in, like sheathing a sword, down to the hilt.

She was tight, holding him firmly. He could feel her
pussy lips dragging along his rod as she lifted up,
then parting  liquidly as she eased back down.

It was all over too quickly, a hot rush building in his
loins and spurting into her, a fast deflation as he
slipped out.

They let the shower wash away their sin and dried each
other off with big, fluffy towels before she led him to
the bed to sin again.

Zosia had him get on his back. She crawled between his
legs and gave him a big smile before she kissed the end
of his flaccid cock and took the whole thing into her
mouth.

Her lips closed tight around it and she sucked so hard
her cheeks hollowed. That and the sight of it, with her
breasts hanging firm and luscious, soon had Steve hard
again.

She rose to her knees, putting his dick along the
furrow of her sex. He stared up at her body, so full of
promise, so untouched by age. It brought back memories
of his youth.

He had been quite the swordsman, he remembered.
Clean-cut enough to make parents trust him but close
enough to the dangerous crowd to let some of their
appeal rub off on him, he had his pick of women. And he
had picked them all. Sarah with her auburn curls,
lifting her cheerleader skirt so eagerly when he shyly
said she'd be his first. Working the same line to get
between Tawny's ebony legs and into Rebecca's prim
cotton panties. Mrs. Leonsett, the next-door neighbor's
long-legged trophy wife who really was his first. Sally
and Jackie and a dozen other surfer chicks all jumping
at the chance to jump the bones of the new meat when
Pete brought him into the circle of friends.

He saw all of those women in Zosia as she spread her
cunt with her fingers and fit it onto him like a glove.
From the very first stroke he knew it was going to be a
long session. He reached up and took her breasts in his
hands. There was nothing like the feel of a young
woman's breasts. He thought of Carole, letting him cop
a feel in the back of her brother's Dodge. Merritt, his
tutor in calculus, rewarding him for passed quizzes
with a minute's worth of nuzzling her round mounds with
the thick nipples that fascinated him so. Charlene, the
waitress at the diner, who loved the way the college
boys licked her pointy tits.

Zosia brought him back to the present as she picked up
the pace. The bed was creaking beneath them -- it
hadn't gotten a workout like that in ages. If ever. He
couldn't match her speed, so he just relaxed and let
her bounce away, sending his cock deep into her
pleasure zone again and again.

Every once in a while he'd feel close to the edge, but
the sensation would ebb away and he'd stay hard. Zosia
took advantage of his persistence to try out several
positions -- spinning on his dick to face away from
him, giving him the awesome sight of her jiggling ass;
rotating back to face him but bending far forward to
kiss him or far back, her hair sweeping across his
legs; on her back on the bed, their legs scissored
together.

She ended up on top again. He couldn't muster the
strength any more to reach her breasts; his hands
rested on her sweat-slick waist. The sheets were
tangled around them and all of the pillows had
disappeared over the side. As Zosia rode him closer and
closer, shaking and shuddering through her own second
orgasm, Steve strained to bury himself as deep as
possible, desperate to have all of her.

It had been so long since he'd been so thoroughly
fucked. The thought brought up memories of Paula. Of
Paula when they were dating. Over his head he could
look back at the portrait of her that hung over their
bed. Paula in her youth, fresh-faced, bright-eyed.
Looking virginal as a maiden in her frilly white dress,
but he knew the vixen she was when they were alone.

Or, rather, the vixen she once was. Even as Steve
arched his back, sensing the hot blast just seconds
away, grabbing Zosia's waist and pulling her down hard
onto him, he turned his head and saw Paula in her later
years. He knew it was only her dry-cleaned dresses
hanging on the rack, but his mind filled them in. Paula
just as trim, still so sexy that he saw other men
salivate when he took her out to dinner.

But that Paula had lost interest -- in him, or at least
in sex. She was usually too tired or too busy or too
something. Not that he was any great shakes in the ...

Reality broke in on his reverie. Zosia was screeching
at him to cum in her, and he was just about to fulfill
his wish. His cock thickened. "Yes," he groaned, "oh,
yes, god, Zosia, yes, yes, yesssss!"

It came in three great, draining explosions, blasts of
cum that boiled over Zosia's tight cunt and oozed into
the sheets already soaked beneath them. He stayed hard
for several minutes more, fucking her on autopilot,
stroke after stroke until she began to shout. "Mr.
Steve! You are so good! Strong like bull! I come! I
come! Aaaaaaah!"

At last Steve's dick began to recede in her warmth. He
let his head fall to the side, exhausted. Paula's face
floated before him again.

But something was amiss. He rolled his head to the
other side. There were her dresses. He rolled back.
There was Paula.

There really was Paula.

And she didn't look happy.

To be continued ...