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theGreatxIam

25 Years of Foreplay Is Just About Enough
Part 1 (of 2)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Paula Oldham counted five reasons to be pissed, ticking
them off on her fingers. She would have gone higher but
she needed the other hand to haul her bag to the
luggage cart.

One, she counted, starting with the most recent: The
peach-fuzzed limo driver called her ma'am. Ma'am was
for old ladies. She showed him who was a ma'am,
grabbing her suitcase out of his hand. It would have
been a better idea if it weren't so damn heavy.

Two was that exhibition she'd witnessed at the end of
the reception. How dare they? And on her twenty-fifth
anniversary, no less.

Of course, that was three. Twenty-five years of wedded
-- well, not bliss. But the quality of their marriage
wasn't what pissed her off. It was the simple fact that
no one who has a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is
ever going to be a young woman again.

Try as she might, she could not hold back the forces of
nature without resorting to unnatural resources. No
longer could she boast that her blonde hair was all her
own. No longer did all her assets stay in their
assigned places without artificial support. No longer
was her primary cosmetic goal seduction; it was frankly
camouflage.

Sure, she had done all her exercises and eaten right
and all that. Not an ounce of fat on her. But what was
the use of looking after your outsides when your
insides were falling apart? Which was four: that damn
operation. Why didn't Teri need an operation? She'd let
herself get seedier with every one of her five kids,
but still she was in great health. Or Pete? The beating
his last ex-wife gave him should have been enough to
put him in the hospital for a month, and he had gotten
skinny as a stick, but he just kept shuffling on.

No, it was Paula who had to go under the knife. OK, the
operation was a success, but it wasn't fair that she
should have had to go through it at all. And it sure
wasn't fair that she should have to live by the
doctor's orders.

Which was five: no sex. No sex! For three months. Was
that doctor insane? Or a eunuch?

So this lunatic doctor sentences her to three months
without sex. Which finally end on her anniversary
night, thank you very much, gods of irony. What good
does that do her? After all she'd been through?

You try explaining to a lover why you're putting
yourself on ice. Tell the truth? Yeah, that would do
wonders for your sex appeal. Guys do not want damaged
goods. So you lie, and they have the gall to not
believe you. Or they do, but what difference does it
make, because in three months they'll forget you
anyway.

And don't think it will do any good to offer other ways
to satisfy them. That just brings up more questions you
don't want to answer. 

That was how crappy the last three months had been. No
sex, no lovers left. She was going to have to start all
over again, and she wasn't as young as when she could
get guys just by winking. Shit. She couldn't even
seduce her husband. And she needed it bad.

Paula slammed the bag onto the luggage trolley and
straightened up. Steve was still jabbering with the
desk clerk. She made a bee-line to a comfy-looking
chair and plopped into it, crossing her legs. That felt
good, she thought. She rubbed her ankles, continuing up
her silky hose to her thighs, brushing aside the bottom
of her short, dark green dress before she remembered
where she was.

When she looked up, she caught the bellboy staring at
her legs. That felt good. He was just a bellboy, with
emphasis on the boy. But at least he was looking.

For that matter, she thought, so had the
barely-an-adult stripper in his barely-there costume at
her barely-entertaining bachelorette party the week
before.

The guy, who said his name was Guy, was just about the
only thing that made the party worthwhile. Well, that
and the booze.

Certainly not the company. Most of Paula's friends had
gotten too old to be fun, like saggy, baggy Teri. And
the ones who hadn't -- they were even more annoying.
Lucy, the mouse who grew up to be a princess thanks to
her husband's cash, was still dipping into the money
supply for regular tuneups. Her face was beginning to
get that wind-tunnel look and the birthmark she used to
have on her cheek was somewhere around her temple now,
but all men noticed was that her tits and ass were as
perky as ever.

Since Lucy had modeled her makeover on the young Paula,
she produced a spooky Dorian Grey effect whenever they
were in the same room together. Paula did not
appreciate feeling like the dusty portrait up in the
attic.

Bobbi Jo at least had the decency to age, but she
somehow had continued to add to her string of
"proteges." The latest was an Asian girl -- May Lin
couldn't have been more than eighteen -- who had such
an amazing rack on her small frame that you always
expected her to tip over.

It was Bobbi Jo who insisted on the bachelorette party,
"just like old times," but it was Lucy who arranged for
the stripper and offered the use of her home.

He was cute; Paula would give him that. Six-foot-three,
easy. Built, too, but not like those weird gym dandies
who get so over-muscled they look like Michelin Men.
Guy had just the right bulges -- in all the right
places, as he proved when he finally peeled off his
Speedo.

Paula had been watching him watching her, and she took
personal credit for the condition of his cock when it
bounced into view.

Since she felt responsible for his erection, it seemed
only right that she take care of it for him. Elbowing
that tramp Lucy aside, Paula pulled Guy to her and
kissed his waggling cockhead.

That mix of firm and yielding, the way the bulbous head
felt against her pursed lips -- she'd missed that so
much. She spent several minutes just tasting his rod
all over with licks and nibbles before she opened her
mouth and swallowed him.

Just like riding a bicycle, she told herself as Guy
began to moan. He soon tried to grab her head and fuck
her mouth, but she was having none of that. It had been
too long. She wasn't letting anyone rush her.

His moans turned into whimpers and his legs started to
shake. He begged her to get him off. But Paula just
pushed him down to the floor and knelt next to him,
using everything she'd learned to keep him on the edge.

Finally the scent of his passion got to her -- that,
and the ache in her jaw. She fucked him with the tight
ring of her lips while jacking him off at the base. He
burst with a roar, splashing cum into her mouth like a
fountain. She let most of it drip out, guessing Lucy
would be delighted to clean him off.

She guessed right. But when Lucy brought his cock back
and tried to mount him, Guy begged off, saying he was
too tired. He grabbed up his costume and ran off to the
bathroom to put on his street clothes.

He didn't look too tired when Paula went back a few
minutes later, intending to slip him her phone number
and an invitation to call her in a couple of weeks.

She knocked on the bathroom door but got no response.
It sounded like the shower was running, so she went
inside to slip her info into his bag.

There was more than one silhouette behind the foggy
shower door. And to gauge by the groans that got louder
and louder, whoever was in there with him was getting
one hell of a fuck. A fuck that should have been hers,
Paula thought.

She could make out enough from the fuzzy outlines to
see that the woman was wrapped around Guy, arms
encircling his neck, legs gripping his waist. He was
standing straight and tall. Paula felt her pussy grow
wet and cursed her operation.

A hand shot out of the fog and slapped onto the shower
door, palm out. The groans were becoming shrieks. Paula
was trying to remember which of the women had been
missing from the living room when three things happened
at once: The rest of the women squeezed into the
bathroom to see what all the noise was about; the
shrieks from the shower warbled into the unmistakable
sound of a woman in orgasm; and Bobbi Jo matched the
volume with her scream when she recognized May Lin.

Paula was so lost in the memory that she jumped when
her husband tapped her on the shoulder. "Room's ready,"
he said.

As she squeezed into the elevator with Steve and the
luggage trolley and the bellboy, she had a fierce
desire to cup the kid's ass and proposition him right
in front of her husband. Of course, she'd felt the same
way about their driver, even after that "ma'am." And
about the 12-year-old she'd bumped into leaving the
reception. And two old bums they'd passed in the limo. 

God, she thought, she was horny.

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

Steve's hand hovered over the bag of Fritos. An old
movie, a can of Miller -- he pulled his hand back and
patted his gut. 

It really was shrinking, he assured himself. Slow but
steady. Don't give up.

He grabbed a couple of rice cakes and a bottle of water
from the fridge. Sinking into his recliner, he promised
himself he'd get in a half-hour of exercise after the
movie.

The doorbell rang. He grunted and got up. This was
supposed to be a quiet night. Paula had given him a lot
of those. Yesterday she'd been out all night at her
bachelorette party; then it was something about having
to go out with Bobbi Jo to cheer her up.

Who was supposed to cheer him up? For that matter,
where was his bachelor party? The only thing he got to
prepare for their anniversary was the bill -- and it
was a whopper.

In a sour mood, he opened the front door. He almost
slammed it closed again, but the woman outside held out
a hand and caught it.

Steve stared. "This isn't Halloween," he said. "What
gives?"

The blonde in the nurse's uniform with the glittering
silver mask silently handed him an envelope. While he
tore it open, she stepped past him into the house,
carrying a boombox.

"Happy Anniversary," the card in his hand read. "You
didn't go to a bachelor party, so it's coming to you,
courtesy of your loving wife."

He was still puzzling over the message when music began
blaring from his bedroom. He followed the sound.

As he walked into the room, the nurse grabbed him and
pushed him onto the bed. She stepped back and began to
sway. The sway became a dance. The dance became a
strip. 

His questions were ignored. The woman just moved to the
music as she peeled off her tight-fitting white dress
to reveal a stacked body in silky lingerie. 

She wiggled her chest in his face a few times before
taking off her bra and tossing it in his lap. It landed
on the rising bulge in his sweatpants.

As the woman danced and jiggled, Steve couldn't get
over the impression that she looked familiar. That
seemed unlikely. He didn't know a lot of strippers.
Well, not any.

With her tits bouncing, she was groping herself all
over. When her hand dove inside her panties, Steve
almost came in his shorts. This was getting way out of
bounds, he thought. Paula would never have set this up.
He stood up to protest.

The stripper stepped forward and pushed him back down.
An instant later she had ripped off her panties. She
was down to a garter belt, white stockings, towering
white heels, the mask and a nurse's cap. Everything
else was bare flesh.

She straddled his legs and pushed his back onto the
mattress. Steve tried to struggle, but that only
allowed her to grind her naked pussy against his
crotch.

He tried to wriggle away. She grabbed hold of his waist
and yanked off his sweatpants and shorts. His cock
bobbed in the air, rock hard.

Before he could react, her lips were on his rod. He
lost a lot of his will to fight as he gave in to
desire.

She sucked him deep. He closed his eyes and sighed. It
didn't take long before he was spurting hot jism down
her throat.

She held him in her mouth until he got hard again.
Quickly she crawled on top of him, but he mustered his
strength and pushed her off. Scrambling off the bed, he
grabbed a corner of the duvet to cover himself.

"Get out," he said. "I'm a married man! I shouldn't --
you --"

The stripper plucked off her mask.

Steve gasped.

"Lucy!"

"Paula asked me to help you out," she said. "With her
being -- out of circulation, so to speak -- I'm her
gift to you. See, it's all right. No risk, no mess.
Don't you like your present?"

She was on her back, her legs spread. Steve was
stunned. He realized why her body had been so familiar.
She looked like Paula had when they were first married.

He hesitated. "Are you sure Paula meant --"

Lucy used two fingers to spread her pussy lips apart.
"It was her idea," she purred.

Steve yanked off his T-shirt and climbed onto the bed.

He poised over her cunt, ready to tongue her, but she
pulled him up. "I'm more than ready," she said.

His dick slid into her smoothly. They fell immediately
into rhythm, her legs spread wide to let him push all
the way in.

When he kissed her, she tasted like sweet wine. Her
tongue sought out his lustily. Her nails dug into his
back and they screwed like cats in a sack.

It went on for an hour, rolling around on his bed. He
ended up on his knees behind her, gripping her tits as
his balls slapped against her flesh, burying his rod in
her again and again.

They came together, a hot rush of cum squirting out as
she slammed her ass back at him.

Minutes later, as she was getting dressed, Lucy paused
and cleared her throat. Steve looked up.

"There is one thing I should tell you," she said.
"About Paula asking me to do this? That might not have
been exactly true."

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

Paula tapped her foot impatiently. Where were the girls
with her gown?

She had not been thrilled with the idea of a full-blown
ceremony, anyway. Marching down the aisle and
everything! But Suzy had been so insistent -- "Please,
Mom! You'll look great!" What had really convinced her,
though, was when she thought of having all her old
bridesmaids relive their roles, too. 

The first time around, Paula had given in to their
pleas and selected bridesmaids dresses that were just
this side of hideous. In the years since, though, she
herself had been forced to endure more crinoline
catastrophes than one woman could bear. 

It had taken her weeks to find the perfect revenge
dresses. Every bridesmaid gown is designed to make even
the ugliest bride look stunning in comparison, but
Paula had special needs: a bustle to emphasize Teri's
ass, puffy sleeves to draw the eyes away from Lucy's
chest, a high waistline to make it look like lanky
Bobbi Jo was on stilts. The floppy sun hats covering
their faces were a nice touch, but it was just the
right shade of dead-frog green that made them perfect.

With all the time choosing those dresses took, Paula
pushed the deadline on her own gown. No repeat for her,
especially not when her cleavage wasn't where it used
to be. All the fittings had gone down to the wire. It
was an hour to the wedding and still no dress!

She wrapped her dressing gown around her and went off
to look for something to drink. At least that would
kill some time.

She didn't see them until she almost stepped on their
bodies, wrapped in a 69 on the kitchen floor. 

One participant was obvious. Bobbi Jo's puff of frizzy
red hair was buried between some other woman's legs.
From the sound of it, they were both enjoying
themselves.

Paula was annoyed. Bobbi Jo had apparently gotten over
her break-up with May Lin quickly. But why did she have
to get over it on Paula's kitchen floor? 

She stepped around the couple, who remained quite
oblivious, and snatched a bottle of Chardonnay from the
fridge. Pouring a large glass, she sipped and eyed the
lovers, who were going at it so enthusiastically that
they were beginning to spin around the floor.

The woman on the bottom looked vaguely familiar. It
wasn't so much the lush black hair, which was mopping
her floor. It was something about her technique.

Paula had some experience with muff diving herself --
even with Bobbi Jo, she mused. She let her mind slip
back over past lesbian interludes. She knew she was
torturing herself; when the doctor had said no sex, she
hadn't dared ask if there were certain exceptions. So
it had been a very dry three months. 

Through it all, she had constantly had to battle her
memories. Just the sight of a name in her address book
could send her into a sexual funk, remembering old
times.

The visions bedeviling her as she watched the kitchen
coupling had her locked in passionate embrace with one
woman after another. It had been a long time since the
last time, though. After she'd caught their nanny
fucking her husband, she'd bounced the chippie out --
at the sacrifice to her own sex life. Nanny had been a
good lover. Enthusiastic. Even agg--

Paula stomped over to the couple and heaved Bobbi Jo's
legs aside. An all-too familiar face looked up at her.

"Hi, Mrs. Steve," Nanny said.

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

Steve cursed and pounded the steering wheel. Cuff
links! He'd forgotten the damn cuff links.

He was already running late. No time to drive back to
his son Rick's dorm room and pick them up. He'd have to
stop at home at his way to the church and get another
pair.

If he'd had his way and stayed at home in the first
place, this wouldn't have happened. But Paula's mom had
gone on and on about not seeing "the bride" before "the
wedding." And Steve had learned to be wary of Mrs.
Noonan. A well-preserved widow with money to burn, she
tended to get her way.

She also tended to get in the way. And, sure enough, as
he pulled up to the house she was pulling in right
behind him. Mrs. Noonan ran up to him before he could
get to the door, talking about bad luck. His
explanation about cuff links just drew a wink from her.

"Sure," she said. "Cuff links. Don't fool me, mister. I
know what you're really here for. But you'll just have
to wait for later."

"Mrs. Noonan," Steve said patiently. "Really, I need
those cuff links." He waved his hands in her face,
sleeves flapping loose. "See?"

She looked doubtful. "Well, you wait here, and I'll get
them for you. But don't move."

"Can I at least use the bathroom?"

Mrs. Noonan put her hands on her shapely hips. "All
right. But use the one off the garage -- and no peeking
down the hallway!"

She followed him in and stood to watch him close the
door. Steve felt like he was under armed guard.

He zipped down and aimed. That was a relief.

He was shaking off when the door opened. Steve almost
splashed his rented tux. What the hell?

"Here, Steve," Mrs. Noonan said. "These should -- oh,
my, Steve."

"Mrs. Noonan! Don't you knock?"

"Now, Steve, it's not like I've never seen it before."

She was right, of course, Steve thought with shame. He
had tried to wipe out all memories of that awful time
he and Paula had come so close to splitting
permanently. He had been feeling vulnerable, and Mrs.
Noonan had seduced him -- much as she appeared to be
trying to do now, locking the door behind her and
advancing on him as she reached behind and unzipped her
dress.

Her body was as he remembered it. Unfortunately so,
because his cock remembered, too, and stiffened. He
couldn't stuff it back in his pants.

Mrs. Noonan took off her bra and peeled off her
pantyhose.  Steve backed up but was stopped by the
wall. There was nowhere to run.

He tried to talk her out of it, but she grabbed his
cock and began massaging it. Inevitably, it grew longer
and harder. Steve stood helpless as she dropped to her
knees. If he made too much noise, he might alert Paula.
That could only make things worse.

His mother-in-law kissed the tip of his dick and teased
it with her tongue until pre-cum leaked out. She rubbed
his cock on her rouged cheeks, a sight so stirring that
he had to bite his knuckles to keep from groaning.

She had him so worked up that when she at last took him
in her mouth, he grabbed her head and held it as he
pumped rapidly between her dark red lips.

Soon he was gushing into her. She slowly licked him
off. "There," she said, patting his crotch. "I knew
what you really needed."

As she was getting to her feet, Steve dodged around her
and made his escape, unlocking the door and racing out
of the house. 

His next-door neighbor Fred was mowing the lawn as
Steve jumped into his car. As he pulled out, he saw
Fred push the mower right through the middle of a bed
of petunias.

Crazy coot, Steve thought. Then he felt the breeze of
the air conditioning on his still-exposed cock. He
glanced up as he zipped and saw Mrs. Noonan stop just
outside the open garage door and throw her hands over
her naked body.

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

Having had three months to work on it, Paula was proud
of her little adage: "Abstinence makes the mind go
wander."

Her mind certainly was roaming off the tracks. She
wasn't completely nuts. That really had been her former
nanny on her kitchen floor, mouth to cunt with Bobbi
Jo. Paula's old friend had apologized for losing
control with her new protege, yet the two of them had
made goo-goo eyes at each other all the way over to
church in the van.

But what about Lucy? She was strutting around like a
peacock, and the similarity wasn't just in the massive
bow tacked to her bustle. What was she so proud of? She
almost smirked, and with all that had been done to
Lucy's face, achieving any kind of expression took
major effort.

Even her mother was acting strange. She'd walked into
Paula's room at home sporting what certainly looked
like a glob of cum on her cheek. Paula wondered if she
was seeing things. Where would Mom find someone to
blow? All her boyfriends were back in Vegas, along with
the dwindling remnants of what should have been Paula's
inheritance.

But if she was seeing things, she was hearing them,
too. Even there in church, when she was waiting in the
bride's room, she could have sworn she heard a couple
fucking. In church? Impossible. It had to be a
hallucination. Paula shook her head. Three months of
abstinence was definitely making her mind wander.

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

Steve was waiting in the little room at the front of
the church. He was surprised to realize he was almost
as nervous as when they'd been married for real.

That time, he thought, his problem had been not enough
sex. He grimaced as he remembered coming in his tux
pants at the altar and having to fend off Paula lest
she notice the evidence.

This time around, it was too much sex. What if Paula
somehow found out about Lucy? Or -- he shuddered -- her
own mother? 

At least the last time he'd had Pete to calm him down.
Why did the old fool have to pick this week to get
busted for major possession? After all those early
years when he ingested for recreation, he gets arrested
for the stash he used to ease his pain.

Rick had been nice enough to fill in. He couldn't talk
this stuff over with Rick. Though the kid probably
would have the answers. Steve was proud of his son.
Working on a master's degree in black history, smart as
a whip. Handsome, too. 

Steve peered into the small mirror on the wall. There
was a time he'd considered himself handsome, too.
Before the grey had crept into his sideburns. Before
those wrinkles had snuck onto his face. He rubbed his
chin and frowned. Experimentally, he pressed his
fingers to his temples and pulled back.

"Thinking of a tuck? Don't  forget, vanity is a sin!"

Steve turned, startled at the minister's voice. It took
some getting used to, after all those years of Rev.
Michaels. It was a shame the old guy had to leave, and
after such a scandal.

His replacement, Rev. Garretson, was a good preacher,
Steve supposed. But he found it hard to get used to
hearing sermons in such a soft voice. Having a woman
minister, and such a young one at that -- it was just
hard to get used to.

And she'd caught him at the mirror. He could feel his
face turn red.

She laughed -- she did that as softly as she spoke --
and patted his shoulder. "I was just joking," she said.
"Though I don't think you should consider plastic
surgery." 

She lightly brushed the side of his face with her ebony
fingers. "Your face has tremendous character."

Steve preened, just a bit. It wasn't every day he got
such a compliment, especially from a woman so
beautiful. Even in the loose drape of her
rainbow-colored robe, her very developed shape was
obvious. And  the minister's oval face was all sweeping
curves like a polished carving, eyes wide against the
dark, shining skin, all under a close-fitting cap of
kinked black hair.

He realized that he was staring, and she had noticed.
"Sorry, Rev. Garretson, I --"

"Call me Amanda," she said.

"Sorry, Amanda," he said. "I guess I'm a little
nervous."

"That's why I came in," she said. "A little service I
provide."

He blinked. "What?"

Her brown eyes twinkled. "Back rubs. Back rubs for
bridegrooms. I worked my way through theology school as
a masseuse. Would you turn around?"

Steve dragged his folding chair around and sat down.
Amanda's strong fingers dug into his shoulders. Hard
knots of tension dissolved under her touch.

She had him bend forward so she could take off his
jacket and reach the sore points on his back. Then she
pulled him back and returned to his shoulders. Steve's
head rolled from side to side as his muscles sang for
joy.

"I see you like it," she said. "Great. I've been
noticing you in church. You look like you've had a lot
of tension."

He moaned his "yes."

Amanda's talented fingers rode over his shoulders and
down his chest as she leaned close. He could feel her
warm breath on his ear. Her hands danced toward each
other.

"Just relax," she said. "Let me do everything. I can
tell just what you need."

He was so relaxed, eyes blissfully closed, that he
didn't realize what was happening as her fingers began
to undo his buttons. Even when she pulled his shirt
open and touched his bare flesh, he thought with some
confusion that it was just part of the massage.

Then her tongue flicked into his ear. Steve almost
leaped from the chair.

"Rev. Garretson!"

Her arms closed around him and she nuzzled his neck.
"Ah, ah! Amanda."

"Amanda," he said. "I don't -- oh!"

She had moved around to face him and lifted up her
ceremonial robe. She was stark naked underneath.

Her body took his breath away, and his resistance with
it.

She helped him remove the rest of his clothes. He sat
down again and she straddled him, her pussy brushing
his hardening cock. It took only a little bit of
massage before he was fully erect.

She rose just enough to fit him into position and then
sank down. Her tightness surprised and delighted him.

Her full lips pressed eagerly to his mouth and her full
breasts with thick, rubbery nipples squashed against
his chest. She started fast, banging away so fast that
the metal chair squeaked and shuffled across the floor
until it was resting against a wall. The chair back
thumped into the wall over and over.

Suddenly the minister's back arched away from him and
she mewled like a kitten before changing to breathy
howls.

After that she slowed down. She would rise up so that
only the very tip of his cock was snuggled in her wet
folds, then s-l-i-d-e down, letting his dick slowly
penetrate her to its very root.

Her technique kept him just this side of climax for
agonizing minutes before at last he felt release
approaching. They moaned in unison, closer, closer.
Then the hot rush through his loins and out into the
minister's tight pussy, and the last tiny bits of
tension escaping with it.

To be continued ...