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theGreatxIam

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

Paula got through the ceremony somehow, but she was
rattled. She could think about nothing but sex. Her
hallucinations continued. When they were at the altar
with the new minister, Paula even thought she smelled
sexual musk.

She spent the whole time sniffing. It so distracted her
that when time came for the renewal of the vows, Steve
had to poke her before she blurted out her "I do."

I do? I might as well, she thought. She had married
Steve because it seemed about time. She stuck out the
middle years because of the kids -- and the money. And
through the worst of the last years, it came down to
money.

For richer or for poorer, the minister had said. Well,
it certainly hadn't been for richer. For as much as
she'd done to push him ahead at work, he was always
complaining about how hard it was to make ends meet.
She couldn't get away from it, even on vacation. There
they'd be in the suite she'd picked out on top of the
cruise ship, and Steve would be whining over a few
bottles of champagne for the friends they'd met at
dinner.

Her father hadn't complained. But fat chance of getting
his money. Mommy was burning through it so fast she'd
even started hinting about moving in with them! Had her
eye on the guest bedroom next to Steve.

Why didn't Mommy just marry into more money? Paula
admitted to herself that she knew why. The same reason
she was standing in front of a church while a minister
nattered on about the sacredness of marriage.

Because old -- oldish -- women have virtually no resale
value. Sure, she could spear some poor schlub who
didn't have the money to afford a young wife, but what
was the point? She had that already.

And her schlub was hovering in her face. What's his
problem, Paula wondered.

"I said," the minister whispered, "he may now kiss the
bride. If that's all right with you?"

So Paula kissed him. Even gave him a little tongue,
give the guy a treat.

Then she pushed her tongue in deeper. Her right leg
rose and curled around him. Her fingers slid through
his thick black hair. She felt her pussy tingle.

"Ahem!" Rev. Garretson tapped Paula on the shoulder.
Then harder. Then she pried them apart, turning them to
face a shocked congregation.

Paula felt everyone's eyes on her, including her
husband's. Shit, she thought: she really needed to get
laid.

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

Steve was breathing hard by the time they got to the
reception. Even in a van filled with other people,
Paula had virtually attacked him. She seemed to have a
dozen hands. He'd push away one and another would sneak
in.

It wasn't just the audience that freaked him out. There
was the little matter of what had happened with Amanda
-- and what happened after what happened with Amanda. 

The minister had just slipped on her robe and walked
out. But Steve had to scramble back into his tux. No
time to clean up, and that was one concern. No time to
think, that was the other. He'd barely got his pants
zipped when Rick had knocked to bring him out for the
ceremony.

Something had seemed odd when he stood by the altar,
but Paula's bizarre behavior had distracted him.

It was only on the way out, when he reached into his
pants pocket to toss Rick his car keys, that Steve
realized something was missing.

His briefs.

He couldn't remember seeing them after his episode with
the minister. They must have fallen under a chair or --
with a sudden, sick feeling, he remembered seeing a
flash of white up the minister's sleeve.

No sooner had the thought come than they were bundled
into the van and Paula was groping him.

He was so loaded down with guilt from all his
infidelities that he knew he'd blurt out a confession
the second she discovered that he'd lost his underwear.
At their anniversary celebration, no less!

It was just so shameful. He loved Paula, truly he did.
There had been some unfortunate incidents -- he blamed
Pete, but it was hard to hold a grudge considering how
sick his old friend was. Yet Steve had, he reminded
himself, remained as faithful to his wife as she to
him.

Until that awful scene with Zosia, their nanny. Steve
had gotten quite a fright when he'd seen her in church.
She seemed to be with Bobbi Jo. A strange pairing.
Zosia certainly had been very hetero with him.

He winced again at the memory. His fatal flaw -- almost
fatal; he thanked his stars Paula had taken him back.
And that she hadn't found out about her mother.

But he had gone on, vowing to make it up to her, to
never stray again. Understandably, she'd been distant.
Even before her surgery, they hadn't -- well. Could it
really have been two years?

But there he was: married for twenty-five years, wife
recuperating, and suddenly he turns into Casanova!
Steve felt like a cad.

Could Paula know what he'd done? Was that why she was
so suddenly, uncharacteristically amorous?

Or had she at last forgiven his past transgression? Was
she trying to welcome him back into her good graces?

He didn't know which possibility made him feel worse.

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

Paula would have been furious if she hadn't been so
miserable, and she wouldn't have been so miserable if
she weren't so very, very drunk.

But who, she thought, who could blame her? Over the
hill, she was. So far over that even her husband didn't
want her.

She demanded another martini of the very cute bartender
and gave him what she thought was an alluring look. He
all but ignored her, slapping the drink down hastily
and then going back to chat with those actor friends of
Rick's. They were ignoring her, too, even when she
flashed them a bit of leg. That used to never fail, she
told herself glumly.

She made a wavering circuit of the tables. It only made
her sadder. All her friends -- and a fair sampling of
her former lovers, an overlapping set -- they all
looked so old.

The only young people in sight were friends of Rick or
Suzy. And two or three of them even had children of
their own.

That was a depressing notion, she thought. If Rick or
Suzy -- oh, god. A grandmother? She could just shoot
herself.

At least she felt safe for the time being. Rick was
always too busy with school. He hadn't had a
girlfriend; he hadn't even gone to prom. Suzy had been
the social butterfly, but even she hadn't brought a man
home in months -- and she certainly was around the
house enough. She'd been over so much recently that it
was as if she'd never left.

Suzy had volunteered to house-sit, too, during the
two-week vacation they were flying off to early
tomorrow morning. Which was silly; Billy would still be
there. Her cousin Billy, their live-in housekeeper.

Paula tossed down the rest of her martini with that
thought. Billy had been her fall-back lover ever since
he'd moved in. A good one, too. But thanks to the damn
vacation in damn Fiji, it would be two weeks before she
could find out if he was willing to pick up where
they'd left off.

No, she thought. No reason to wait. He was there,
somewhere. She'd find him and fuck him in the middle of
the dance floor if she had to.

Even the voice in Paula's head was slurred, so it took
some effort to track down Billy. Some guy in leather --
another of Rick's group, he said -- finally said he'd
seen someone looking like Billy going off to the coat
room.

She staggered from wall to wall down the long corridor,
the hubbub of the party fading away. 

The coat room was empty -- or so it first looked to
her. Then she noticed a scrum of woodland animals in
one corner. Holding her head still and squinting, she
was able to make out that it was actually a pile of
furs.

Oh, she thought, that's right. Several of her friends
would wear their stoles to hell if they thought people
would notice.

But the furs were ... moving? Paula wondered just how
drunk she was.

In ten seconds, she sobered up.

The furs boiled and fell away, revealing a nude couple
fucking like bunnies.

Billy, her cousin and housekeeper.

And her daughter Suzy.

Paula slumped against the doorframe, too aghast to
speak. She stared in horror and fascination.

Suzy, her dear Suzy, had her athletic legs wrapped
tightly around Billy's long frame. Paula noted that,
just as when he had fucked her, Billy was taking the
lazy approach, mostly keeping still and letting her
daughter do all the work.

Suzy didn't appear to mind in the least. She was
bucking energetically. Her whole body got into it, so
much so that her auburn hair was flying around as her
head thrashed among the minks and ermines.

As the couple began to roll around, Paula retreated
back into the corridor. But she held the door open just
enough to see.

Billy's nakedness she knew well. Her daughter's was
almost as familiar; Suzy's bikinis didn't hide much.
But seeing her daughter's breasts swinging free was
still a shock. They were so firm, so springy, so ... so
youthful. 

Paula was jealous. But more so, she identified with
Suzy. Yes, the hair was different, the facial structure
altered. But those were her eyes. That was her body,
twenty-five years ago. Those were here moves, when she
could move like that. That was her drive, taking sex
wherever and whenever she could.

As she watched Suzy roll on top and take complete
control, Paula imagined herself inside the room. That
was her fitting Billy's cock into her slick pussy. Her
twisting and shimmying with each stroke.

Paula felt her body respond. Even before her fingers
slipped under the waistband of her skirt, her cunt grew
hot and wet. As Suzy rose and fell, Paula's hand dipped
in and out.

Her nipples rose. A flush spread on her chest. Her
breathing became ragged.

Inside the room, two bodies merged. The pace quickened.
Sighs turned into moans, moans into strangled screams.

Outside, Paula's hand flew faster and faster. Her thumb
twiddled her clit while her fingers pushed deep within.
She choked back her own shouts as her body trembled.

Suzy's body was well past trembling. Her hair was a
halo of flame around her jerking head, her fists
pounding into Billy's chest. "Fuck yes!" she screamed.
"Oh, fuck, so good, so fuckin' gooood!"

Paula frantically frigged herself, desperate to get
off. So close, so close ...

"Paula?" Her mother's voice echoed down the corridor.
"Paula, is that you? It's time to go, honey. The limo's
here to take you to the airport hotel."

Just another minute, she thought. Just forty-five
seconds. Just ...

"Come on, Paula? Are you coming?"

Not now I'm not, she thought, pulling her hand out and
walking back. 

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

Just to be safe, Steve waited until Paula had gotten
into the limo's back seat, then jumped into the front. 

"To make sure the driver knows the way," he said. To
keep away from Paula's hands, he really meant.

She seemed -- he wasn't sure: Antsy? Angry? Definitely
on edge, all the way to the hotel. Like she was on a
hair-trigger. 

Even on the way out of the reception hall, she'd
practically run over some boy from the wedding next
door. And then she'd clung to him, apologizing, until
the kid had torn himself away and raced back to his
mommy.

In the limo, she was on the edge of her seat, head
snapping from one side to the other. Just the sight of
a couple of homeless guys had her nose pressed to the
glass.

At the hotel, she insisted on dragging her own luggage.
That really, really worried him. Paula never carried
her own bags. Was she sending him a message? Was it her
way of saying she didn't need anyone's help, she didn't
need a philandering husband?

That had to be it, he thought. He dreaded going up to
the room. She must be waiting to have it out with him
when they were alone.

Steve dawdled as much as he could at check-in. Finally
he had to go. He persuaded the bellboy to take the
luggage cart up in the elevator with them, so they
wouldn't be alone.

As soon as they got to the room, he stuffed a five into
the kid's hand. Grabbing his overnight bag, Steve
ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.

If I just stay in here long enough, he thought. Maybe
she'll fall asleep. Maybe he would be safe for a little
while longer.

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

The bathroom door clicked closed. Paula spun toward the
sound and then caught herself. She did not like feeling
out of control.

She took several deep breaths and calmed down enough to
stow their bags away. Steve was still in the bathroom.

She grabbed the remote and sat cross-legged on the bed.
The TV came on and she dashed through all the regular
channels. Nothing interested her. She flipped to the
pay-per-view movies. Seen it, she mentally chanted.
Seen it. Seen it.

Oh.

A woman with improbable breasts and a man with an
unlikely cock were screwing on a couch. Paula sat
transfixed for a minute, growing hotter and hornier,
before tearing herself away. She had to hold the remote
with both hands to steady it enough to shut off the
set.

Steve was still in the bathroom.

She felt as if she were going to burst out of her skin.
Searching for something to take her mind off sex, she
spied a painting above the bed, a still-life. Good, she
thought. The painting showed a banana. Not good.

He was still in there. Had he fallen in? She decided to
change for bed. She stripped and reached into her
overnight bag for the baggy flannel nightgown she'd
packed. She came out with a set of men's pajamas
instead. She threw them back and glared at the
bathroom. Bright idea, getting matching luggage.

Naked, Paula flopped onto the bed. Her feet kicked at
the mattress. She got up and snatched the guest folder
from the desk. She read through the amenities twice and
the room service menu three times. Steve was still
holed up.

She prowled the room, opening drawers. She opened the
Gideon Bible at random. The Song of Solomon. She
slammed it shut.

In one side of the armoire she found the mini-bar. She
was sorting through the cans and bottles when the shape
of a tiny whiskey bottle atop the fridge intrigued her.


Glancing at the bathroom door again, she squatted on
the floor and experimentally inserted the bottle in her
cunt. It slid in easily -- too easily. It was too
small.

She was about to replace it on the rack when she
paused. With a shrug, she cracked the seal and drained
the bottle.

She tried another bottle. Bigger, but not quite big
enough. She polished it off and tossed the empty in the
trash.

Rummaging through the fridge, she found a mini-bottle
of champagne. She held it an inch from her nose and
squinted. The metal cage holding the cork was a
problem. With shaky fingers, she removed it.

Tentatively she touched the glass to her pussy and
shivered. Rolling the bottle between her hands, she
warmed it up. She tried again. Better.

With the bulbous cork poised at her slit, Paula
stopped. Vaguely she pictured the cork exploding inside
her. She frowned and drew the bottle back.

She got up on the bed and sat cross-legged, staring at
the bottle in her hand.

Suddenly her face broke out in a crooked smile. She
twisted the cork until it came loose with a muffled
plop. She clamped her lips on top, letting the bubbly
spume fill her mouth. She swallowed, giggling so much
she almost choked.

She took another swig. Some of the champagne
overflowed, dripping off her chin onto her breasts. She
rubbed it in, feeling her nipples harden under her
palms.

Three more swallows emptied the bottle. Paula eased the
neck between her cunt lips, hissing in pleasure at the
fit. 

She pushed it in, so far she had to use her fingertips
to prise it out. In. Out. In. Out. Her ass dug into the
bed. In. Out. She fell back, spreading her legs,
holding on to the bottle with one hand as the other
played with her tits. In. Out.

Faster she went, bouncing on the bed. In. Out.
InOutInOutIn ...

The bottle, slick with her juices, shot out of her
pussy. It caught the edge of the armoire with a sharp
report and clanged into the garbage can.

Paula scrambled off the bed and reached into the can,
then yanked her hand back and stuck her finger in her
mouth. Sucking on it, she bent over and peered into the
garbage can. A jagged edge showed where the top inch of
the bottle had broken off.

Paula frowned. She pulled the finger from her mouth and
stared at it, watching a tiny bit of blood bead up. She
licked it off; no more appeared.

She glanced at the garbage again. Her frown deepened.

A noise made her look up.

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

Steve sat on the toilet lid, his head pressed to the
cool tiles of the bathroom wall.

He was naked, his clothes piled beside Paula's
overnight bag.

He had spent the last ten minutes arguing with himself.
Should he keep waiting for the noises from the bedroom
to stop, in hopes of Paula falling asleep? Or was he
only making it worse by delaying, probably getting her
even angrier?

A sharp noise startled him. His forehead bounced
painfully on the tile.

Squaring his shoulders, he got up and walked out of the
bathroom.

His eyes met Paula's. They stood like statues, naked, a
few feet apart.

She had a wild look in her eye. A look that took him
back more than twenty-five years, to the hot, unbridled
passion they'd known before they married.

He had prepared several versions of an apology speech,
but all of them vanished from his mind.

In his head, he saw her as she was. Young, vibrant, mad
for him. A blonde goddess. 

His body responded. His lips parted.

"My god," he said, "you're ... you're so beautiful."

Paula was on him in an instant, her lush curves fitted
to him. Her lips sought his. Their arms wrapped around
each other tightly. They kissed wildly, tongues
wrestling. His hard cock was trapped between them,
spreading sticky pre-cum on her still-flat stomach. Her
fingers entwined in his hair, pulling him closer.

He lost track of time and space. Without knowing how,
he found that they had ended up on the bed. She was on
her back, legs bent, one arm extended toward him with
its fingers curled in invitation.

Steve crawled to her. His kissed travelled up her
smooth, slim legs. She purred in delight as he nibbled
on her soft inner thighs, his fingertips already
fluttering over the wet folds of her entrance.

As his tongue neared her pussy, she began to growl. Her
hands clutched at the sheets, tugging them loose. "Oh,
damn," she said, "don't tease me. I need it now. Suck
my pussy! Suck it, please!"

His nostrils flared. It had been ages since he'd seen
her like that. He felt the years fall away and he was a
young man again, in a continuous state of arousal and a
continuous state of astonishment that he had landed
such a sexy treasure.

Steve curled his tongue and pressed it into her,
finding her clit on the first try. 

"Yes." Paula whispered, "yes, lover!"

His fingers pushed into her cunt, plunging deep as he
tongued her love button. Her musky juices slathered his
face and hands as she writhed beneath him.

"God, just a little more," she said. "Faster, it's
almost there!"

His finger flew like a sewing machine needle and his
tongue flitted over her clit.

Her orgasm lifted her ass off the bed. Her hands closed
on his head, clamping him in place as she shuddered
through the aftershocks.

Scarcely had she stopped shaking than she was pulling
on his shoulders, dragging him up. He suckled her
breasts on the way, but she urged him on. "Put your
cock in me. I need it so bad. I want to feel you inside
me, deep inside me!"

He knelt in place. She grabbed his dick and pointed it
at her slit, humping up at it like a treat held just
out of reach. He slid into her.

His breath flew out. She was so wet and ready for him,
his rod drove all the way in, one smooth stroke.

He paused, savoring the sensations, but her pussy was
clutching at him insistently, the bedsprings already
beginning to squeak. Steve withdrew almost completely
and then plunged in again. It was as good as the first
stroke -- as good as the very first time, too.

They rode together for forty minutes. Too lost in lust
to care about the subtleties, they never changed
position. Paula had to twice grab pillows and stuff
them behind her head as a cushion against banging into
the headboard; the first pillow had been driven down
into the narrow space between the mattress and the
wall. Steve's arms ached; he leaned first on one, then
the other, finally ending up on his elbows, his body
half-resting on Paula's.

Sweat matted his hair and lent a salty tang to every
kiss. He frequently had to turn his face aside,
nuzzling her neck while he gasped for air.

Paula shouted, whispered, sighed to him. "Fuck me,
Steve. Just like that -- nice and slow. Ohhh, yesss.
That's just the way."

He had no words, just groans of ecstasy. So many times
he felt close but still his cock was hard, driving into
her, matching her thrust for thrust.

At last, at last, a keening moan his only warning to
her, Steve's cock swelled and then spurted hot jets of
cum into her overflowing pussy. Fluids oozed out,
soaking the sheets even more. 

Paula came with him, her breath growing choppy, her
legs wrapping around his ass to hold him inside her.

After several more minutes she released him. He rolled
off onto a dry part of the bed. She followed, snuggling
close.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

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

Paula awoke and looked around her. It took a minute for
her to remember where she was.

As memory returned, she stretched and felt tired
muscles protest. A glance at the clock radio told her
they had plenty of time to make their flight. The
movement of her head, though, set off a wave of nausea.

She crawled out of bed and found her bag of pills and
ointments. Heavily medicated, she spent the next thirty
hours in a haze, being led from one place to another,
nibbling at whatever food was put in front of her,
dutifully shuffling through checkpoints and down ramps.
At some point, without noticing the transition, she
slipped into bed and fell asleep again.

She awoke the next morning refreshed. As her eyes tried
to focus, a perfumed breeze drew her attention to an
open window.

Even without her contacts, she could make out the
glories of a tropical sunrise. A word floated up from
the recesses of her mind: Tahiti.

She stirred and felt the sheets on her naked flesh. Her
arm brushed her husband, still asleep beside her.

Grinning to herself, Paula ducked under the covers and
put her lips to his soft penis. As she suckled it, his
cock grew hard and long. 

She licked and nibbled, covered it with her mouth and
stroked it with her hands. Steve awoke, kicking aside
the sheet.

She climbed atop him, put his rod inside her.

They spent the whole morning in bed, trying out every
position. She came twice. He came inside her; she
sucked him back to life and got back on top.

They did it fast; they took their time. She
rediscovered the spot just below his right earlobe that
drove him crazy when she licked it. He remembered that
corkscrew maneuver that made her grit her teeth in
ecstatic agony.

They finished side by side, legs entwined, lazily
stroking to mutual climax.

When they showered -- sneaking in a few more hungry
kisses -- and got dressed, they discovered their
breakfast tray warming in the midday sun. The coffee
was flat and the milk curdled, but they munched on dry
cereal and fed each other bites of croissant and peach,
washed down with lukewarm orange juice.

After a swim in the ocean they sat side by side on the
porch of their hut at the edge of the beach.

Paula looked at Steve. His recent exercise and diet
really showed, she thought. And with the kids paying
their own way, he said they'd be able to afford more
vacations like Tahiti.

Her pussy tingled, adding its vote.

My husband, she mused. I think I'll keep him.

The End (of the story and of the Anniversary Waltz
series)