Angie's Fuck

The smartly dressed, middle-aged redhead entered the lounge, biting her lip. He slumped in the velvet armchair, instantly recognizable from the naked selfie he sent her on his i-phone, her casual playmate for the afternoon. She gently shook her man awake, whispering that this was her first illicit affair, ?Angie, my name?s Angie. You agreed to sleep with me??He appraised his client. He?d never met a woman like her before. She was ageless, evergreen, with pure, tanned, perfect skin, roses-in-her-cheeks, melancholy-in-her-eyes, shocks of ginger curls kissing her shoulders. A proud face: high cheeks, piercing shiny grey eyes, a cute toffee nose, pursed, thin, rouged lips. A woman of considerable standing and upbringing. A woman to show respect. She was wearing a plain indigo dress, bared arms and legs, poppy red stilettoes. She looked fantastic. He tried to age her: late thirties, mid-forties, early fifties, impossible to tell. He softened in her presence, becoming more human, loving, caring, than he?d felt in his life, finding himself apologizing, sitting up straight for her, like her good boy, her puppy about to be fed, ?Did you bring the???She clumsily unzipped her leather bag, extracted a wad of used banknotes: £500 in £20 notes,?Mmmn.? She bit her lip, her stomach churned, she felt a hot, burning sensation in her urethra, she badly needed a piss, ?It?s all here, would you like to count it??He shook his head, sadly, feeling sorry for her. Her first time. She must be absolutely petrified,?No, there?s no need. Let?s wait until we?re safely inside the bedroom, shall we, Angie??She was touched by his consideration for her. His warmth towards her. He?d used her name. She felt a warm glow of contentment inside, she permitted herself a nervous smile, ?I need the loo. Can we go, please???Let me carry your bag.??Thank you.??If you?d like to follow me.?She wiped her lips with her wrinkled fingers, licking her fingertips with the end of her tongue, biting her rose gloss nails, overwhelming the man with her innocent, sensual allure, her scent, ?Thank you, I?d love to.?They enjoyed a polite smattering of conversation as they left the bar, taking the grand, spiral, crystal-chandeliered staircase up to the first floor?Angie sat on the loo, her indigo dress hitched as high as her breasts, beige satin knickers rolled down to her knees, thinking to herself, what am I doing here? What?s got into me all of a sudden? I should be ashamed of myself for what I am about to do. She let go of her dress, shut her eyes, and clasped kaçak iddaa her hands in her lap, as if in silent prayer, for what I am about to receive may somebody up there, someone who loves me, make me truly thankful.Prayer over, Angie sighed a long, deep sigh of relief. The luxury braided Palisades toilet roll hung off a brass ring on her left. She pulled off a thick wad, wiping herself, enjoying the softness of the tissue against her cleft, the imaginary softness of his fingers rubbing her clitoris, tenderly, rhythmically, caressing her in the way she used to love being caressed. He used to caress her the way she loved most. He made sweet passionate love to her on the sun lounger, the veranda, in the half-light of dawn, at her favourite time of day. Once, when her husband was alive.Angie dropped the wad into the lavatory pan, twisted her supple body at the waist, and reached for the tube. She removed the cap, squeezing an ample blob onto her fingertips, and rubbed it into her cunt, Forgive me Michael, she said to herself, opening her eyes, imagining his rugged face smiling at her from inside the vanity mirror, 'It?s been five years. I have to move on now, darling.?He was waiting for her next door, through the bedroom wall. Waiting to make love to her. One last, lingering moment of doubt, I?m not sure I can do this.Of course, you can, she told herself, You deserve it. After all you went through, caring for Michael.Angie shook herself, pulled up her briefs, flushed the toilet, threw the used tube into a bin under the wash hand basin, washed her hands, fluffed her ginger hair, and opened the bathroom door.She cast her eyes to the right, seeing the brass latch and chain drawn across, securing her inside. Angie would hate to be found out. How would she explain to her friends at the Bridge Club, Aquarobics, Swimming, Zumba, Pilates, Tennis Club for that matter? How could she explain? I can never tell them. Not in a thousand years. My friends wouldn?t understand. Think of all the gossip, the scandal in our village.Angie permitted herself a wry smile, He?s gone so far as to stick a blob of blue tack over the spyhole! He certainly isn?t taking any chances with me. I wonder how many other women he?s had here in this bedroom. Wonder if he?ll be kind, gentle, tender, with me, or will he hurt me?The nerves returned to haunt her. She found herself trembling, shuddering, at the idea of his lips kissing hers, his hands caressing her, his body interlocked with hers. Blinking her insidious fears aside, she stepped into kaçak bahis the bedroom. Facing her was a full-length, glass-fronted wardrobe with its doors closed. Next to that, a polished wooden shelf filled with notepads, the hotel guide, two menus, a full tray of cups and saucers, selected fine teas, coffees, shortbread, a kettle. At the far end of the shelf, next to some flutes and Slim Jims, stood an ice bucket filled with bottles of mineral water, a bottle of champagne, sparkling wine, miniatures of claret? Angie couldn?t tell from where she was standing. There was a narrow mirror over the shelf, a telephone for room service, a wireless internet connection. And, lying beside the ice bucket, a bunch of blood-red roses. She thought of the five hundred pounds tucked inside her overnight bag. He?d left it on the chair for her, unopened,How much did this cost? she asked herself, the champagne, wine, flowers, the room, the bed?The bed itself was sheer unadulterated luxury, a layered wedding cake of a bed: an eiderdown, indigo bedspread, fluffy cream pillows. All cosy and snug. Her heart warmed, she felt herself relax, Indigo. Cream. My favourite colours.A bed in which to curl up with her lover.He lay on top of the bed at the centre. He was naked, well-tanned, with an incredibly muscled physique: barrel chest, taut abs, extremely well hung. Angie could barely bring herself to look at him. She stood at the far end of the bed, turned away, facing their mirror, ?Can you help me unzip my dress, please??He didn?t respond, didn?t answer her. Instead, he lay spreadeagled on the king-size bed, studying her. Truth be told, he?d never encountered a woman so beautiful, fragile as a porcelain doll, so vulnerable, in his life. He found himself intrigued, beguiled by her, the sadness in those big, tired, grey eyes. He desperately wanted to help her.Neither of them spoke.Angie glanced up at the hideous plasma screen tv hanging off the wall to her left. There was a slideshow playing shifting images of Palisades: the restaurant, lounge, cocktail bar, a bedroom featuring a luxurious four-poster bed, a table setting for afternoon tea, the rooftop garden, palm tree, indoor heated swimming pool, underground car parking facilities. She found it distracting. Her brief encounter, her fleeting romance, she hoped, with him, her craved-for reawakening, would be testing enough for her without the distraction of an advertorial. Angie picked up the remote and switched it off.He closed his eyes and pictured Sian asleep in bed, her magnificent illegal bahis breasts cushioned by their duvet, kissing her soft lips before his illicit meeting with Angie. Sian, forever demanding, challenging, insistent that he make love to her until they created her new life, her baby. They?d been trying so long. He questioned whether she was infertile. How would their lives change if Sian?s dreams of motherhood ever came true? Did he want a child at all? How would he cope as the baby?s father - with his terrible shame? His mind returned to the fragile, porcelain doll.Was she a mother?The wall between the bedroom and bathroom was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirror, a hallmark of the lover?s suites at Palisades. Angie set down the remote. She suddenly realized they might be being watched. The floor-to-ceiling glass pane looked out over a square, a green space dotted with elm, oaks, a few wrought iron benches clustered round a stone water fountain, a statue of a cherub with a harp, spouting water into a basin. A tramp stretched out over one of the benches enjoying the warm afternoon sunshine. A plump elderly woman with her hair tied in a bun fed a flock of pigeons, titbits, crumbs of stale bread from a paper bag. Angie thought, that will be me one day.She drew the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. He was afraid of the dark. Angie broke the silence, ?Turn on the lights for me.?He fumbled for the dimmer light switch. The main bedroom light came on. Angie moved to the other side of the bed, more confident, ready for him. She stood facing the full-length mirror, watching him slide across the bed to be with her. He stood behind her, pressing his body against her indigo dress, her back. Offering him no resistance, she explained, her classy, articulated voice reduced to a whisper, ?My husband died five years ago. He was my pillar of support, my best friend, my lover. I talk to him every morning when I wake, pray for him at night before I go to bed. I think of him every minute of the day. My life is empty, pointless, without him.??How long were you married for???Thirty years.?He felt an overbearing sense of remorse, a compassion for her. Felt sorry for her. He wanted to love her, care for her, make up somehow for the loss she endured, her loneliness, do something good in his life for once, ?That must be really hard for you, Angie.??It is hard. Michael and I were inseparable. We played together, shared the same interests: golf, tennis, swimming, keeping ourselves fit. Even worked together: we set up a successful cleaning company.?He looked surprised, ?Cleaning company?! I thought you might work as a beauty therapist.?The slightest hint of a smile appeared on Angie?s thin, cherry-red lips, ?Why do think that??