After that eye-opening afternoon with Mrs Turner, I was slightly concerned that it would be awkward at work, but I needn’t have worried. She was such an ebullient character, when not in the throes of passion, that she stormed around the place as normal and I continued to be reprimanded and chastised along with everyone else.
Sometimes I would try to catch her eye, to share the knowledge that only the two of us had, that there was in fact a two-of-us, but she wouldn’t go along with it. I suppose it was part of her professionalism: she was the general of this army, the boss of all she surveyed in the small hotel, and she did things her way.
News spread that Geoffrey, her husband, wasn’t coming back before the end of the season. His mother was ill and he was staying to keep an eye on her up in Yorkshire, while things wound down here on the Norfolk coast.
One day I was summoned.
“Peter. My office please.”
In the office, a surprisingly homely affair with paintings and photographs and comfortable chairs, I found Mrs Turner sitting at her desk and her daughter Heather standing beside her. Heather, as I explained before, was a year or two older than me and quite attractive, and I thought her parents had been trying to fix me up with her before Mrs T had dropped her bombshell along with her bathrobe.
“As you have probably heard, knowing what this place is like,” Mrs Turner began, “Geoffrey is staying with his mother because she’s poorly. So we’re a bit short in the supervisory department. We need someone to take a bit of responsibility.’
She offered me a brief promotion that would involve running the bar, staying late and generally helping out. It would only be for a few weeks but would look good on my CV.
“So this afternoon,” Mrs T said, “if you stay behind I’ll show you a few things.” Again I glanced at her eyes for a coded message, but there was none.
By one o’clock the place was dead, all the staff gone home and the guests out, as we didn’t serve lunch. I reported to the office and the two of us did a quick tour of the premises. Mrs Turner threw open the door of the staff hut and said, “Okay. Nobody having sex on the floor. Good.”
Then her eyes did flick up to mine and with her index finger she gave the slightest of caresses to the penis that hung innocently in my trousers. It flushed with blood immediately and all my thoughts about being in control of the situation flew out of the window.
“The rooms,” she said as we cruised along a corridor. “All along here except two on the ground floor and one at the top that we call the Honeymoon Suite. Let’s look at that.”
I followed her up the stairs, watching her full buttocks working beneath her dress as she climbed. I felt she was talking to me through her body, sending me messages and invitations.
When we entered the Honeymoon Suite she closed the door gently and locked it. She stretched out her arms, beckoning me in, and I embraced her. We kissed like lovers. Again, she ceased to be my boss when our bodies were locked together. She kissed hungrily, passionately and lovingly.
Then she sat on the bed, a new four-poster designed to look old.
“Have you thought about the other day?” she asked, staring at the carpet.
“A lot,” I replied.
“Good things?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “It was brilliant.” I cursed myself for using such an out-of-place word. She took my hand and pulled me down to the bed. We lay back and kissed and caressed, my hand making straight for her knee and then up. Up Mrs Turner’s skirt, along Mrs Turner’s thigh until I touched Mrs Turner’s panties. I stroked her gently there.
“As I was saying,” she said, visibly enjoying the attention of my fingers.
I grunted my assent.
“Yes, very much.”
“It’s not exactly a list I want to tick off,” she continued, “but things occur to me and I think I’d like to try that. Now, what you did to me with your tongue was incredible, and I want to do that more.”
“Front or back?” I asked, genuinely not knowing.
“Both,” she sighed. “I loved it when you invaded my private space. My… what do you call it… cunt? Minge? My vagina, anyway. And when you moved on to my bottom, well… Words cannot describe how it felt. So I want you to do it again.”
“Now?”
“Please.”
I knelt above her and dragged her panties down. They were ordinary, functional pink cotton ones, quite large, the sort of thing that had been keeping her bits secure for years. I put them to my nose and breathed in the scent of her pussy – a word I felt she would never use – and the faintest trace of a stray drop of piss. I searched the rear area for a trace of her arse, but found none.
“God,” she said. “You are so naughty.”
She unzipped her dress down the front and wriggled out of it, then turned so I could unhook her bra, and her lovely white breasts fell loose. I felt a sudden flash of affection for this woman. Our relationship might be complicated, but she was giving herself to me in moments like these and I felt a certain responsibility to love her.
I fell on top of her and kissed her with love and passion, stroking her sides and her thighs, then kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples and putting my tongue in her navel, which made her take a quick, short breath.
Then I was down in her furry water feature, drinking her essence, drinking her and loving it. I lost track of time as I consumed this lovely woman and was only brought back to earth by her hand on my head.
“Turn me over,” she whispered, turning over herself and kneeling to present me with her hind quarters. I licked her with something like devotion.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
“From that angle?” she quipped, and I smacked her bottom instinctively.
“Don’t be cheeky,” I said, thrilled and slightly nervous about the change in statuses.
“Sorry,” she said, equally unfamiliar with the situation. “Would you like me to…”
“What?”
“Suck you,” she finished. “I gather that’s very popular.”
I lay on my back and said nothing, allowing my erection to call to her.
“I’ve never done this before,” she muttered, “And I don’t know if I want to really.”
But do it she did. She lifted my cock and placed it in her mouth and I could feel her getting used to the strange sensation, trying to work out why women seemed to like doing it and wondering if she liked the way it tasted.
“Don’t come,” she warned.
“Okay, don’t worry,” I replied, but in truth I was close to coming and in a few moments I had to pull out of her mouth and plunge my cock into her cunt.
There, without further delay, I unloaded my semen into her and, as she had said so confidently last time, she came too.
As we lay together afterwards she played with the sparse hair on my chest.
“So little time, Peter,” she said sadly. “When are you leaving?”
“Plenty of time,” I said, stroking her perm. “I might even stay for the winter.”
