Guest House Friends

I found myself in a position at work where I had to take a couple of weeks leave or lose it. "To be taken immediately," yapped the Personnel Department. "Too many employees aren't taking enough of their leave and we've been instructed to reduce the amount of outstanding leave."

So there I was with two weeks and nothing to do. Still, it was summer, so I decided to take a room in a guest house down by the seaside and enjoy two weeks of surf, sun, and sand. And even some sex if a friendly young darling came my way. One could always hope.

I rang my dear old mother and got the name of the guest house we used to use when I was a lot younger. My mother never throws anything out and I was quite sure she'd still have the information about the guest house. She gave me the name and number and I rang through a booking for a couple of weeks.

When we went there in my youthful days it was a full service guest house. It appeared that those days had passed. It was now more a bed and breakfast with a fancy name. Fortunately there were a few decent eating places and fast food franchises in easy reach.

It's amazing what you don't notice as a child. Things that have a tendency to bite you on the bum when you're an adult. I had assumed that my room would be complete with an en suite. Wrong. The place had two common bathrooms, first come, first served. I hated sharing a bathroom with strangers.

At the first breakfast I attended I became acquainted with the other guests. There were only a few. A couple of doddering old ladies and a couple of equally old men, some teenage surfers who were sharing a room, and a young married couple in their early twenties. Plus me. A fine upstanding young man who had been sent into the wilderness by a heartless Personnel Department. By young I mean I'm in my late twenties. Too young to be of interest to the four elderly people and too old to be of interest to the teenage surfers.

The young married couple considered me to be the right age to talk to. Or she did. He was relatively silent, probably unable to jam a word into the constant stream of twittering babble that emanated from her mouth.

Her name was Jane, you know, like in Tarzan and Jane, and her husband's name was John, which was a nice coincidence, as Tarzan's real name was John Clayton, which made them a real life Tarzan and Jane, not that they would want to live in the jungle but they did enjoy the outdoor life, and while John didn't go hunting, and couldn't use a spear anyway, he did like to go fishing and that counted as hunting, when you really consider it.

All that was in just her first sentence. I also learnt that the old people went on bus trips, generally leaving right after breakfast and not returning until late afternoon. The teenage surfers, and she didn't know how they could all fit in that tiny room, as she and John were crowded in a similar room, and there were four of the surfers, and as there were only two beds they would have to share them and as they were all men did that mean they were gay, not that it mattered, but one did wonder, and they would also leave right after breakfast and waste their time on the beach, unlike her and John, as John would go fishing and she would tour the neighbourhood looking for old shops because you could sometimes find some wonderful bargains in old shops as the shopkeepers had no idea of what they were selling, and it was almost a crime to take advantage of them.

Jane was actually quite pretty but I'm only speaking about her face. A very appealing face actually, although it would be improved if she could just shut her mouth. She was a blue eyed blonde and she had a figure that was impossible to describe. That's because it was covered in the frumpiest clothes I'd ever seen on a woman. I could understand John wearing old clothes as a suit and fishing just don't seem to go together, but I'm afraid that I had to put Jane's clothes down to her having a negative fashion sense. I'm surprised that John hasn't spoken to her about it and made a few suggestions.

On second thoughts I wasn't really surprised. She probably hadn't given him a chance to tell her. I couldn't help wondering if she'd said the 'I do' for him during the marriage ceremony, saving him having to open his mouth.

I finally made good my escape, quickly saying I had to run as I had an appointment the first time she shut-up long enough for me to speak. Did I have many appointments? What sort of work did I do? How long had I been doing it? What brought me down to the seaside? How had I learnt about this lovely guest house? Did I know Mrs Manning, the woman who ran it? She goes shopping every morning right after breakfast, you know, so that she always has fresh things available for her guests. Not all guest houses are that accommodating.

It would have been impolite to run away screaming but it was a near thing. I vanished into my room for half an hour and when I came out everyone had vanished. Bus tours, surfing, fishing, and shopping having accounted for all my fellow guests and the owner. I wandered out and went about my business, determined to take it easy. I'd relax even if it killed me.

The second day was much the same as the first. Breakfast while Jane's verbal diarrhea washed over everything, me going into hiding, coming out when it was safe and heading off to the beach and some relaxation. At the beach I could flirt with the beach bunnies and one never knew, one of them might be interested in enjoying some quality time.

Listening to Jane on the third day I was seriously considering buying some earplugs. I wondered if John had some that I could borrow. I bet she even talked in her sleep. He'd need the earplugs to get to sleep. Or maybe he was lucky enough to be deaf. I scoffed my breakfast and retreated. I had a newspaper that I wanted to read.

One of the odd things I'd noticed about Jane was that she gave you a great flood of questions as she talked, while not giving you time to answer them. That's the way it seemed but if you actually answered a question, even while she was talking over you, she heard what you said.

How did I know this? Jane had been discussing pets and during her discussion she'd asked me if I had any pets. Even though she was still talking I mentioned I owned a monkey and a komodo dragon and that the monkey would ride on the komodo dragon's back. John heard my answer as he smirked and looked at Jane. It turned out that Jane also heard my answer, examined it, and rejected it.

"Anyway, when you're comparing cats to dogs you've got to go for cats every time and even those cute little pigs are better than dogs and you can't really teach monkeys to ride komodo dragons as komodo dragons are carnivores and they'd eat the monkey, being cold blooded reptiles, and I don't believe you have a komodo dragon or a monkey, although Michael Jackson had a monkey but you can't have a dragon as a pet because I'm sure if you could film stars would have them and I've never heard of a film star who owned a komodo dragon and you seem to be the type of person who would keep a fish in a bowl to help you relax."

And more along those lines, totally disbelieving me, but showing that she did hear what was said. It was shortly after that that I'd bolted again.

I grabbed a newspaper on my way back to my room and took me time perusing it. It also had a fairly decent cryptic crossword that I worked on. By the time I'd finished that the guest house was silent and I guessed that the inhabitants had all gone their various ways, leaving me head of the house, ruler of, well, me, I suppose. I decided that it was time for me to hit the beach and get in some more relaxation.

I barged out of my room and promptly had Jane bump into me. Or maybe I bumped into her. What I did know was that it turned out that Jane had an impressive set of bumpers. I always had the vague impression that she was probably a little on the fat side. Wrong. Totally wrong. Couldn't be more wrong.

I suppose you're wondering how I could tell this through her frumpy clothes. It was because she wasn't wearing them at that moment. Right now she was tastefully clad in a towel and, being rather on the small side (the towel, that is) it was doing a woefully inadequate job of covering her. I hadn't known just how useful small towels could be.

The towel covered Jane from her breasts to her groin. Nearly. Her long slender legs were totally exposed and they were beautifully curved. The sort of legs you just want to run your hands along, especially when you're parting them. Her arms were also slender and graceful, arms that I was sure would feel very nice wrapped around you. Actually, I found myself thinking the same thing about her legs.

Jane's full bust meant that the towel was struggling to stretch all the way around her, the ends only just meeting because Jane was clinging tightly to them, holding them together by effort of will. Not being very wide the towel didn't reach to the top of her bust, barely managing to cover her from the nipples down, resulting in some pretty impressive cleavage.

It seemed to me that her taste for frumpy clothes was explained. If she dressed to impress she'd have a complete coterie of lustful men trailing along behind her. I guessed the frumpiness and the talking were her way of discouraging them.

She started talking, of course. Anyone else caught in this situation would have squealed and dived into their room in a great hurry. Jane started talking.

"Oh my god. What are you doing here? You've no right to be here. You went out. You said you were going out. The place is supposed to be empty. You have no right to be here when you say you're somewhere else. Just look at me. Do you think I'd be walking around like this if I thought there was someone else around? Why are you looking at me? I didn't say you could look at me. Alright, maybe I did, but I didn't say you could look at me like that. What are you doing? You can't take the towel off me. Give that back to me, I need it. Are you blind? Can't you see I'm naked without that towel? Give it to me. Why are you looking at me like that? Hey. Why did you do that? You can't go around touching a girl on the breast. That is most certainly not the correct thing to do. Hey, I said you can't touch my breast, not change which one you're touching. Oh my god. Not touching my breast doesn't mean you run your hand over my tummy."

In case you didn't get the gist of what she was saying let me explain it to you. Initially I'd just been looking her over with some amusement, finding her to be very attractive, much more so that I'd have guessed. I was letting her words just wash over me, not really listening, but I did catch her telling me to look at her.

What could I do? If that's what she wanted then that's what I'd do. I took her wrists and moved her arms apart, the towel obligingly parting at the same time, and she was delicious. All creamy white with smooth curves that just encouraged the eye to follow them. Not even a little patch of fur to break the expanse of shiny silky skin. True, there were a couple of neat little nipples that seemed to be a glowing pink, and they were pointing at me.

Ever been in a situation where you see this big button that says press me? That's the situation I was in right then. I twitched the towel out of her grasp and let it drop. I must admit that I sort of assumed that at that point she would hastily hide her charms behind her hands but she didn't. She just waved them about, emphasizing the points she wanted to make and she seemed to be making a lot of them.

The points that I was interested in were the points of her nipples and I just naturally reached out and pressed one. It was already standing out but that light touch made it stand out just that little bit more, her other nipple matching the movement. It would have been rude to show favouritism so I reach out and gently pressed her other nipple.

I heard something to the effect of moving my hand so I did, first letting it close over her breast and then smoothing its way down, gliding over her abdomen, continuing down to skim lightly over her mons, before reaching even further and slipping between her legs to close upon her mound which I proceeded to gently rub.

Her voice just kept on going, her words drifting past me. She seemed to be telling me what I shouldn't be doing and what I couldn't do, evidence to the contrary being ignored, but she wasn't using nasty little words like 'no' or 'stop' so I just kept on touching.

Maybe my investigation of some of her sweet curves got a bit too personal as I heard her voice go up several tones as she talked. I took my mouth away from her breast to look at her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that. Were you asking me a question? Try to answer in ten words or less if you want me to listen."

"I asked you if you were going to fuck me. You're touching me in most inappropriate ways despite me telling you you shouldn't be doing that.

You were kissing my breasts. Don't deny it. Look at my nipples. They're both red and wet from you chewing on them. Why are you doing this?"

Was I going to fuck her? That was a good question. I hadn't actually got that far in my thinking. Now that I thought about it I hadn't been thinking at all, just reacting. I slid one hand around her to cover her bottom, holding her against me, while my other hand went up to cover her mouth, because she was still talking.

"Just hush for a moment," I told her. "You can answer by nodding or shaking your head. I have to admit that I hadn't really been thinking about fucking you but now that you mention it it seems a great idea. Um, I assume you wouldn't want me to do it right here in case someone comes?"

She managed to shake her head a little, still mumbling something behind my hand.

"OK, so we would have to do it somewhere else. Again I assume that you wouldn't want to use your room so my room would be better. Right?"

This time she nodded her head. I'm not sure if she was agreeing to having sex with me or just wanting to get out of the hallway in case someone returned. I chose to assume that she was agreeing to whatever I wanted.

Seeing we were right outside my room it was a simple matter to move her the few steps required to be inside it. I scooped up the towel on the way.

"But why do you want to have sex with me?" she demanded. "And even if you do and aren't just pretending we couldn't do it right now. It's the middle of the day."

I hastily tuned out the verbiage and considered her initial question and statement.

"As to why," I said, "it's because you have a fantastic body, one just made for mammon to worship. How could I look upon you and not want to make love to you."

I rather hastily dropped my trousers, showing proof positive that I did indeed want to make love to her. Her eyes opened wide and she was so shocked that she even stopped talking for a few moments.

"And what on earth does the time of day have to do with things?" I asked. "Personally, I'm going to be ready at any hour of the day or night if I think a young lady wants my loving attention. Feel for yourself how ready I am."

I took her hand and wrapped it around my erection and she just clutched hold of it and hung on. She had a very shocked look on her face and she didn't resume talking, being too busy looking down at what she was holding onto. Damn it, she was married. Surely she'd played with married people's toys before.

My hands were back on her, paying loving attention to her body. The beautiful sounds of silence persisted while her hand started wandering up and down my shaft. I took advantage of her distraction to ease her back towards the bed until she was backed up against it. That's when I extract my weapon from her clutches and eased her onto the bed, flat on her back, legs parted and me standing between them.

Problem was that now she didn't have my cock in her hands her voice was back, running away with her. I had to wonder if that woman ever stopped to think or if her voice was her thinking process.

Now if a woman is naked and flat on her back with her legs spread and a man with an erection is standing between those spread legs then surely it is obvious what his intensions are. Apparently not.

"What are you going to do? You're not thinking of using that thing on me, are you? Anyone can see it's too big. You need to find a larger woman to handle something like that. Cocks shouldn't be that size. This is totally unfair. I mean, you have just been kidding me, haven't you? You don't really intend to have sex with me. I didn't ask you to, you know. It wasn't my fault that you didn't go out when you said you would so you can't blame me for bumping into you when I only had a towel on. And you're the one who took it off me. You shouldn't have done that you know. I didn't say you could. You probably shouldn't have touched me either."

And on she went, spouting drivel, non-stop. I'll admit she hadn't asked me to, ah, pay her some very personal attention, but at no stage had she told me to stop, just expressed a series of doubts as to the validity of my actions. As far as I was concerned they were perfect reasonable actions right up to the point where she says no, and it was starting to register that she couldn't say that, probably because it was a single little word and she didn't believe in saying anything that short and succinct.

As for her comments on the size of my cock, flattering though they may have been, modesty insists that I point out that it's within the standard range of such equipment. Maybe on the plus side of average, but not by all that much.

It was blatantly obvious to me that her body was ready for my attentions. Her labia were flushed and swollen, puffy and damp, hot enough to light a fire. I saw no reason to put things off. I leaned over her, adjusting the position of my cock so it was pressing against her. Her lips yielded and my cock started sinking into her, her lips promptly closing over me, showing no intention of letting me escape.

Jane had two reactions. One was to start pushing up against me, helping me to slide in nice and deep. The other to change the subject from how she was sure I wasn't really going to do this to the fact that I was doing it and the affect it was having on her.

"Oh my god, you're really doing it. I didn't think you would. It's too large. Can't you see that? Argh, I can feel it going in. There's too much of it. It'll never fit. I can see what you're doing, you know. What makes you think you can do this? How much more is there. Oh god, that much." She'd craned her neck to get a better look as to how far in I'd already gone. "Do you want to stop now? I think I can handle this much but I'm not sure about the rest. You're not stopping, are you?"

I was going deeper and she was pushing strongly up against me and twittering the whole time. I was going with the conclusion that John rarely touched her because she'd be giving him a constant critique the entire time he was on the job, with additional information afterwards. If she were my wife I'd be training her in blow jobs just to get some silence.

I tuned her out using selective hearing as practiced by teenagers everywhere. I also kept drilling in. No matter what Jane was saying about King Dong I was comfortable certain that she'd be able to entertain my entire length. I finally banged home and held her pinned hard against the bed.

As soon as I started to pull back her legs came up and wrapped around me, Jane clinging on for all she was worth. This still left me sufficient freedom to start a bit of man/woman interaction, pulling back and driving in hard.

I had intended to take it easy to start with, slowly building things up. She'd got me in the mood that what I now wanted to do was bang her as hard and as fast as possible, and that's what I did.