The Plumber's Daughter - Must Read

September, 2010


I was nineteen when we married. My ex-husband, the Jerk, was twenty-five. I was madly in love with him, can you believe it? He was a third year Medical Student and I was an Art major. He was drop dead gorgeous handsome and could charm the Devil to let him out of hell.

I dropped out of college and worked as a waitress to help support us. I threw away my scholarships to help put him through Medical School. Mom and Dad were livid, but they helped us out with our rent. Thank God for my father. Dad is a big, strong, no nonsense type of man, unafraid to get his hands dirty. At sixty-five Dad is still working. Unlike the jerk, Dad makes house calls. That's our private joke. Dad loves to laugh and make jokes. He loves to eat, especially with the whole f****y and friends at his table. Dad's daily custom is a glass of red wine with every meal.

I am his Princess and Dad can deny me nothing. All my boyfriends from school were afraid of him. He would always make the new ones come up to the apartment an hour before our date to give them the fourth degree. He would then arm wrestle with them to test their metal and he never lost. Aside from f****y his greatest passion is for bocce. Dad plays on a league and travels in competition.

The Jerk is a plastic surgeon and a very good one. In time as his reputation for excellence grew our finances got better, much better. We had six bedroom penthouse apartment in Manhattan and a three story summer house with a private beach in Long Island Sound. We had money to burn and he spoiled me terribly, expensive cars, jewelry, a full time housekeeper, a part time cook, but he was hardly ever home.

It wasn't so bad. I loved what his money could buy. It bought me a fabulous paying position in a posh New York City Art Gallery. I was the perfect doctor's wife, attending all the fund raisers for him and he mine. I had my own career, the best that money could buy. Money allowed me to have my own way with everything. It put me at the head of the line, in front of everybody else, the little people. I was faithful to the Jerk, even though I had opportunities. I had men tripping over themselves for my attention, me, Marie Antoinette Bernardino a plumber's daughter. Despite everything, I took my wedding vows seriously, to love, honor, and cherish; to forsake all others.

My ex-husband had a thing for blonds and to keep him happy I changed the color of my long dark brown hair to blond. I kept it blond because I loved him and I thought he loved me. I went to the salon every week to look my best. Most people thought I was a natural blond. As I said, money was no object. I spent one hour everyday running on a treadmill and worked out in the gym three times a week with Debbie my personal trainer.

At thirty-five I weighed the same as when we married; 125 lbs, at 5'8" tall, with 32" hips, a 22" waist, and my bust is a 36 C. I can easily pass for a woman in her early twenties. My mother still keeps her trim figure and never seems to age, as do all the Corbett women on mom's side of the f****y.

Our sex life was adequate, twice a week. I found out after the divorce that the bastard had multiple affairs all throughout our marriage. I thought our marriage was rock solid....the jerk left me for the twenty three year daughter of the Director at my Art Gallery. So much for my job, I was f***ed to resign in disgrace.

I tried to talk to him, hoping to reconcile and save our marriage. I waited for him at our Country Club to meet with him before his Saturday nine o'clock golf threesome.

As he was taking his golf clubs out of the trunk of his Ferrari, do you know what he said to me, the psycho-babble crap that came out of his lying mouth? He said, "My ther****t explained to me that I am going through a selfish period right now. I am expressing myself negatively, but it is better than repressing my generous outgoing sexuality, my need to share. This no reflection on you, Marie, and I need your support to get through this unfortunate period in my life."

I hauled off and punched him in the nose for all I was worth, breaking it, "How was that for support, you vain pompous bastard? Fix, that you..," What followed was a string of profanities in English and Italian. I grabbed one of his Ping Rapture V2 Drivers from his golf bag and chased him "like a beagle after a rabbit". (That is how Patrick described it when I told him, "like a beagle after a rabbit." He proceeded to howl like a beagle and was laughing. He started tickling me, I'm very ticklish. I broke away and ran outside. I stopped so that he could catch me and kiss me. I love it when he is silly like that.)

I chased the Jerk right into the Rose Room where a wedding reception was being held. I managed to hit him in the ass with the driver, knocking him off his feet onto the crowded dance floor. I took my engagement ring and wedding band off and threw them to the dance floor leaving him there. I then returned to the parking lot and did a number on his red Ferrari with his custom made golf clubs, breaking and bending every one of them. I was lucky, the whole affair was handled quietly and discretely, no charges were pressed against me to save him and the County Club from embarrassment.

Dad confronted the jerk three days later when he came to get his clothes. Believe me, my ex got off lucky. Dad picked him up by the shirt right off his feet and was shaking him like a rag doll. Dad did it right in front the two Private Police Officers in our building that the Jerk brought with him to protect him from me.

We divorced and it cost him plenty. Admittedly, I was bitter. My opinion of men was that they were scum. They were all users and it was my turn to use them. If they couldn't do anything for me, I had no use for them, my Dad being the exception. I always had a bit of a temper, I admit that, but that was the only time I hit my ex husband. I hate a liar. I do admit that I have a blistering tongue if no one stops me.

Dad would take just so much. He would calmly tell me stop and go to my room. That was followed by the look. If I didn't obey after the look, well to bad for me. Dad would spank my bottom with his hand. I then had my mouth washed out with soap by my mother and was made to apologize. Dad never hit me in anger and spankings were a last result in our household.

I kept the house on Long Island, taking back my maiden name. I enrolled at Columbia University to pick up where I left off. I bought myself a new wardrobe. Goodbye nice conservative doctor's wife. Hello hot sultry bitch goddess. If he could have a twenty something then so could I. That would show him. What a fool I was then.

The first thing that I did the week before my first semester began was to get a haircut; a sassy, blunt bob with the tips of my ear lobes just peeking out. I could part it different ways to wear it smooth and sleek hugging my head, or curly and soft. On occasion I used styling gel and combed it back behind my ears. I loved that bob haircut.

I also went back to my natural hair color, a rich chocolate brown. I was ready to party and party I did. I hooked up with Mary and Dusty, twenty year old college students and we did the nightclub scene with a chauffeured stretch limo almost every night. I had the money and they knew where to go. Soon I was cutting classes, sl**ping in late, exercising every day in the college gym for an hour, and then spending my afternoons getting ready for the wild nightlife in the Big Apple. I drank sparingly and danced with many young hot male bodies, teasing and charming them, able to stay aloof. I held them at arm's length, a touch here, a kiss there, making promises I never intended to keep. I was such a bitch. I never went to bed with any of them.

Mary and Dusty were getting into the soft d**gs, which I refused to use or pay for. They were now into the more kinky sex, doing it with women as well as men, and some nights going without me to the private clubs by invitation only. They teased me, telling me that I was so Vanilla, and they were right on the money, I liked guys only. During our third semester their looks changed from wholesome small town to bordering on punk, with more and more piercings plus tattoos. They were growing to resent me. I refused to join them with woman on woman. I kept my sassy bob, but continued to dress suggestively. I was hitting only on handsome young men, for me it was just a diversion, to them?

One night they talked me into going to a sex club were just about anything goes. I thought that I could handle it, but they had other plans for me. They were going to cut me down a notch, it was all arranged. If it wasn't for Patrick getting me out of there, God knows what would have happened to me.


I come from a long line of farmers and our land has been in the f****y since 1786. I hate to farm. I joined the Marine's at s*******n because I was sick of shoveling cow manure. Anything was better than that. When I was a boot, an old, crusty Gunny Sergeant with a sense of humor overheard me talking to a buddy about my analogy of cleaning out the barns being similar to cleaning out the head (latrine). Need I say more?

Recognizing a kindred spirit, Gunny pushed me hard, "Calling me a lazy never amount to nothing cow pie," that was shortened in time to just cow pie. I pushed back. I left a ripe cow pie on the dashboard of his Chevy Silverado Pickup up truck on the day I made Sergeant. I then went to celebrate at my favorite watering hole off base. Marines and other servicemen are welcome there and little things were overlooked.

Gunny hunted me down and pushed his way in next to me at the bar. He took that cow pie and slapped it on the bar. He put his hand around my shoulder, wiping it on my shirt, and then his, announcing loudly, "How about a bottle of Bud and a shot of Jack for us two cow pies here." We certainly tied one on that day. Gunny ended up carrying me out and somehow managed to drive us back to the base without the Police stopping us.

While in the Marines I found that I had an aptitude for two things. The first was an affinity for firearms. I was the best shot with the M-16 Rifle on base. I made plenty of money in side bets for my buddies, including Gunny Sergeant Peters. He wasn't such a bad guy after all. Gunny had a collection of flintlock rifles, knives, tomahawks, and swords, mostly from the French & Indian to the War of 1812.

Married and living off base, Gunny had a small machine shop in his garage and built reproduction flintlocks as a hobby. That was my second aptitude, working with my hands in wood and metal. During my eight years in service the Marines trained me as a machinist. Gunny taught me the finer points of engraving, draw filing, wood working and such. The Marines were my life and I was going to make a career out it.

Life is funny in a way. Gunny came from old money. My people went back and forth from barely making ends meet to living comfortably. He went to Oxford, wasting six years goofing off. He then rejected his father's way of life by enlisting in the Marines during Viet Nam.

His philosophy in life, "Keep your champagne. Just give me a glass of honest American Beer", that's it and it said it all. The only thing that he learned at Oxford was fencing. Damn near a master fencer, he taught me that. I was never as good as him with a foil or rapier lacking his finesse.

I could get by pretty good...well may a little better that? I actually prefer the saber, while Gunny likes the rapier. For most purposes the saber is too big to hide so a bowie knife it is. Mine has a seven inch blade that I made from D-2 Tool Steel. I made the coffin shaped handle from black buffalo horn set with nickel silver pins and the guard from nickel silver. It is easily hidden in a shoulder harness, and I carry it when my 45 Government Model 1911 is impractical.

My Dad had a stroke one month before I was to reenlist. Gunny pulled some strings with a General that he served with when they were grunts together during the Tet Offensive. I got an early honorable discharge to return home to take care of my father. I hired an experienced farm hand to help run things and helped out by shoveling manure for another two years until Dad died. I buried him on his land in our small f****y cemetery. During that time, I took on an apprenticeship with a local blacksmith, Sam Roper to learn the trade. I also started dating his daughter Anne Marie, the love of my life.

Ten years out of the Marines, the cows were finally gone. I was renting out a few my fields to other farmers although most were now fallow. I was occasionally boarding a few horses in one of the 3 barns, including my wife's mare White Cloud. One of the barns was converted into my blacksmith/machine shop. The other was converted into a small art gallery. The loft was remodeled with plenty of windows for Anne to paint. My precious wife expressed her need to paint with watercolors. She consigned some to several large art galleries all over the Country.

In time, I learned all there was for Sam to teach me. We weren't in competition mind you. I was building rifles or muskets and had branched out into making knives, swords, and a few hawks. I would help him out occasionally by shoeing horses for him and such. I was so busy that sometimes I had a two year backlog on fire sticks. Nevertheless I always made time to spend time with my wife, the most important person in the world to me.

Anne and I started doing Revolutionary reenactments on weekends during the spring, summer and fall. I was a man-at-arms, a Ranger. Anne was my Indian wife. Being half Mohawk on her mother's side was a plus, and she did a great deal of research to help play the part. Her Indian name was Akuti; meaning Princess in the language of her people. She made our period correct clothing, right down to our center-seam moccasins. She would spread a trade blanket on the ground to sell the native crafts, specializing in beaded and porcupine quill accessories.

Anne and I were part actors, part historians, part students, and more... we were a team, and we were inseparable until death do us part...and then she was gone.


We girls were going as Dominatrix's that night. We went to a shop in the Village that specialized in such things. They chose their outfits carefully; shiny red vinyl long sleeve cat suits with high heel boots. They dyed their hair black, bleaching in a white streak, one to the left, the other to the right, for the occasion. They finished the look by getting an undercut and then fixing the longer hair into a ponytail to show of the buzzed sides and back.

I dressed more conservative, if you could call it that. I chose skin tight black leather pants with a black leather corset. I also chose a pair of black calfskin knee boots to complete my outfit. I put gel in my hair, combing it back behind my ears. My makeup was quite sultry. I selected a purple eyes shadow as my theme expanding upon it too include dark purple lipstick, heavy black eyeliner and gold sparkles.

We shared two bottles of ice wine in the limo and I was quite relaxed and mellow when we entered the club. Dusty handed me what I thought was a RSVP Key-Card. I tucked it in between my breasts, underneath my corset along with my credit cards and driver's license. I noticed that theirs was a different color then mine but didn't think anything of it at the time.

I was mingling and dancing with different men on the large dance floor in front of the bar. Mary and Dusty were introducing me to different men of various ages, all of them handsome though. I was offered drink after drink by them, flattered by their attentions. It seemed that they were lining up to meet me. I drank more than I should have, although I was hardly d***k. The place was full of beautiful women and handsome men. Most of the women were naked or almost naked, and they were wearing their key cards attached to the leather collars around their necks.

The few dominatrix women weren't dressed like us. One of them was a very mannish looking woman in her late fifties dressed in a businessman's suit, shirt and tie, right down to the black brogans on her feet. Her salt and pepper gray hair was cut in horseshoe flat top that was shaved high and tight on the back and sides. I noticed that she was leering at me. I was very uncomfortable by her attentions, so I pretended to not to notice her.

At approximately 11:00 PM the lights went out and the music stopped. Everyone became very quiet. When the lights came on everyone started milling toward two sets of doors, one leading to a large auditorium with a stage. Dusty and Mary were nowhere to be seen. Actually, the last time I saw them was when they were talking to the lesbian shortly before the lights went out.


I was in my workshop draw filing the front flats on the half octagon barrel of a 20 bore fusil when I heard a vehicle pull into my long gravel driveway. I stopped and went outside to see who it was. A large man with red hair going grey stepped lightly out of a heavily customized ¾ ton 4 X 4 Ford pickup truck. He reminded me of a 6', 7" Scottish Highlander, but instead of a kilt, he was wearing a very expensive tailored dark grey suit. He was also wearing dark wraparound sunglasses. He had a long aluminum tube in his hand such as used for fishing rods or for large blue prints or maps.

"May I help you?" I asked, sizing him up, while he was me through those dark glasses that were annoying the heck out of me.

"I have seen your work. You will make me a basket hilted claymore to my exact specifications. I have the plans here," he held up the tube as proof, "I will give you two weeks and I will pay you twenty thousand dollars." He said, condescendingly.

"Come into my office and I will give you my answer." He followed me in and stood there not removing his sunglasses. "Let me see the blueprints first," he spread them out my desk.

"I can make this. I don't often get requests for Damascus sword blades and I welcome the challenge."

"Excellent," was all he said.

"Leave the blueprints. I require five thousand cash for the materials. Your sword will be ready in approximately three months. Fifteen thousand plus one dollar will be due on delivery should I decide to make it."

"I said, twenty thousand, and it will be completed in two weeks."

"You sought me out, Ace. There are people ahead of you and I gave them my word.

"They can wait. I'll make it thirty thousand and only require three weeks for delivery."

"You can stick your money. While you're at it, stick your sunglasses in the same place. I never do business with a man who doesn't look me in the eye."

"Excellent, Mr. Buchanan, excellent," he said, taking off his sunglasses, and laughing, "Your stubbornness and honesty proceeds you. It will be a pleasure to do business with a man who cannot be bought or bullied. I would like to start over," and he held out his hand for me to shake, "My name is Angus McKenna"......


I was walking towards the door where the Dominatrix women and Masters were passing through. I was stopped by a gorgeous young man about twenty-five with red hair checking key cards. He was about 6', 4" tall, wearing a dark suit. He was also wearing dark wraparound sunglasses indoors and had a microphone in his ear, similar to those worn by Secret Service Agents, "Key Card, Please?" he asked, stepping in front of me.

I whispered in his ear, while lightly touching his handsome, clean shaven face. I was certain that he caught the scent of my new perfume, "Dangerous Liaisons", "When you get off work, sweetheart, perhaps you and I can have a drink together. I have a Limo waiting outside with a well stocked bar,"

"It will be more than a drink, sweetheart," he replied, "believe me. I am going to make good use of all your holes before you are passed around, and then shall we say, modified, should that deal go through. In any event, you are going to be part of tomorrow tonight's entertainment. Be a good little slut and give me your key card. You won't need it now that you have signed a contract."

"Get out of my way." I replied angrily, my temper flaring, being unused to such treatment. I tried to push past him, thinking, and "Nobody has dared talk to me like that in years. " I can buy and sell his sorry ass," and speaking loudly, I said, "I don't know who you think you are, but I can buy and sell your sorry ass. I never signed a contract with you or never sign anything until my attorney sees it, and my attorney is a shark, fool. He also is friends with the Police Commissioner. We have special invitations by the owner of this establishment. Go get your boss now! You need to be put in your place."

"So, the little slut has a temper," He replied laughing, "We will soon break you of that. Your money means nothing here. It will be my pleasure to be the first cum in your mouth while everyone is watching tomorrow night, waiting their turn. Why did you think all those men were lining up to meet you, fool."

"It may be one of the last cocks you may ever have if things go as planned," Someone said behind me, as she grab my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back, "There is no backing out now, Marie, my little peach. You are bought and paid for. Your friends should have explained that to you before you signed your contract. It is time for you to embrace your true sexuality. They signed as witnesses, and have already spent their finder's fee. You have cost me plenty already. You wanted a taste, but now that will be your life. "

"Let go of me you bull dyke bitch," I exclaimed, struggling.

She painfully twisted my arm again, saying, "Shut your mouth or I'll dislocate it. Then you'll find what pain is really about. McKenna holds the contract for your shapely little ass. But it has been arranged for me to buy you out. You will then be a sex toy for many women, my friends and guests. You need to learn some manners. After I break you, you will sign over all your assets to me, including your home in Long Island. We also need to put some meat on your bones. I like my submissive lovers plump to keep me warm at night.

Who will want you then after you have been reeducated and plump with a pretty haircut like mine except other enlightened lesbians of your own kind, like me?"


The Scottish Claymore broadsword turned out well. The Damascus blade was made from bridge cables with a vanadium-nickel stainless steel outer sheathing and a 1055 high carbon steel core. Multiple cables are heated white hot, and then hammered one on top another to be welded together into a single glowing bar. The bar is quenched and then heated and folded; heated and folded a 100 times to blend the different steels. I am able to achieve a near saturated lathe martensite with no excess carbides, avoiding the brittleness of traditional high carbon steels.

This custom steel of mine is particularly suited to applications where strength and impact resistance is valued above all other considerations. It produces blades of exceptional toughness, yet able to hold a keen edge. The resulting mottling Damascus pattern is my own and a trade secret, as is the blend of acids to bring it out. The shaping, finishing, and sharpening of the blade is most labor intense, hence the high price of the sword. When properly sharpened, the blade will easily cut through a free hanging 2'' section of manila 1000 times without having to be sharpened.

The oversized full basket hilt was machined from a solid block of titanium. It was then hand-engraved in a traditional pattern before being inlayed with 22 karat gold. The handle was made of traditional iron wood covered in (same') ray skin, and then wrapped with braided 10 karat gold wire.

The overall weight of this traditional Scottish weapon, a weapon that has sown fear into the hearts of Englishmen for centuries weighed 64 ounces. The blade was tapered with a flat grind from ¼ inches thick in the center to the keen edge, and is 34 ¼ inches long. The handle is 7 ¾ inches long, is thicker than normal, again, to fit a large man's hand. The sword's overall length is 42 inches.

I didn't provide a sheath as none was requested. Angus sent an aluminum hard case with a written invitation inside inviting me to his club in New York City. He included travel expenses and lodging, plus a gold key card with my name engraved on it that entitled me to full privileges, free of charge.

I decided to take a week vacation and drive down to deliver the sword, personally. I was always curious to what went on in those places.


They took me kicking and swearing into a small room and tied my hands behind my back near the far wall. This wall had a series heavy rings bolted to it. On the opposite wall, hung whips, chains, collars, coiled rope and leashes, all used in bondage. John selected a red leather leash and 2" wide red leather collar, while Clara held me by my hair tugging cruelly, saying, "This mop defiantly has to go." John put the dog collar around my neck, attached the leash, and then secured the leash to the ring on the wall. Clara slapped me hard across the face.

"Well, John," she said to the redhead, "I hope that Angus doesn't find out that the contract is a forgery or there is no telling what he will do.

I've paid out enough money to the two addicts that brought her here. Useful tools, but nothing special to look at. Not a beauty like this one. I want her for myself. I'm thinking of opening my own place in Jersey. I don't need to taste the merchandise at my age. I just need one plump little cunt licker to love and keep me warm at night, and she is going to bankroll me.

"Don't worry Clara. We will never see them again. With the money you gave them they can buy enough heroin to really get hooked. It would be a shame if they got some bad stuff, something laced with poison, and accidents happen", he said laughing, "I had a nice little chat with them. They are now scared shitless, and besides who would believe them?"

"I know, but Angus runs a clean place. If he finds out d**gs are involved, well, I really don't want to think about it," Clara, said, "With his misguided sense of honor, he is losing millions of dollars a year. He takes the contracts seriously, and actually gives them a choice. You know as well as I do that he likes to taste the merchandise, the hypocrite."

"Well, so do I," John replied, taking a hypodermic needle from a black leather case.

There were gold initials on one corner of the case, the letters, M, A, and B? My initials are M, A, B; Marie Antoinette Bernardino?

"I had a chemist make this up special for me. It is i*****l here, but very popular in the Middle Eastern Countries with rich Arabs, particularly in Saudi Arabia. They use it in order to break the young white women that are k**napped every year to serve at their pleasure. It's comprised of the next generation sodium pentothal and several stimulants mixed with a highly clarified and concentrated synthetic version of Spanish fly. He claims that it will keep her for in a constant state of arousal for hours, and break down her inhibitions. He also claims that she will be agreeable to just about any suggestion. After the d**gs take effect, I'm going to fuck her and watch her squirm and moan like a bitch in heat. She won't be able to help herself. Per our agreement, I have enough of the d**g to supply you for three months. By that time she should be well broken in if not sooner.

I opened my mouth to scream but Clara shoved the handkerchief from her suit coat pocket into my mouth while John injected me with the d**g. He then took the small leather case and stuffed it into my corset, paused and took it out again. "I'm getting ahead off myself. When I'm done fucking her we will put it back and then get Angus. If he thinks that she is a user and bringing d**gs on the premises, I'm sure that he will sell you her contract."

I managed to spit the rag out and scream help one final time before the d**g started taking effect. This time, John f***ed a ball gag in my mouth. Clara had just finished stripping me to the waist, and was stroking my pussy with her big disgusting sausage like fingers, when suddenly, there was a loud bang.


I was sitting in a corner when the lights went out, sipping a club soda with a twist of lime compliments of the house. This was my second evening here. The night before I watched the entertainment on the stage; it was nothing short of group debauchery on display. I'd seen enough. Afterward, I took two of Angus's girls back to my hotel room. It was nice, having 2 women at once, a sexual release after 3 years of being without a woman. That wasn't me and this wasn't my world. There will never be another woman like my wife Anne Marie. She was my world and my equal.

I really didn't belong here. I would be driving home tonight with fifteen thousand dollars cash in my pocket. Sam telephoned me the night before, and I promised my father-in-law that I would board a pregnant mare for a few weeks, and yes, I still think of him that way, as my father-in-law. It was a last minute thing, but what the heck, Sam is f****y, and he gave me his daughter, Anne Marie, the person he loved most in this world after his wife passed.

I had my eyes on a fascinating woman the entire evening. I couldn't take my eyes of her. She was beautiful in a Vanilla sort of my way. The exaggerated makeup, slicked back hair, and ridiculous outfit could not hide the fact. She really didn't belong here. No doubt she had money and was way out of my league. Nevertheless she didn't belong here. Angus said something about a contract that would be taking effect at midnight. In the mean time, she was pretending to be a Dominatrix, and in his opinion doing it badly. Usually, he interviewed these girls personally, but his right hand man, John, handled this transaction. I noticed the bull dyke leering at this lady and the attraction there was one way.

Could Angus be wrong? I heard her denying signing a contract, and it wasn't even close to midnight. Why did they strong arm her into that room? I was standing in the shadows next to the post, I heard everything. Something was wrong, terribly wrong and I was thinking, "Was that debacle of a woman really going to do that to her against her will, damn her? Go home Patrick, it's none of your business.... well Patrick, Gunny always said that you had cow pies for goes...


The door hit the wall with enough f***e for the doorknob to wedge itself in the concrete block wall. Through the effects of the d**gs, I saw a blur of blue come charging in. The Blue Knight knocked down Clara as she tried to hit him with a whip as he headed straight for John. Before John could draw his revolver from under his suit coat, this blue armored knight had John pinned against the far wall. He was pushing the point of a big knife held in his right hand underneath John's chin, while removing the revolver with his left.

"I have heard everything that has transpired. I am a witness. You will let the lady walk out with me unless you want the authorities involved."

"Of course I'm a lady. I'm a Princess. I'm Daddy's Princess and now I'm this Blue Knight's Queen" I thought, in my d**gged induced euphoria, "And he is here to rescue me. Look there is a Black Knight with a big sword coming to slay the ogre, Clara," these thoughts caused me to giggled through my ball gag, "I'm so horny, I wish someone would untie me so that I could kiss my Blue Knight."


"Mr. Buchanan, Patrick; I would greatly appreciate it if you would please not damage my nephew."

Angus was standing there with point of his sword resting on the floor. He is the genuine article, a Fencing Master. There is a well equipped gym in the building, and earlier in the day we had a go at it with sabers. I lost, enjoying the challenge, nonetheless.

I slowly removed the coffin-handled bowie knife from his nephew's throat and then gave John a shove towards his uncle while stepping in front of Marie. Clara was slowly getting up from the floor, looking back and forth, unsure what to do next. I wasn't.

"Excellent," He said, to me, as his nephew came stumbling towards him. Angus caught him and then cuffed him in the back of his head, saying, "Why did you let him disarm you, idiot."

"Uncle Angus, I...", "I'll deal with you later," Angus, interrupted, "see to our guests," And with that John left, staring menacingly at me and mouthing, "I'm going to kill you."

"I don't know what's going on here, Angus, but I'm sure it's not legal. It appears to me that they d**gged the lady."

"I can assure you, Patrick that I run a clean establishment. d**gs are forbidden here."

"That's right," Clara piped, in, "It is all a misunderstanding. We just found the d**gs on her and were about to get you when this hayseed kicked the door in. She had them hidden in her corset. The leather pouch with her initials on it with three more hypos is on the table," she said pointing, "What more evidence do you need?"

"Then why is Marie stripped damn near naked, collared and secured to a ring?" Angus asked.

"She has a contract, and..."

"Enough, Clara," he interrupted a second time, "The contract doesn't take effect until midnight and it has always been my way to speak with my girls personally the next morning, to give them a chance to back out. You know that as does John. If she is a d**g user the contract is null and void. That would be most convenient for you. I warn you, Clara, don't lie to me."

"Angus, I still want to buy her. I will gladly pay you double, no triple and be happy to dispose you of this unfortunate problem."

The answer is no. You are dismissed," he commanded, "Don't leave the premises until this is sorted out." Cowed, Clara left.

Turning back to me he said, "Why did you interfere, Patrick. What is this woman to you? Do you have any idea how you have complicated things for me. I have a reputation to maintain, and if they are telling the truth, I'll have to kill you. He is f****y, and Clan honor demands it.

"You won't kill me Angus. You don't believe them anymore than I do."

"She has a signed contract, Patrick," He sighed.

"I contend that she was tricked into it, or that her signature is a forgery. I saw Marie's reaction when they mentioned a contract. She had no idea what they were talking about. She asked to speak to you before they f***ed her into this room. Marie was indignant and angry. I watched her the entire evening, yes she drank a bit. No doubt she is rich and spoiled, looking for an excitement. Who but the wealthy can afford the two thousand dollar cover charge, assuming that you let them in? I bet the women that Marie came here with are nowhere to be seen? The last time I saw them they were with Clara.

That Lesbian was drooling over her the whole evening, Angus."

"How can you be so sure of that, Patrick?"

"A gut feeling Angus," I answered, "Take fencing for example. Equal skills pared with various techniques will often result in a draw, everything else being equal. Beyond that instinct will carry the day, that instinctual feeling in the gut will dictate the winning move."

Angus nodded his head and closed his eyes, "The only solution I see is for you to buy her contract. I will save face and you will have a beautiful woman for a year. No matter what the outcome, my nephew is out. Clara will be banned from here and everywhere else when I'm done with her. She won't stand a snow ball's chance in hell for staring her own club now. I'll see to that. Naturally, she will be grateful to be let off that easy.

"Buy Marie's contract, we just agreed that she didn't have one. What in God's name am I going to do with her?"

"Call it what you wish. I explained my position out of respect, and I never explain. It took balls to do what you just did and we will leave it at that. Take her home for now. If you were watching her all night, I'm sure that you would like to sample her; I would. You have just enough money; fifteen thousand plus one dollar should do it. Otherwise I will be f***ed to sell her contract to someone else.

Perhaps you would like to fight me to the death. That would be an honorable way to die for either of us. I've always wanted to die that way. What a magnificent way to go, don't you agree? You would have a slight advantage, and it would give me a chance to try out this magnificent weapon."

I was thinking, "The last option is suicide. Basically I made him the sword for what, I enjoyed making it. The man is offering me an out. Marie is a beautiful woman and maybe she will stick around for a few days. As a matter of fact, I bet my wife's clothing will fit her. They are darn near the same size. I would love to see her without all that makeup, and with the junk out of her hair. She came to a sex club for a reason...maybe she's a hot number in the sack...maybe. When the d**gs wear off, I'm going to want something from her. I'm not a man who expects a jump in the hay for dinner and a movie, but this is going to be one expensive first date."

I shoved the revolver under my belt and then took the ball gag from Marie's mouth, "Will you go home with me until things are sorted out, Marie?"

"Anything you say, Blue Knight. I am your fair Queen and you have rescued me. Do you want to kiss me?"

"Later, are you married? Do you have a boy friend?"

"Neither, do you want to fuck me? You are handsome, Blue Knight. I want you to kiss me."


Things were a little fuzzy but I remember some of what happened. He saved me....something about him paying a lot of money and buying my contract. They then they shook hands on it. After he untied me, I remember being all over Patrick, I was so horny. I made him kiss me at least a dozen times as he dressed me, and even more before we left the club. I wanted him to fuck me. When we got into his pickup truck, he wouldn't fuck me as he promised. He told me to be a good girl and to sit still for the ride. I wasn't a good girl for most of the ride. My hands were all over him. I was so horny that it was hard to control myself. I would have done it anyway he wanted it. He actually spanked me to get me to behave. My Blue Knight then let me sit next to him. He put his arm around me to help me sit still.

I had no real sense of time, but I remember getting sick, and throwing up all over him, and me. I remember stopping off a gas station and going into the restroom. I was nauseous and threw up some more. He was very patient, and gentle with me. Patrick helped me to get cleaned up and then he changed his clothes, and mine. He gave me a button down shirt that came down over my hips and ginger ale to sip. I was sitting close to him, holding his hand...thinking, "Add another one to the list next to my father," and eventually, I fell asl**p.


That was an interesting ride home to say the least. I don't know what that d**g was that they gave her, but wow, she was all over me. I must have kissed her several dozen times before we got to the truck, much to Angus's amusement. Marie smelled so nice, and felt so good in my arms. Marie's little hands were all over me. She wanted me to make love to her. Actually she said that she wanted me to fuck her, and I promised to do so when we got to the truck.

I had to stop three times to make her behave. Marie kept trying to pull my zipper down and the fourth time I gave her beautiful little bottom five hard slaps through her leather pant to get her attention. She did settle down after that. I would rather see her in nice dress or honest cotton blue jeans. After that, I pulled her close to me and held her to keep her still. That seemed to satisfy her. I told her that she was my Queen and we would make love at my castle.

Half-way home the side effects from the d**g made her sick and nauseous. Marie threw up all over my blue denim jacket and blue jeans. Somehow, she then managed to get it on herself, including her hair. She was embarrassed and crying while shaking uncontrollably. I calmed her down the best that I could. I had soap and shampoo in my shaving kit, so we stopped at gas station where I helped to clean her up in the bathroom. It took awhile, but I managed to get her hair clean, shampooing twice, and rinsing with my travel mug. I damp dried her hair with towels in my luggage. I washed the makeup from her face and then I gave her one of my button down shirts to wear over her panties.

Marie wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts are magnificent. It was all I could do to keep focused on doing the right thing.

When she was cleaned up, I bought her a bottle of ginger ale. I insisted that she sip it slowly to settle her stomach and that seemed to help. I cleaned the truck seat and then put a blanket on it to cover the wet spot. She quietly waited in the truck while I cleaned up. As we were driving away, she cuddled up next to me, holding my hand until she finally fell asl**p.


It was early in the afternoon when I awoke up next to Patrick. He was sound asl**p with his back to me. When I pulled back the covers, I saw that he had on pajamas, thinking, "This is a good sign because it means that nothing happened, he didn't take advantage of me, even when I was begging him to fuck me."

I really had to pee. I stumbled out of bed in search of the bathroom. While I was peeing, I remembered that I agreed to go home with him, not knowing where and not caring now, I was thinking, "Perhaps a change in scenery would do me good. I was a fool thinking that I could act like I was twenty again. I already wasted three semesters in college. Some sultry bitch goddess I am. That ugly Lesbian was going to..." I didn't finish the thought, and hugged myself, shivering, remembering what Clara said, and realizing how close that came to happening, "My money didn't mean squat there. I couldn't intimidate or bully anybody. I was just a piece of meat to them. What kind of man would risk his neck for a complete stranger, especially one in a place like that? What he was doing there in the first place?" I thought, standing up and looking out the bathroom window to see nothing but barns and trees and fields, "I bet he lives on a dirt road. Welcome to Hicksville, Marie," and with that I smiled, "What will I say to him when he wakes up? I made of fool of myself enough as it is..."

I drank some water and then used some of his mouthwash before I was done in there. When I opened the bathroom door I found Patrick standing there fully dressed and waiting his turn. Bowing low with a flourish, he held out his right hand and I took it. "Good afternoon, my Queen. It is I, Patrick Ian Buchanan, your Blue Knight," and with that he kissed my hand, just like that, leaving me speechless and thinking, "Wow, what a pick up line."

He then went into the bathroom leaving me standing there and came out shortly after, wiping his hands on a towel. "I like your hair better this way, Marie, "He must mean without the hair gel," I thought, as he was mussing my hair, with his strong callused hands. I looked up into his self assured grey eyes realizing that he was about half a foot taller than me.

"You are a beautiful woman, Marie, and no commoner to be mixing with those scurrilous knaves and low women. What happened there shall remain our secret, and stricken from the pages of your reign. But, I must know, my Queen, who are you?" He had me flustered. I'm never flustered. I have rubbed elbows with some of the wealthiest people in the country, and I was thinking, "Who are you, Patrick Ian Buchanan."


Marie woke me when she went to the bathroom. I didn't get much sl**p as it was lying next to such a beautiful woman. It was frustrating not being able to touch her, even though I earned that right. For now just having her sl**p next to me had to be enough. I didn't care what she was doing there. She was here with me and that would suffice for now.

Anne had been dead these past three years and I had grieved enough. It was so nice to have a woman sl**ping next to me again and such a comfort. My Queen looked so innocent sl**ping there, so peaceful. I would delay taking her home for as long as possible.

I was but a common rascal next to her. She probably grew up in the lap of luxury while I grew up with the lumps of cow pies. I took great liberties when I touched her face lightly while she was sl**ping, and smelled her hair, the lingering scent of the baby shampoo that my wife used on her long black hair. They both have the same dark brown eyes. It couldn't be coincidence that they were almost identical in size, both with such magnificent round breasts; small, dainty hands and feet.... trim figures. Is that why I couldn't keep my eyes off of her at the club, and now?

I can barely resist kissing her full luscious lips...she started it, and now I was hooked.

I waited outside the bathroom door until she came out dressed in just my shirt, looking at me with those dark brown eyes and sl**p tussled hair.

Earlier I mentioned my wife: All through school my wife was bit of a tom boy, wearing her thick, shiny black hair quite short. It seemed that the only clothes that she owned were bib overalls with a simple blouse underneath until we started High School. She always went bare foot when the weather permitted, wearing shoes only when they were required. Anne had a crush on me all through school and I didn't realize it. I first started going with my Dad to her father's blacksmith shop, when I was in kindergarten. He and Dad were good friends. Anne and I played tag, hide-and-go-seek; things like that.

She always was trying to kiss me then, and at that age I thought kisses were yucky. We played on the same team in Little League, and she was always hitting me for no reason. She once asked me to go to a dance when we were freshman in High School. That was the first time that I ever saw her in a dress. I said that I already had a date, but that was tentative. I always have always had a thing for girls with long hair; still do to a certain extent. Anne's hair was still short then, and I still thought of her as a tomboy. I got stood-up by that tentative girl who had a thing for older boys with their own cars, and money to spend on them. I had neither.

Anne attended the dance with Tim Scott, while I went stag. I tried to talk to her, to apologize, and she turned her back and walked away. Tim danced every dance with her. I left felt like the biggest jackass that ever walked the Earth for being so shallow. After that Anne simply ignored me.

While we were growing up, Anne rode her mare, White Cloud bare back all over the County and spent a great deal of time in her father's blacksmith shop. On the day that we graduated together while in line to receive our diplomas, she left without explanation just before her name was to be called. She rode White Cloud right into the school, and into the Auditorium. God bless her, she rode right up on stage to receive her diploma, wearing her cap and gown. While Cloud dropped a little present on the stage for Principal Rogers, and then Anne rode away leaving the commencement ceremony in complete pandemonium.

When I returned from the Service, my love was a curvaceous woman, managing the local feed store. Her watercolors were on display for sale near the front entrance. Her black hair was long as I prefer, well past her shoulders. My god, how beautiful she looked. Anne was still living at home then. I was learning the blacksmithing from her father, while she was still ignoring me. I stopped at the feed store every day for almost a month, buying some small item as an excuse to be there, and asking her for a date. Anne kept turning me down. Taking my cue from her, I formulated a plan.

On approximately the 31st. day, Sam managed to borrow a mule, and I rode it into her store. I refused to leave until she agreed to have coffee and pie in the dinner up the road. I had a clipboard with a petition for customers to sign. The Petition stated that Anne should go out with me for coffee and pie.

The store was very busy that day after the word got out. They carried the story in our small town newspaper, the headline reading with my consent, "A jackass on a mule goes courting". Anne sold three of her painting that day and the petition pages on my clipboard were full. None of her subordinates dared signed it, they knew better.

On our third date, I kissed her on her front porch and my soon to be wife slapped me. I kissed her again and she jumped up swinging. Wow, what a little wildcat she still was? I grabbed her, spinning her around and held in a bear hug to keep from getting hit. I held her until she stopped swearing and struggling, until she tired. Sam opened the curtain and looked through the porch window to see what the entire ruckus was about. He winked at me, holding his thumbs up, before walking away smiling. When she calmed down, I let go and kissed her again.

She returned my kisses passionately, and said, "I thought that you were never coming back. Don't expect anything else, except holding hands until after we are married, Patrick. Now, go home, it's getting late." The look in her spirited brown eyes told all, I would have to earn her love, and I did. After that night she was a different person with me. I never realized how sweet and charming she was, or that she could cook, or that she loved to dance. She taught me to dance in her father's parlor. Make no mistake about it, Anne was all woman, and on our wedding night, she surrendered herself to me, body and soul, my sweet high spirited virgin; what greater gift could a man receive?


As I stood there looking at him, I realized why I thought he was a Blue Knight. Patrick was dressed in blue denim, then, and was wearing it now. Blue brought out the grey in his eyes, but they were like angry storm clouds, dark and menacing when he put the knife to that whore masters throat. They were warm and kind, a soft soothing grey when he comforted me in the truck, and cleaned me up when I was sick and nauseous. Yes he wore denim like armor, as if they were his colors.

He has such self-assured light gray eyes, and thick, longish blond hair, always in need of a trim. He wasn't drop dead gorgeous, or even handsome, but he is fit and trim.

"There are women's clothes in the closet in the bedroom next to mine that will fit you. You will find more in the dressers with the doilies on them. I have some chores to do, and that will take a couple of hours if not more. Make yourself at home, and when you're up to it we can talk and get better acquainted."

After he left I walked around the house to look around. It was small compared to my house on the Island. It had the old fashion wide board floor in every room, worn and polished smooth from generations of Buchanan's walking on them and only three bedrooms. The kitchen definitely needed to be remodeled. There was no garbage disposal, or trash compactor, and his refrigerator didn't have cold water in the door, or an ice maker

But it was neat and cozy, and to put things in perspective, it was huge compared to the two bedroom apartment that I grew up in Brooklyn. I could really use a hot shower with one or more pulsating shower heads. He didn't have a shower. He had the old fashion white enameled bath tub with the claw feet. At least it had a shower wand on it so that I could rinse my hair after I washed it. The toiletries were not the exclusive brands that I was used to, but I found Johnson's Baby Shampoo and an acceptable conditioner. At least the soap was my brand, and also my Mom's brand, Dove.

I was soaking in the tub when the telephone rang. I stood up and wrapped my middle with a bath towel ready to answer it but the answering machine picked up and recorded the message. Patrick was not back yet and there was no hurry now. I eased back into that soothing tub of hot water. When I was done bathing, I found a hair dryer in the vanity drawer and dried my hair. I then used one of the several unopened toothbrushes with the sale stickers still on them to brush my teeth. I never clipped coupons, or waited for sales. If I wanted something, I bought it.

He was right about the clothes; they were my size, but not the exclusive designer labels I was used to. At least most of them were from L.L. Bean or Lands End. Curious enough, all the undergarments were new in the package, or with the tags still attached. This was very curious, could he have a s****r?

I selected a pale sea green summer dress to wear and then went into the kitchen to find something to eat. It was around 4:00 PM, and the light was still flashing on the answering machine, but it was none of my business; on the other hand, what if it was them....what if Angus changed his mind. I pushed the play button.

"Patrick, this is your father-in-law. I hope your business trip went well. You have no idea how much she misses you. She can hardly stand still. I know she hasn't gotten much sl**p. She has hardly eaten a thing since she has been here. I made her all her comfort foods. I'll be bringing her home tomorrow, and," the message stopped as the memory was full.

I was angrily thinking, "I can't believe it, not him? Not my Blue Knight, married? He must have told his wife that he was going on a business trip, but instead went to a sex club. She must be staying with her father? I bet that he has been cheating on her for years. Damn him, all men are alike. . He had me sl**ping in their bed. What if he did touch me when I was sl**ping? I would never know. I trusted him, and thought that he was special. Oh, his poor wife....the bastard. Obviously he is not expecting her back so soon, and I'm not going to get into the middle of it. I'll call my Dad to come and get me. I'd better tell the two timing floor flusher about the message. I own him that much...but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to give him a piece of my mind."


I was in the loft greasing the block-and-tackle attached to the main support beam when Marie came storming into the horse barn, shouting, "Where are you, you jerk. I need to give you a piece of my mind."

I was thinking, "Jerk, what did I do now?", and then I said, "I'll be done in down in a minute, my Queen. I just have two bolts to tighten."

"I'm not your Queen!" You get down here right now," she demanded, "I know who and what you are. You are a two-timing no account floor flusher. And to think I thought that you were special. How could you do that to your poor wife?"

"I don't have any idea what you are talking about, Marie"

"Don't you play innocent with me? I know all about your affairs," "Affairs, what affairs? Was she referring to the 2 girls in my hotel room?" I thought, "How could she possibly know about that?"

I climbed down, and stood in front of her, "Calm down Marie, I didn't touch you, and they meant nothing to me "I said, calmly, "And by the way, you look lovely in that dress."

"Don't tell me to calm down. You men are all alike. You can keep your compliments to yourself. You have no idea what I have been through."

"Yes, I have, remember? I brought you here."

"Don't change the subject. You have never been betrayed, or stabbed in the heart like I have. Don't you dare tell me to calm down? You brought me here to fuck me."

"That is not entirely true, my Queen, although the thought has crossed my mind. You kiss so nicely."

"Well at least you admit it. And stop calling me your Queen, you have no right to call me that, and stop treating me as a c***d."

"If anyone has a right to call you that, it is me, and you are acting like a spoiled c***d."

"You think so? Well, I'll show you! How would you like to be knighted?"


I picked up a grain shovel and swung it at him. He moved easily to one side and took it away from me. He then threw it behind him. I never expected that. I tried to punch him, but he caught my fist before it hit his nose, and he easily held it there, smiling, damn him!

"You really are a little spitfire Marie, and honest to God, I didn't touch you?"

Even though I planted my feet, he pulled me in to him, and spun me around so that I was facing the wall. He then crossed my arms across my chest and held me in place, saying, "Would you please stop trying to hit me, you're going to hurt yourself?"

"You think so? I'm just getting warned up." I was getting madder by the second, thinking, "Liar, how can you stand here so calmly in the face of irrefutable evidence. You didn't even flinch," I let loose with a string of profanities that could blister paint, and still no reaction from him.

"What a saucy mouth you have, my Queen, and I still don't know what you are talking about."

He let go of me and started walking away, "Don't pick up the shovel again, Marie, or anything else to hit me with. If you haven't gotten those mistaken beliefs out of your head yet, you are free to use your hands and feet for all the good it will do you. I'm going to check the answering machine. "

"Good", I shouted after him, picking up the shovel, but thinking the better of it. He was right, I was acting unreasonably. I really needed to calm down, but I continued anyway, "That's right, run away. And when we hear the message from your father-in-law, you will be shown up for the liar that you are."

I followed him into the kitchen and at this point I was ready to cry. Everything was starting to catch up, the sex club, my divorce; Patrick being a phony. Perhaps I was the one who needed a ther****t. I was a wild woman after my divorce, and angry. I refused to talk about it with anyone, including my Mom; we used to be so close. I never dealt with it except in the wrong ways.

I stood there with my arms folded, trying to keep from crying. I was glared at him trying to keep the anger going.

We listened to the message and then he looked up me with those gentle grey eyes, and said something I never expected to hear.

"Is this what you heard Marie? I'm sorry it upset you. My father-in-law, Sam, was talking about a horse. My wife has passed away and Sam was talking about my wife's mare. White Cloud is old for a horse and is set in her ways. I won't leave her alone for any length of time. The comfort food that he was talking about is a little brown sugar mixed in with her oats. White Cloud also loves her carrots, apples, parsnips; she looks forward to them. Perhaps I do baby her, but my wife loved that horse and I promised her.

As for Sam, he will always be my father-in-law even if I were to remarry.

To set the record straight, it was an actual business trip, and I did sample the goods; a one night stand. You have to understand that I haven't been with a woman in three years. I needed to feel like a man again. I made the sword that Angus was holding. I was there as his guest.

It will be a frosty Friday in hell before I would pay a two thousand dollar cover charge just to walk through a door.

I was there to collect the balance due, and it was that money that got us out of the jackpot that we were in. That is why I was there, Marie, and why you are here. I'm not much of a farmer, although I know how to farm. I am a Blacksmith with a side line, and I love my work. I will gladly show you my workshop.

Those two girls that I had from the club didn't mean anything to me," I was thinking, "Did he just say two girls?"

Patrick continued, "I don't belong there and neither do you. Why were you there, my Queen? Who are you? What were you looking for? Did someone hurt you deeply; a boyfriend or a husband, perhaps? You said that you were betrayed, stabbed in the heart. I was stabbed in the heart when death took my wife from me. Life isn't fair, I grant you, but it is what we make of it. This land has been in my f****y for generations. It is in my bl**d now, and I will die here and then be buried here in the plot next to my wife.

Would you like to take a chance on me, my Queen?


She stood there looking down like she wanted to cry, and I was thinking, "Wow, what a temper she has; what a fiery spirit. Things will never be dull around here if she decides to stick around. Marie really does look beautiful in that dress. But obviously things are starting to catch up with her. I wonder if she meant it when she said she thought that I was special....for a jerk?" I kept a straight face thinking that, smiling inwardly. Even though I prefer long hair, she looks very pretty with that short haircut and those eye framing bangs.

I placed my thumb and forefinger on her chin and lifted her head to meet her eyes, "If you want to cry, go right ahead. My mother always said a good cry could do a woman good. Or we could talk things out if that will help. The chores can wait because the horses aren't here yet, and if they were, the chores can still wait."


He has such kind eyes, and I was so wrong about him. I was such a bitch with him when I unjustly lost my temper. I still didn't know what to say to him. I should consider myself lucky that he didn't lose his temper with me when I tried to hit him with the shovel, or after he played back the answering machine. Looking at him standing there, I wished that Patrick would just hold me, and tell me everything would be all right. He surprised me again, and I was thinking, "Who are you, my Blue Knight?"

"Do you want me to hold you when you cry? Or would you like to be alone?", and with that he stood up and pulled me close to him, putting my head on his shoulder, and I let him, relaxing in his strong arms, "I don't know what's bothering you, but I promise, everything will turn out fine."

I finally gave in to myself, as my sobs wracked my body, as he held me gently but firmly, for a long overdue cry.....

It was after dark when I awoke here for the second time. The clock on the dresser said 9:00 PM. I was absolutely drained, and exhausted from that good cry. I remembered that Patrick carried me to the bedroom, suggesting that I rest and collect my thoughts. I needed that sl**p. The look on his face told me that the suggestion was not up for discussion. My Dad gave me such looks. I woke up refreshed, as if a burden was lifted from my soul. Everything was going to be all right. I could smell potatoes frying, but not just any potatoes, but potatoes with green peppers and onions. Just like my Dad used to make every Sunday morning. I was absolutely starving, and my mouth was watering for a big plate of them. I wondered if he had any Tabasco Sauce.

I went into the bathroom to wash up and comb my hair before joining him in the kitchen. I sat at the table watching him cook. He was quiet as he moved about the kitchen, looking at me occasionally and smiling. I noticed then that he had dimples in his cheeks.

Patrick was quiet during dinner, and thoughtful. I was pretty much the same. It wasn't a strained silence, it was actually quite peaceful, a truce. But what a wonderful meal it was. In addition to those delicious potatoes, we had thick cut fried pork chops and I ate two. We also had freshly sliced tomatoes and green beans. It was a simple, hearty meal, but skillfully prepared. Obviously as a widower, Patrick wasn't helpless in the kitchen.

After dinner he got up from the table, and suggested, "Coffee would be nice," and then went outside and sat on the front porch. He left me with the dirty dishes to wash and food to be put away. I sat for a minute, smiling, remembering that I used to have a housekeeper for such mundane things.

After I cleaned the kitchen, I joined him on the porch swing, bringing out two cups. I poured his coffee into a large brown earth ware mug that I knew to be his. It was the only mismatched mug in the cupboard of small matching cups, dishes and bowls of the same pattern. We sat together and sipped our coffee, watching the fireflies.

When it started to get chilly, he was ready for that. There was a large patchwork quilt folded on a small table next to him. Patrick pulled me close to him and covered us both. I knew he was waiting for me to speak, just as I knew that he had claimed me to be his woman with my temper and all.

I snuggled up to him feeling very safe and secure, "I am Marie Antoinette Bernardino a plumber's daughter, and I want to....."


We sat outside until around two in the morning and talked. Marie Antoinette, what a beautiful name. I sat and let her talk and she did tell me a great deal about herself. She mentioned being married for 16 years, and that her divorce was final. How her husband cheated on her, not going into detail. She told me nothing about her married life. Mostly she told me about her life before she met him, about her mother and father, and growing up in Brooklyn. We compared notes, on growing up; country as opposed to city. She was 3 years older than me. I thought that she was in her twenties.

She asked tons of questions about my mother and father, leading in to how I met my wife, Anne. I answered honestly and directly with things that I was willing to share. I had her laughing about my graduation commencement, and how I wrangled my first date out of Anne. Many women would be disinterested, or even offended at the subject. While it seemed to comfort her. We discussed a little about the sex club, and I again reassured her that everything would be fine. She squeezed my hand under the quilt, and then we sat quiet for a bit, until bedtime.


Sixteen years of marriage and after he graduated medical school we never sat on a couch together, let alone outside on a swing, wrapped all cozy together in a quilt. I realized for the first time, that towards the end, even when the ex and I were in the same room, alone, we were never together. Or when we were together as a couple, we were invariably in large groups of people at different functions, his or mine. We spent time together apart.

Patrick answered all my questions directly and honestly. I could tell how much he loved his wife from the way he spoke. They did everything together. Their private world was primarily this small farm, and then the small community that they lived in. They traveled the country doing their reenactments. I would have never have guessed that upper class people like Doctors, Lawyers, and Professional people did reenacting with average people like plumbers or farmers. His wife had her small Art Gallery and Patrick his business. They walked to their kitchen to have lunch together, or just to make love in the afternoon, I'm assuming that they did, Patrick said take a nap and he was smiling. For all our wealth, we commuted between Long Island, and the City, to busy with our careers for much else. Many people in our group never left the City in their entire lives, and thought the New York State boundary lines began and ended at the New York City Limits.

Patrick and his wife would get in the truck on weekends and just drive. North, South, East or West, the direction didn't matter. An adventure, because they felt like it. They stopped along the way; no real plans; researching this and that in the small town museums or historical societies. They attended County Fairs, and Fireman's carnivals or Church Picnics and Lawn Fetes. Denomination didn't matter to them. They attended church wherever they ended up, often staying overnight in the parishioner's homes, the new friends that they just met.

They often times spent the night in a tent, making love in two sl**ping bags zipped together. He never said making love, but again, that was a given. I could tell by his smile, and the faraway look in his eyes. Everything they needed for their (adventures) that was the word he used was in the bed of their pickup truck. My ex and I drove our Ferraris or Mercedes alone.

How could I possibly tell him about the privileged and selfish lives we led, or how we, how I, looked down on people. In his arms, I was a plumber's daughter again, and content to be so.

What he wouldn't discuss was the money he gave back for the sword. He refused my offer to pay him back, explaining it this way, "If I hadn't been there I would have never met you, my Queen. The expenses of a Knight are his own and his duty. His lady fair lady shall never insist, or stain their honor in discussing base silver," Ending simply with, "End of discussion, my Queen, subject closed, and its bedtime."

I have seen him in action when he wasn't angry, so I dropped the subject, case closed. He stood, helped me up, and then opened the doors for me, following me in, and finally closing and locking the screen and front entry door behind us.


My wife and I used to sit on this swing on chilly nights like this, and it was so nice being under the quilt with Marie Antoinette. She hasn't asked me to take her home yet, so that's a good sign. She also apologized for trying to hit me, and for calling me a liar. I allowed the liar part to slide as a misunderstanding, because it was. I won't let being called a liar slide again. What a temper she has, such passion. I wonder if she brings that hot bl**ded passion to her love making. Obviously her husband couldn't handle her fiery spirit, the wimp, and may have been intimidated. What challenge is there in a passive woman? Saucy mouth or not, the hitting with has to stop.

I hate sl**ping with anything on in my own bed, underwear included. I only wore pajamas the first night to save getting dressed if she got sick again. The d**gs should be out of her system by now, and I'm exhausted. Marie got to the bathroom first. I got tired of waiting and went outside to use the old outhouse. Some of my neighbors find it odd that I still use it and keep it in repair. I simply explain that flush toilets are a passing fad and I'm waiting for outhouses to be back in style again. Some laugh, some don't, who cares?

Marie was still in the bathroom when I got into bed. I was lying on my back, just nodding off when she came into the room turning on the bedside lamp. I took one of her pillows, and put it over my face, until she settled down and turned it off.

Marie didn't. Instead she pulled the quilt off completely off of me. When I looked up she was kneeling on the bed, naked, looking down at me. She looked incredibly hot. It was obvious why she spent so much time in the bathroom. She found the curling iron in the cabinet. Marie's head was a mass of soft brown curls.

"Don't move, Sir Knight. Your Queen commands you."

"Yes your, Majesty," I was wide awake now.

Marie then leaned forward and kissed my mouth, and touched my face gently, "You have dimples in your cheeks when you smile, my Blue Knight," which naturally caused me to smile, "And you are special, Patrick. You have such kind, gentle eyes. And now for your reward, you may have your way with me tonight."


When I pulled back the covers, I was surprised again, thinking, "Momma Mia, he's hung like a stallion! No wonder his wife took so many naps with him? My ex-husband's is a little cocktail wiener compared to that big cock. I'd love to be on top and ride him."

Patrick got up on his knees facing me. He took my face in his strong callused hands, looking into my eyes....really looking. I was tingling all over. He kissed me lightly and gently, a teaser of what was to come. He then closed his eyes and sighed deeply saying, "You have no idea how luscious your lips taste. From the first time you kissed me in the club, you were all that I could think about. You and those hot vanilla kisses. I was wondering about the girl behind them. That sultry purple lipstick, and gold sparkles couldn't hide you from me, the real Marie Antoinette Bernardino, pretending to be something that she is not."

I was thinking, "If he only knew how right he was about years of pretending."

He kissed me again, this time long and deep. I could feel his wholesome passion through his lips, experiencing what his wife must have felt.

I was fleetingly jealous of her, and then regrettably ashamed of myself, wondering, "Could Patrick ever love me like that?"

But his kisses... his kisses are incredible. He is incredible, eliciting so many emotions with just his kisses. I could feel the wetness between my legs from just those two kisses. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and although he hadn't touched them. I could feel the bl**d rushing to my nipples, as they hardened at the thought of him caressing my breasts with his strong hands, as he kissed me a third time.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, sliding his hands down my neck to my shoulders, "You looked so peaceful and innocent sl**ping next to me, the first time my Queen. I couldn't have my way with you then, and now I shall, with your gracious indulgence."

Patrick put his hands around my waist, kissing my face. I closed my eyes as he kissed my throat, the sides of my neck and behind my ears. His hot lips and tongue were branding me were they touched, marking me as his. He kissed his way down to my breasts, slowly and methodically, while returning to kiss my lips, my tongue desperately seeking his. I wanted those kisses to go on forever....and they did, in my passion for my Blue Knight, I was losing all sense of time.

His hands were everywhere, touching me in places I was never touched before by a man, leaving invisible tattoos, marking me forever his; Patrick Ian Buchanan's woman.


My god, what I wouldn't give for Marie to be my woman, and not just for the night. I was right, about her, such hot bl**ded passion just under the surface. Her womanhood was damp before I hardly had touched her. Her musky womanly smell was driving me crazy, fueling my passion, and the taste of her lips are beyond belief. I can feel her fiery spirit through the very tips of my commoners' callused fingers. My lips were scorched by her creamy, white flesh until I could stand it no more, and then to be soothingly healed by her luscious full lips, as I returned to them, time after time, to the memory of my first succulent kiss.


We lay on our sides, facing each other and my hands were all over him now, all over his hard body. Patrick is all muscle, but not the bulbous kind that you see in the gym, reeking of steroids. He has the healthy, compact ropey muscles that were earned by the sweat of his brow from years of hard manual labor. I have been so long without a man, so long without that sweet orgasmic release. My vagina was dripping with sweet bliss as he teased me with the tip of his huge cock, probing while we kissed, our tongues intertwined. He brought me to the brink of my sweet release several times, only to pull back, he was driving me crazy with desire for him, and he knew it. I desperately tried to pull him into to me, grabbing his tight ass and pulling, trying to impale myself on his cock, but to no avail. He held me easily in place as he did in the truck when I wouldn't behave.


Marie's hips were gyrating as she pushed her plump pussy towards my cock, "Tell me what you want my Queen. Do you want to come, shall I let you come?" She didn't answer, and grabbed my ass, struggling to push her dripping pussy on to my cock, "Tell me what you want, Marie, I want to hear say it?"


I didn't answer him, he knew I wanted to come, and then he pushed his cock all the way into me, or so I thought, holding it there, and making me gasp, before pulling it out again, it filled my cunt entire cunt so tightly, it was so big.

"I know what you want, Marie. You want to buck, and squirm and scream," and then he did it again, slapping my ass hard enough to sting and arousing me all the more. "By your leave and command, I am going to have you my Queen. I don't want you to hold back, I want to you to be yourself, the hot little spitfire that you are."

In my pre-orgasmic euphoria, I was thinking, "How could Patrick possibly know that? I had to be so passive with the jerk and hold back. He hated when I did that. I believe it intimidated him; Wee-wee-wee little cocktail wiener man, all the way home."

Patrick gently pushed me over onto my stomach and then got on top of me, straddling my dripping and welcoming pussy with his cock. He then leaned forward until his face was close to mine kissing my cheek, Please, Marie," and then he entered me, pushing slowly, making me gasp and moan, stretching my tight cunt until I could feel his balls caressing my ass cheeks. He was pushing me down into the mattress, holding me in place with his cock while supporting himself with his arms, (My ex could never manage that for long. He would get tired and would lay on top of me with his full weight, almost suffocating me). It seemed that Patrick's cock filled my entire uterus, and I have never experienced anything like this before. I started to orgasm immediately, moaning and squirming from side-to-side as my sweet orgasm washed over me

Patrick continued, making love to me slowly, and gently; in and out in and out, his balls kissing my ass cheeks, his cock caressing clitoris. I was thinking, "Isn't he ever going to come? It feels so damn good to have his cock in me. I don't care if he never comes just as long as he leaves it there."

He got up on his knees and started pounded me relentlessly, his thrusting becoming more f***eful and his cock seemed even bigger and harder as his balls spanked my ass. Amazed, I felt the beginning of another orgasm building as he was fucking me. Then he started to get wild. But so was I, moaning and bucking, clawing at the sheets. I knew that he would like that, I just knew it. It got him even more aroused. I can be myself with him. Soon, I was on my hands and knees and Patrick had his hand in my curls pulling my hair.

This enhanced my second orgasm, and then the third, better than the first two as they consumed me. (I have never had more than one orgasm with the jerk.) I could feel his hot creamy semen flood into me, I was thinking, "Here is a man who actually knows what do with a woman's hair. Patrick is such stud, thank god; hung like a stallion and he fucks like one? What an interesting contrast to his gentle ways."


My Queen was magnificent, what a hot little number she was in the sack with all that bucking, loud moaning and panting. I loved that. She really got excited when I pulled her hair, moaning, and talking, "pull my hair.... fuck me harder.... fuck me harder. Yea, she looks cute with short hair, although I would love to see it longer, but that's her choice not mine. I will only suggest, and only if she asks my preference. Marie cuddled up next to me afterwards, while I played with her soft, thick curls, as we touched each other and kissed. I was thinking, "Boy oh boy, we are so compatible in the sack. I wonder if she likes French fries with malt vinegar." That was my last thought as I contently drifted off to sl**p, dreaming of my wife. Anne was smiling as she watched over me from Heaven......


Patrick actually held me afterward, running his fingers through my hair, and we was nice. Before he fell asl**p, he kissed my cheek and said, "Thank you, Marie," and then he sighed and closed his eyes. He had to be exhausted though from that long drive, getting little sl**p and then doing his chores the next day. I wanted to talk, but that could wait. After he fell asl**p, I got out of bed and went into the kitchen to see what I could put together to make him breakfast. I then lay down next to him, putting his alarm clock underneath my pillow, so that he could sl**p in........................

I was up bright and early taking a quick bath. I found a simple yellow house dress to wear. All of his wife's clothes, including her bra and panties fit me perfectly. I said a little prayer for Anne Marie, and then for myself, asking God that things work out between Patrick and me.

I even said a little prayer for the Jerk, finally letting go. All the repressed anger and angst that I was carrying inside of me for so long was finally gone. I had forgotten how healing that prayer could be, remembering that when growing up, the f****y never missed Mass. We always went St. Luke's and Dad seldom misses it there now. He still carries my First Holy Communion Picture in his wallet. The one where I am dressed completely white, white dress, shoes and veil, everything white. God knows how many of the original wallet size photos he still he has. When one wears out he retires to his sock drawer. That's my Dad. Patrick doesn't care where he goes to church. I'm afraid that when he and Dad finally meet, sparks are sure to fly. No man is good enough for me according to Dad. My father might just finally meet his match.

I was mixing the batter when Patrick walked up behind me and put his arms around my waist, putting his face close to mine, while looking down into the bowl. He kissed my cheek most intimately and said, "Good morning, my Queen. What are you making, soup?" He then reached for the bowl and I slapped his hand with the spoon.

I put the spoon into the bowl and turned to face him, putting my arms around his neck, and kissing his lips, "Coffee, pancakes from scratch, bacon and fried eggs anyway you like them, Blue Knight."

"Is there anything that I can do to help?" he asked.

"No, and breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes."

"Yes ma'am. I'll have two eggs sunny-side up please. I have something that I have to do in the barn," and with that he stuck his finger in the bowl and then darted out the screen door, stopping to put his batter covered finger into his mouth, "Very tasty, but not as delicious as your lips are, Marie Antoinette."

Ignoring the porch steps, Patrick vaulted over the porch railing and ran to the barn, shouting," Marie Antoinette's lips are delicious, and she's making me pancakes." He left me smiling, and thinking, "If he reacts that way for pancakes, just wait until he tastes my sauce."

Patrick is in the barn getting it ready for the horses and his mind racing. He is on cloud nine, and can't wait to introduce Marie to Sam, and to everybody for that matter. He took his dream about his wife as sign, a portent that Anne approved; such was their selfless love for each other in life. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts about Marie that he didn't hear his father-in-law arrive with a guest and the horses.

"Wow, my favorite breakfast. Maybe Marie would like to go with me to the Fireman's Carnival later this afternoon. The Draft Horse Competition starts at four, and after we can grab a bite to eat. She felt so good in my arms last night, and then looked so beautiful this morning with the sunlight shining on her through the kitchen window. I can't remember when I have been this happy. Sam should be here anytime now. He can have breakfast with us.

When Sam meets Marie, he will have to stop his good intentions at being matchmaker. Susan just won't take no for an answer. What an annoyance that woman is. I'm just not interested...although, I couldn't keep my hands out of her long red hair when we were in High School, and I did have her several times before I joined the Marines. Now the widow McCartney, Susan has the same long flaming red hair...well maybe I was tempted for a roll in the hay for old time sake, but then she would really never leave alone. I had better get into the house though, my pancakes are getting cold."

I walked outside and saw the horse trailer in the driveway which meant Sam was already in the house. When I walked in there was Susan sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, and Marie standing behind her glaring at me. Sam wouldn't look up at me from his plate of pancakes, and I was thinking, "Damn it Sam, of all days to bring Susan here, you had to choose this morning. This is definitely going to throw a monkey wrench into things. What did you promise her now? I hope there are some pancakes left for me."

It didn't help that Susan got up and hugged me and then kissed my cheek, saying, "Thank you for volunteering to help me in the ticket booth, Patty. I was so excited when Sam told me. I'm sure that we will sell more tickets than anybody like we did together at the home coming dance. Remember what we did afterwards, Patty?"

Hells bells, did Susan have to say that in front of Marie. I didn't get pancakes, just scrambled eggs and toast. Susan just prattled on and on about Patty this and Patty that, and how we were an item our Senior Year. Susan always insisted on calling me Patty, not Pat or Patrick, and my name is Patrick, damn it. Marie quietly cleaned the kitchen and the excused herself, going into the spare bedroom, closing the door. Well at least she didn't slam it or break any dishes.

Susan followed me outside, quite certain that I had finally given in to her. She was talking about packing a lunch and about her Church Social on Sunday, making plans for me. I couldn't refuse and make Sam out to be a liar; his intentions were good, misplaced though they are. After the horses were settled in, and they left, I went back into the house to do damage control only to find that Marie locked herself in the bathroom....great.

"Marie, we need to talk. Will you please unlock the door?" no answer, "I'm not interested in her, Marie, that is ancient history", still no answer, "I didn't know anything about it," still no answer.

I was thinking, "This is so unfair of her," and I was starting to get angry, thinking, "Take a deep breath Patrick, and count to three before you speak again,"

I took a deep breath, several actually, "The hinges are on the outside of the door, my Queen. Don't make me takes them off and open the door that way."

"Save your breath and save my ears," she replied, "I have already made up my mind."

"For goodness sake, Marie, give me a chance to explain. Won't you at least talk to me? I'll get Sam back and he will explain everything."

"I said I have already made my mind up about you, and nobody is going to change it, no matter what they say. Nobody had better get in my way now that I have finally made up my mind."

"Darn you, Marie," I said, pounding on the door, "You're really something you know that. Open the darn door and stop acting like a spoiled c***d or this time I just might treat you like one.

"Oh, that's real mature, pounding on the door, Patty. Who's a spoiled c***d now?"

"I'm getting angry, Marie. You can push me just so far!"

"How far is too far, Patty?"

"It's Patrick, and you really don't want to know, so open the darn door."

"Don't you ever curse or swear when you are angry, Patty, Patty, Patty or is it all wishy-washy baby talk, like darn door or for goodness sake?"

"Not in front of women or c***dren I don't. " I said, throwing up my hands in frustration.

"I'm not coming out until I'm good and ready, Patty, Patty, Patty."

"God bless you, woman," and I hit the door again.


When I opened the door Patrick was standing there with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were like dark gray storm clouds, menacing and dangerous. Wow, maybe I did push him a bit too far. I was about to find out. This was the final test.

I took my robe off and let it drop to the floor at my feet, standing naked before him. I then put my arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. He let his arms drop to his side and let out a big sigh, "You were teasing me weren't you? It was all an act?

"You're my man now, Blue Knight. I have made up my mind. I'm not going anywhere. You are stuck with me."

"Do you have any idea what you just put me through, Marie?"

"Of course I do. I was there, remember?"

"Then I suppose that you are my woman, my Queen," He said, smiling, "and stuck with me."

"You suppose?" I asked, kissing his mouth, again.

"Most definitely you are my woman, Marie Antoinette," And he put his strong arms around my waist and pulled me tight.

"Good, it's settled then. Do you think I'm pretty, Patrick?"

"Not just pretty, I think you are a beautiful?"

"Am I more beautiful than, Susan?"

"Susan is merely pretty, while you are beautiful, my Queen."

"That was an honest answer, stud. Do you think I am hot, sexy hot?" I already knew the answer. I could feel his erection straining against his blue jeans. I kissed his mouth again.

"You scorch my lips when I kiss you, my Vanilla girl."

"Do you want me to suck on your big cock?"

"Oh, yah!"

"Talk dirty to me then."

"A pig fell in the mud."

"You will have to do better than that," I said, reaching down and squeezing his crotch."

"Can't I just think it?" he asked.

"No, you have to talk dirty."

"I want you to lick and suck, my cock, you hot and sexy Spitfire."

"That's it Stud, keep it up, just be yourself, my Knight, don't hold back."

"No holds barred, Marie?" He asked, holding me in place with his right around my waist, while stroking my wet pussy with the fingers of his left.

"Oh yes, that feels so good... so good, keep it up!"

"Your plump little cunt belongs to me now, bitch Marie. I can smell your hot musky woman's scent when you are in heat like this. Like a bitch in heat, dripping with estrogen."

I was thinking, "My god, I can't believe that he just said that to me, or the way he said it, the inflection in his voice. He has me tingling all over. Would he make me do it here on the floor? I was thinking that we would do it in the bedroom."

Patrick's eyes were a different shade of gray now, like clouds gathering for an impending storm. Not quite as dark, but hinting to what would come next. Patrick grabbed my hair and tugged, pulling my head back. He looked deep into my eyes, "You will suck on my cock and then swallow all of my semen for teasing me, bitch. This hairstyle is cute on you, but is not what I prefer. A cock sucking bitch's hair should be much longer."

My god, he was getting me even more aroused. I could hardly stand it. I could actually feel my juices dripping down my legs...well I asked for it. He took a few steps back releasing my hair. He then said, "Undress me, little bitch. You will keep your eyes closed."

I stepped forward closing my eyes. I reached up and took his face in my hands. I kissed his mouth like he kissed me, long and deep. I opened one eye to peek, and he gave my ass a hard slap saying, "No peeking."

I liked it though. Patrick can be so domineering and f***eful. Maybe that is why I am fascinated with him. Here was a man who can actually handle me. Not that I would push that issue for its own sake. I might not like the outcome.

I started with his heavy leather black belt, unbuckling it. I then unbuttoned the copper button of his blue jean so that I could pull out his blue chambray shirt that was tucked. I unbuttoned the shirt and took it off of him, dropping it to the floor. As I ran my hands over his hard arms and shoulders, I could feel that he was not wearing a tee shirt. I then ran my hands over his hard chest and stomach, kissing my way down.

Patrick had a clean, masculine smell devoid of heavy aftershaves or colognes that many men favor. I was down on my knees when I unzipped his jeans and pulled then down over his ankles for him to step out of; next his socks, and finally his boxer shorts. His hard cock was huge.

"You will get a washcloth and wash me first," he said, "don't worry about getting the floor wet, just soap my cock good and then rinse well."

It was so erotic washing him, and thoughtful on his part. I soaped his big cock as he ordered and rinsed it clean with the washcloth. I dried it with a towel while Patrick ran my fingers through my hair. I dropped the towel on the floor where I got it wet.

Patrick then put his strong callused hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me down on my knees on the rug and I started licking it. I could feel his cock pulsating on my tongue.

I looked up at him for his approval and he looked down nodding his head, smiling. "Use your mouth and tongue for now. Be a good little cocksucker and after I come in your mouth I'm going to take you into the bedroom, I may fuck you like a stallion on a broodmare.

I was trying to hold back my orgasm and barely succeeding. Patrick continued running his fingers through my hair while gently caressing my face. I was looking up into his eyes, and then I closed them. I continued to lick and suck, concentrating to please him, taking his cock deeper into my mouth, anticipating when he would take me into the bedroom and fuck me like a stallion on a broodmare. Soon his breathing increased, deep steady breathes and he was making a low noise in his throat, a low deep primal growl that actually gave me goose bumps.

This was followed by his thunderous orgasm releasing a deluge of hot creamy cum raining into my mouth. It was a delicious relentless barrage of semen for me to swallow. I swallowed it greedily, much as the parched dry earth is nourished by the precious rain after a drought. I was overwhelmed by that onslaught of cum as my orgasm washed over me. It seemed to me then that my past sex life was a drought of sexual repression as Patrick's flood of semen warmed and nourished my tummy and I was thinking;

For some reason the Jerk never cared for oral sex. He didn't like blow jobs` and wouldn't eat me out. Can you believe it? What man doesn't like getting a blow job? We always did it in bed from behind, lying on our sides with a pillow underneath his head so he was comfortable; always in bed, never facing me, and always the same way. If I tried to initiate anything new he became surly and sulky.

Now, here I was, hundreds of miles from home, on my knees sucking on a big cock, the cock of a man that I just met and loving it.

Of course I have made my mind up about him; I want him, Patrick is my man now. He has made it perfectly clear that he wants me and actions speak louder than words. The Jerk could be charming when he wanted to be. He was a smooth talker, a player, while Patrick is a doer. No man makes love to a woman like Patrick does unless he has some feelings for her. You can't fake that. And earlier, the familiar, intimate way that he hugged me and kissed my cheek. Or when he stuck his finger in the bowl batter and ran out the door....he showed me a side of him only his wife ever saw.

That ridiculous woman is not about to stand in my way. I have to admit that she is a beautiful woman. Susan now thinks that she has a chance with him. If Patrick was interested he would have had her long before now. Can she possibly be that obtuse, she continued prattling on, Patty this and Patty that like I wasn't even there. It must be the hair, Patrick let that inadvertently slip just now, or did he? I wonder how I would look with long braids. I can't very well play the part of his Indian wife with my hair this short, and besides, it will give him something to pull on while he is fucking me like a stallion on a broodmare...what a way to put things.

I saw the look on Patrick's face when he walked into the kitchen. His father-in-law didn't even look up from his plates of pancakes, and boy can Sam eat. Sam looked guilty and embarrassed; he didn't say a word. Patrick was as stiff as a board when she hugged and kissed him. I was just having a little fun at his expense. Besides, he will be taking me to the Fireman's Carnival, it will be fun. The three of us can sell tickets.

I have plans for us. I will keep my house on Long Island. We can spend part of our summers there or get away on the weekends the rest of the year. Dad can put in a corner shower here, I know just the spot. I defiantly want a refrigerator with cold water and ice in the door.

I need to go back to Long Island soon and take care of some things. I will bring back some clothes and my makeup. Then we will stop in Brooklyn. I'm going to take Patrick to meet my Mom and Dad. We can talk about it on the way to the Fireman's Carnival."
100% (18/0)
Categories: Voyeur
Posted by kap007
10 months ago    Views: 9,748
Comments (6)
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6 months ago
7 months ago
Top notch. The references to metallurgy were a nice touch.

Though it is fiction, I find myself thanking my stars that my own wife is very much in love--and lust--with her Mike. Love like that doesn't come along too often.
8 months ago
now that's how you write a story....
8 months ago
What a great tale! So detailed and hot!
10 months ago
sweet Thanks for the posting
10 months ago
great story