It was as I heard the back door open that I suddenly realised – it was Thursday – the day Donald delivered the laundry. I had never heard his voice, but there was no doubt in my mind who it was when a male voice called out for Joan. She didn’t answer – just sat staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
There was a short silence, then I heard footsteps ascending the stairs. They were slow and steady – clearly someone carrying a load. I watched as I saw the guy from the ice-cream parlour – Donald, as I now knew him to be – enter the bedroom and proceed into the walk-in closet, carrying a basket.
At the same time as Donald entered the walk-in, Joan came out of the bathroom, naked from the waist up. Her hands were by her sides, her breasts bouncing gently as she walked. My heart was beating furiously – I couldn’t believe they couldn’t hear it. Joan walked quietly to her mirrored dresser where she kept her lingerie and perfume vials. The radio music covered her soft footsteps.
Joan selected a vial with a cruet top on it. I could see her keeping her eye on the lower corner of the mirror, awaiting Donald’s emergence from the walk-in closet. She saw him starting to come out of the closet – turned, as if she didn’t know he was there – and started to take the top off of the perfume vial. She ‘saw’ him emerge from the closet and gasped, dropping the cruet top onto the carpet, as if by accident.
A look of horror on her face, she cried out – “Oh, my God! Donald! I forgot!”
She got down on her hands and knees and looked for the vial top. Donald dropped the clothes he was carrying and started forward to help her, but she quickly found the top and put out a hand for him to help her back to her feet.
I had an erection like nothing I’ve ever had before in my life. Donald reached out to give Joan his hand and arm to grab onto, to help her up. She took hold of it, and got back to her feet.
As she did so, the sight and nearness of her proved too much for Donald and he pulled her into his arms. Beside himself, he began kissing her fiercely, on her neck and shoulders and hair, as she twisted her mouth away from his, in what, only Joan and I knew, was feigned resistance.
Donald was clutching her ass-cheeks, tightly, with one hand, pulling her against him, while his other hand was frantically fondling one of her exposed breasts. He was watching his hand, reflected in the mirror of the dresser, as it squeezed the firm flesh of her buttocks through the sheer white of her brief panties.
It was only with a superhuman effort of will that I managed not to clutch my jerking prick – I knew one touch would be all it would take to reduce me to a gasping ejaculation.
Joan was calling, protesting – “No, Donald – no – no – no!”
But her cries increasingly lacked conviction, until they slowly ceased and, with an almost imperceptible sigh, her body relaxed, her arms slid round his neck, and she began to return his kisses. He no longer had to clutch at her bottom to pull her against him, but his hand stayed there, anyway, exploring the delicious contours, encased in the white satin of her panties. His other hand was now caressing, rather than grabbing, her left breast, and I could see his thumb and forefinger stimulating the hard brown nubbin of her nipple. I knew how much she liked that, and I imagined how she would now be beginning to flood, between her legs.