I’m not much of a dancer, but having Georgy in my arms made me look much better than I actually was. She danced every number with me, and when she sat one out someone would invariably ask her to dance and she’d tell them “thanks, but I don’t think my husband would like it!” and they’d look at me, kind of gulp, and back away slowly, while that musical tinkle she used for a laugh rang out.
Slow dancing with her was even more of a challenge; as she rubbed against me I could feel myself hardening, and she’d looked up at me and grinned “Really, Will, I can’t take you anywhere!”
That didn’t help; it only got more… pronounced, which made her grind and gyrate against me even more.
“Georgy, cut it out, you’ll get us chucked out!” I groaned, and she kissed me and grabbed my jaw, turning my head to look at the spectacularly booby blonde in a sparkly dress made of a few fragments of glittery stuff with the boyfriend lost in her awe-inspiring cleavage who was bumping and grinding and basically dry-humping in the middle of the dance floor.
Georgy grinned up at me, her eyes shining with mischief.
“Relax Ty, everyone’s watching the floor-show, no-one’s looking, so take the fun, honey-bun!”
The way she went to town on my throbbing cock was sheer poetry in motion; what she toned-down in overt dry-humping she made up for in smouldering sexual supercharge; as she gyrated against me I was praying desperately to the gods of premature ejaculation to look the other way, just this once, because not here, please…
After an agony of enduring (is that even the right word?) her subtle version of bump and grind I was ready to drag her home and exert severe punishment with my cock, and she knew it, judging by the taunting grin and teasing looks. A few other couples had caught on to what was happening right out there in public and decided to follow suit, and I needed to get us out of there before a full-on Roman orgy erupted.
The air sang with the sweet, heady cocktail of expensive perfume and arousal, and I wasn’t immune to it.
Neither was Georgy, judging by the way she rubbed and ground her mons against mine as we dirty danced just this side of breaking the law until I couldn’t take any more.
The subtle thumping of knees in the dark corners of the club as girls dropped to their knees and gave their boyfriends for real what the dance floor had promised was all the signal I needed, and so I dragged Georgy out of there, visible erection be damned; no-one cared anyway, they were too busy taking care of business off the dance floor, and I really didn’t want to be there when the cops came calling…
We drove home with my eyes fixed on the road and Georgy’s fingers firmly wrapped around my aching hardness; the way I was feeling, the twenty-minute drive home seemed to take half the night, and I was literally drenched in sweat when we screeched to a halt and half-climbed-half fell out of the car. As I slammed the car door Georgy was all over me, kissing me like a crazy person while I groped and squeezed everything I could reach, particularly enjoying her gasp and even harder kiss when I squeezed then pulled her buttocks apart as we kissed with almost bruising force. Her body felt warm and smooth under her dress, and I realised she’d gone commando under that tiny club dress she was wearing.
My cock went from rock hard to absolute blue-steel at the thought I’d been grind-dancing with her in public while all the time she’d been practically naked, and now I wanted to fuck her so hard I couldn’t think straight. Georgy apparently felt the same way, if her frenzied groping of me was anything to go by, and we rushed indoors peeling off clothing in our haste to get naked.
I don’t remember running up to my room, one minute we were face-sucking like a pair of horny lampreys in the foyer, next thing I knew I was falling naked onto my bed with an equally naked Georgy on top of me. A quick adjustment, a quick thrust, and she was sliding down onto me, her eyes bugging and her mouth open in a soundless scream as my swollen, over-stimulated cock jammed in and stretched her open all at once.
She rode me like a frenzied tiger, growling and gasping as she pounded herself onto me, and all I had to do was hang on for dear life and enjoy the sight of her sexy little boobs bouncing and bobbing as she came again and again, her clutching pussy rippling over my length like it was playing scales on it, sending me into orbit with her.
When I came it was like something had lit the blue touch-paper inside her, because she literally exploded into orgasm, taking me even higher with her; they must have heard her scream half-way across the county, if not my yell as I let go would have been as I came so hard I actually thought my cock had detonated inside her.
Georgy quivered atop me for long, breathless seconds as her pussy rippled and squeezed me, milking every last drop of spunk out of me, before collapsing onto me, our sweat-slick bodies gluing us together into one big orgasmic mass. I was literally speechless, my throat ragged and raw from the way I’d yelled as I came so forcefully inside her.
Georgy looked to be in about the same state; here heart thudded against mine as we slowly climbed down from that place and lay still, muscles too stretched and tired after such enormous exertion to do anything except let us lie there bonelessly, absolutely wrung out.
I was just about dozing off when Georgy stirred and kissed me long and soulfully, before grinning and rubbing noses with me.
“Love you soldier-boy!” she murmured, “make sure you keep giving me more of the same, Tyler Wilmot, now you know how much I need you!”
She giggled when I clamped my hands around her firm, toned buttocks, massaging the pert globes as I replied with my nickname for her since she was a toddler.
“Love you too, Georgy-Girl!”
*****
Work on the house continued apace; I could only concentrate on one set of big problems at a time, and getting the house finished, staged, and sold seemed to be the most pressing if we were ever going to survive, so we forged ahead with it. With Georgy keeping a close eye on our costs, and paying attention to the period authenticity of the features and finishes, we were looking at a very likely sale estimate somewhere near the top end of the market for a property of its type.
My house wasn’t going on sale at a low-ball, knockdown price just to get rid of it, the amount we were spending to get it just right didn’t allow for that, but the top-market price we were looking for would be justified by the quality and authenticity of the renovation if we got it right, I would have bet the farm on it.
Most of the period detail came about because of an idea Georgy had; she came to me with an idea that suddenly made light-bulbs and sparklers go on above my head.
“Ty, why don’t we go through building salvage and reclamation centres, they’re everywhere, here, look at this…”
She showed me a brochure from a reclamation yard not a mile from the house, they had stock of reclaimed aged and seasoned wood panelling, Deal, Hornbeam, Oak, and Teak floorboards and, most importantly, reclaimed Georgian Fletton brick.
“We need those, Ty, they’ll match the original bricks, modern bricks are too big and they look too new, we need to make the rebuilds and restorations blend-in, not stand out. And look at this, here’s a company that takes old panelled doors and tank-dips them to strip off the old lead paint; it’ll save us a fortune, and it’ll be green and safe, same for the windows and casements; if we use old, reclaimed, and rebuilt, we’ll save a bomb, what do you say?”
Of course she was right, those places turned out to be goldmines of period decor trim, fitments, and old, seasoned wood we could use to recreate the wainscoting buyers of period Georgian and Regency properties seemed to think was an absolute essential.
They also yielded a real bonus, several matching silver crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, tarnished black with centuries of tarnish but recoverable and, best of all, of the correct period, and authentic period ornate and fluted doorknobs, escutcheons, and finger-plates. A little elbow grease, some polish and some fine steel wool, and we got the brass door furniture looking like it had been in place and lovingly cared for by generations of housemaids, not salvaged en-mass and newly renovated.
The crystal chandeliers and sconces we cleaned of generations of tarnish by lining an old enamel bathtub with aluminium kitchen foil and submerging them overnight in a solution of washing soda, white vinegar and cold water and letting the chemical reaction strip the tarnish off the silver without aggressively polishing and possibly damaging the antique silver.
As a bonus, it also cleaned the hand-cut crystals of two hundred years of candle grease, pipe smoke, and nicotine, restoring their cut-glass sparkle, and a local company converted them to electric without altering their construction.
What we couldn’t find in the reclamation yards we made, and Georgy quickly learned how to use a power-planer and router table with a tongue and groove bit set as well as I could.
After a few false starts (and a lot of me standing behind her and ‘instructing’ her, which was really just an excuse to get my hands on her; hot girls and power-tools, what red-blooded male can resist that combination?) I had her cutting old oak floorboards on the sliding chop saw, planning them down evenly and turning them into perfect tongue and grooved panelling to make replacement wainscoting to restore that original late-Georgian look.
She cut them, I stained them, and we hired a joiner to install them with criss-cross battens to simulate authentic Georgian ‘pigeonhole’ wainscot panelling.
I once commented on how well she’d adapted to ‘guy-world’ and she gave me that smile and tinkling laugh that made hot icicles race up and down my spine.