I was floating in a golden haze of pleasure, my pussy pulsing as I neared orgasm, feeling every stroke of his thick cock as it pounded into me, and finally, when he gently pinched and tugged on my nipples, that finally tipped me over, waves of pleasure rising up and crashing through me, my cunt, my nipples, and especially my bum-hole throbbing and convulsing as a hot blast of pure, shuddering delight swept through me.
I screamed as it surged through me, and my anus contracted sharply, clamping down on him as my pussy quivered. Mark groaned loudly as he swelled and jammed inside me, throbbing inside me even as the feel of his spunk filled me, bathing my insides with his warmth, spurt after spurt, sent me off into another white-hot whirl of pleasure, my anus milking him of every drop as it expanded and contracted around him, pulsing in time with my pussy.
Eventually, the flashing lights winked out, and my heartbeat slowed as Mark slowly pulled out of me, micro-orgasms uncurling inside me and making me gasp and quiver as he did, to lie next to me and pull me into him. I felt completely wrung-out from the intense pleasure he’d given me, and all I wanted to do was lie there in the warmth of his body, feeling him curled around me, secure and at peace.
We lay there in that beautiful afterglow, the memory of pleasure given and taken still rolling around inside us, until Mark finally stirred.
“Okay Tinkerbell, what’s the reason?” he murmured, his lips brushing my hair as he slowly stroked my back and fondled my bum.
“Reason for what, Mark?” I answered, trying to sound innocent and not really succeeding, judging by the thousand little ‘tells’ he had that told me he was grinning.
“For the whole ‘Naughty School-Girl’ seduction routine. If you want me to do something, Tink, all you have to do is ask, you know that, baby-girl!”
OK, so I was busted; perhaps it took more than just devastating good looks to be a successful Securities Trader in the City of London; he’d worked out I wanted something pretty quick, after all; time to try some wheedling…
“I knew that, Lost Boy, but it was fun to vamp you a little! You want to know why? Next time you go to Clifton… I want to come with you.” I sensed him about to refuse, so plunged on, not giving him a chance to interrupt.
“Don’t worry about the kids, Mummy will happily have them, and besides, it’ll only be for a couple of nights, oh please, Mark, I really want to go to Bristol with you!”
Mark held me away from him a little so he could look in my eyes.
“Of course you can come, Tink, all you had to do was say so, although I can’t think why; I don’t go there because I want to, you know; the office has a strict ‘No Visitors’ policy, which means you can’t stay with me in my office, so why would you want to spend two days pretty much alone in Bristol? What’s going on, baby-girl?”
This was it.
“Mark, you remember that conversation we had about that crazy bitch and her family, about where she was from?”
Mark looked sideways at me.
“Ye-es, sort of, and as I remember, I said I didn’t want to know. What are you up to now, Wee Wendy?”
I had to grin; he hadn’t called me that since I was five or six. I gathered my thoughts, because I really wanted him to help me with this.
“Mark, I found out that mum was most likely born in Bristol; ‘Southmead’ is a big hospital on the outskirts of Bristol, no, no, wait, please..! ” I trailed off as he rolled his eyes and sighed, his lips compressing. We locked eyes, then he did what he always does; he relaxed, smiled and nodded for me to continue.
“I want to come with you so I can go there and check if mum was actually born there; if I can find her records, I’ll have her birth name, then I can look up her family; it’s got to be worth a try, Mark, please, do this for me!”
Mark held me close, his hand absently stroking my hair, something that had always fascinated him, its texture and colour so different from his. I could almost hear the wheels turning as he mulled over what I’d said.
“Sure, why not; I can see you won’t let this go until you’ve ploughed through it, so yeah, why not. I’ll book a proper hotel instead of a B&B, and maybe we can stay an extra day and do a little sightseeing while we’re there, you know, sort of soak up some of the ambience of the tourist mecca that is Bristol!”
I punched him on the arm for that, and he grabbed me and started tickling me in retaliation, which was not fair, he was so much bigger than me, but we eventually worked out a compromise and did something a lot stickier and more satisfying than tickling…
*
DARRYL:
Progress on our search had stalled, come to a dead-stop as the meagre information we’d managed to collect just failed to pan-out. I’d already decided that the hunt was over, they were gone, when fate decided to take a hand. It was a Friday evening, my first weekend off-roster in a while. We’d just finished putting the kids to bed and were looking forward to an evening with a nice DVD and maybe a couple of glasses of good wine, when the phone rang. Lena and answered it, then grinned and passed it over to me.
“It’s Georgie the Hottie!” she stage-whispered, weaving the phone just out of reach and grinning. I eventually managed to snag it and talk to Georgie.
“Darryl, how are you, darling, how’s that delectable little wife of yours, still convinced she’s straight? Send her over, I’ll soon teach her the errors of her ways!”
I had to grin; that was such a Georgie thing to say.
“Down girl; I told you before, my pie, go find a pie of your own! To what do I owe the pleasure of this call anyway, any news, or did you just call up to proposition my darling wife, again, and attempt to lure her into your web of sluttish rug-munching?”
I could hear her grinning even down the telephone line.
“Darling Boy, I’m shocked at such a suggestion! If your mummy had only taught you to share when you were little, we wouldn’t be having this discussion about the lovely little Lena, you mean, selfish, greedy little piggy!”
I decided to cut the bantering short; Georgie had rung for a reason, and I was curious as to what it was.
“So Georgie, why did you call, do you have anything for me?”
Georgie’s voice lost that bantering tone, became more serious.
“Yes, Daryl. We’ve finally got something solid. Mum went digging in the old Bolingbroke Hospital record archive on a hunch, and she found everything you were looking for. The girl you’re looking for was treated for a left zygomatic fracture and periorbital haematoma, together with a concussion, allegedly caused by a head-clash during a game of volleyball, although the attending noted suspicions that it may have been a deliberate injury; he thought someone took a swing at her. She was released after an MRI scan found no trace of vascular trauma, and referred back to a GP in Clapham Old Town. There was a contact address, also in Clapham Old Town, whether or not it’s still valid is something you’ll have to find out for yourself; I’ll text it to you. Her records were transferred there as there’d been no need to access them for over five years, so they were archived.”