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Marcia hadn’t meant to fuck Gareth. She hadn’t planned it or thought about it, or even him really, since Amanda and Kevin’s housewarming a month or so ago.
There, they had danced together. There, he had ran his hands down her back and onto her bum and had found she wasn’t’ wearing any underwear. There he had a hard on and had pressed it suggestively against Marcia. It was also there, at that party, that Marcia had been fucked by Gareth’s dad, otherwise she may well have responded to Gareth’s blatant suggestion.
Gareth, on the other hand, had thought of little else since the party other than having sex with Marcia. He was obsessed by her, his stepmother Amanda’s best friend. He had been since he first met her when he was twenty or so, some four years ago.
She was attractive in a hard, rich bitch sort of way. Angular features, thin lips and a pointy nose stopped her being classically beautiful, but she was glamorous and vivacious, people were impressed by her and remembered her, most men fancied her. Her short, beautifully groomed, dark hair, green eyes and prominent cheekbones made her memorable. She had the confidence which having money of a level where you don’t have to give a fuck brings, was outgoing, at times outrageous and she used every single one of her womanly charms continuously. Fairly tall, around five nine, she was slim and as good as flat-chested, just two little puffs of flesh capped by big, dark nipples. She had great legs and an awesome arse. The overriding aspect of Marcia that appealed to men was the strong hint of availability she always promoted. She appeared to be ‘up for it’ all the time, and it was that which had given Gareth the strong attraction towards her.
That had been ten years ago. Since then, they had been fairly regular lovers as Marcia had also been with Gareth’s father, Kevin. Her sense of mischief was stimulated by the fact that she was fucking the father and the son, but thankfully, not, she sometimes smiled, the Holy Ghost as well. However, it would have been even more stimulating if she had been able to get inside Amanda’s knickers as well or, even better, Kevin and Amanda’s blonde bombshell of a daughter Sammi. Maybe bridges too far she had thought over the years.
It was Kevin who had fostered Marcia’s love of not wearing underwear. With tits the size of her, ‘basically pimples with raspberries on them’ as she had been known to refer to them, she didn’t need a bra, although until the housewarming, she always wore panties.
Two events changed that.
Kevin took her into the grounds of the house and fucked her up against the wall of the pool changing room. In so doing, her panties slid to the floor and were ruined. Kevin put them in his pocket and hence, later that evening the extreme thrill for his son from his first marriage. A week or so later in a hotel bedroom he used Marcia’s panties to tie her wrists to the bed. In so doing, they were torn. She had to travel home on the tube in her short skirt, with no tights or panties. She found she loved it and got immensely turned on by not wearing them. In the ten years since then, she rarely wore any, irrespective of her attire.
She was at Amanda’s house. Gareth had popped in to collect something. A derivatives trader who lived on his wits and instincts, he was just starting to be successful. In other words, he was earning obscene amounts of money for someone who had no real skills other than the ability to get people to buy what he was selling. In business that was stocks and shares, in his social life to women it was come to bed. It was his quick wits and instincts that made him successful in both settings; at work he was earning over two-hundred thousand a year and socially he was sleeping with far more women of all ages than he could count.
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said seeing a way to get Marcia to himself. She had lost her driving a licence for a drink offence a few months ago and was preparing to go home by tube.
“I live in Hampstead, Gareth,” she said seemingly recalling that he lived in the East End.
“That’s alright,” he beamed, standing up and taking hold of Marcia’s elbow. “Practically on my way ma’am, your carriage awaits.”
Marcia looked at him as Amanda was getting her coat. She saw the look of desire and availability
in his eyes that she was familiar with then. It was a look with which she became even more familiar as time and the number of men and women she slept with increased.
Marcia was wearing the same, slightly too short for a mid thirties woman, black, leather skirt she had worn when she and Kevin had met in the hotel, when he had ruined her panties by using them to tie her up, when she had travelled home commando. Yes when Marcia had first found the delights of being naked under her top clothes.
On top, she was wearing a thin, round neck, pink cashmere sweater through which her rather prominent nipples made indentations. This was particularly noticeable when the soft material was stretched, as it was now illegal bahis when Marcia was shrugging into the black puff jacket. Gareth saw the interesting bumps appear; he stared at them. Marcia knew they were on show and she stared at Gareth. Their eyes caught, they held the gaze for a moment, and it was then that they both knew they probably would fuck.
In celebration of his new-found wealth, Gareth had just bought a 911. As the low-slung seat meant that Marcia’s legs were stretched almost flat out under the dashboard, her short skirt, inevitably rode up even further. They both saw that, they both looked at the long expanse of tanned flesh, they both glanced at each other; neither said anything and neither did anything, other than look.
They chatted quite easily as the drove slowly through the heavy rush hour traffic. Even though driving from Essex into the East End, they were going against the main flow it was still awfully slow. As they got near to Stratford, Marcia said.
“Why don’t you drop me, I can get the tube from here.”
“What on a crowded tube wearing that skirt,” he quipped back.
“Yes, why not?”
“You ever travel in the rush hour?”
“Only home from the West End on the Northern Line.”
“This is the Central Line and it’s in bandit country.”
Marcia laughed, raising one foot up a little and bending the knee that was away from Gareth.
“I can look after myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” Gareth said his eyes drooling up and down Marcia’s great legs.
Due to her movement, the hem of the leather skirt had risen even further up her thighs. It was excitingly high, dangerously so. ‘Almost panty level’ Gareth was thinking, as his cock started to grow. The way her left leg was bent and her right was flat meant that the hem dipped down from one leg to the other, forming a little tunnel up the few remaining, covered inches of Marcia’s, slightly parted thighs. ‘Fuck, from another angle I could look right up it he thought’ wondering if the no panties thing was a one off or a permanent habit.
He went on. “It’s also city boy territory from Liverpool Street, and you know what they are like don’t you?”
Smiling to herself at his less than sophisticated chat lines and rather obvious, but nevertheless welcomingly flattering, ogling of her legs, Marcia looked at him, caught his eye, smiled and said.
“I’m certainly beginning to Gareth.”
Marcia had recently become more worried about her advancing age and felt in need of constant reassurance that she was attractive and desirable. Hence, the short skirts, the low cut tops, the no bras and probably the no panties as well. It was seeking this, which almost certainly, or so her psychologist husband thought, made her need the pleasure of constant new conquests. And it was precisely that which made her turn it on with Gareth.
She turned slightly onto her right side, bent both knees a bit, put her elbow on the back of the seat, and supported her head with her hand.
Almost gulping, he asked. “And what have you learned Marcia?”
She smiled as she saw his eyes drift towards her legs. She moved them slightly. That completed his erection, ‘Fucking hell,’ he thought as he imagined reaching over and pulling the skirt up to see if she was wearing anything under them.
Marcia replied, with a smile, “That some are real cheeky bastards.”
‘Shit, was that referring to the conversation when I asked if she had forgotten something?’ He wondered
He laughed. “But we have good memories, unlike some.”
Sounding quite serious, Marcia replied. “I have a very good memory, for most things.”
‘She is replaying that conversation,’ he realised as, indeed, she was.
“But of course you do some things on purpose don’t you Marcia?”
There was silence for a moment. They were in a jam near Kings Cross Station; the traffic was awful.
“Look Gareth, I could jump out here, I’ll be home in half hour.”
Gareth panicked, he couldn’t let her go, he knew he was near, if only there was somewhere he could take her, he was sure she was up for it.
“Marcia, as much as I would love to see you getting out of this fucking ridiculous car in that skirt, I insist on you staying.”
“Why?” She asked, letting her arm fall straight along the back of his seat.
In keeping with his work style and general risk-taking personality, Gareth went for broke, or at least started to.
“Because Marcia, looking at your legs in here, is like having a soft porn movie in my own fucking car.”
She laughed. “Just soft? I’m disappointed.”
“Well some things are far from soft.”
“And what, pray, might they be.” She asked, her fingernail softly scratching his neck.
“Give me your hand and I’ll show you, if you like.”
She pondered for a moment or two. Were things going too quickly? Did she want yet another sexual complication in her life? Was it too much to be fucking both Gareth and his dad? Did she really want to get mixed up with a kid, ten or twelve years younger illegal bahis siteleri than her? Could she cope with fucking her best friend’s stepson as well as her husband? All these thoughts were going through her mind as she also thought of the stamina that young men had, their ability to get hard so soon after cumming, their capabilities of shagging many times in an evening and of the firm, lithe body that she knew from seeing him swimming Gareth possessed. Thosee thoughts won the day and she slowly held her left hand out towards him.
Driving with just his right hand was not a problem in the five to ten miles an hour crawl, so it was simple for him to grasp Marcia’s hand. Slowly, but with bated breath on both their parts, he pulled her hand and placed it right on his uncomfortably restricted erection. He opened his legs a little more and leaned back further. That was all so suggestive on his part and inviting to her.
She ran her fingers over the bulge, which quite frankly could have been anything, for it was so caught up in his trousers, shirttail and pants. She knew what was expected, though. What Gareth hoped for and what she, as a willing participant was, almost, duty bound to do. She pressed and pushed, pulled and wiggled until she freed him from the other restrictions, until his erection could do what it was supposed to do, stand ramrod straight right up his wonderfully flat stomach. It was big, thick more than long, which she preferred. She ran her fingers along its length.
“Nice?” She asked.
“Yes, but could be nicer.”
She smiled. “How?”
Without asking her permission or messing around any more he reached down and started to undo his zip. Scrunched up in the low sports seat of the car that was difficult.
“Fuck,” he said lifting himself up by holding onto the steering wheel, he tried to undo the zip. As much as he wiggled and moved, lifted himself up and tugged at the zip, it simply wouldn’t move.
Laughing she said. “Sit down Gareth, let me do it.”
The traffic was easier as they turned into Holloway Road, in Islington and they picked up speed, bowling along at about twenty miles per hour. Marcia leaned across and undid his belt. Then holding the top of the trousers and pulling the front of them tight, she was able to slip the zip down quite easily.
“See it just needs a woman’s touch,” she said as they hit yet another traffic hold up at Archway station.
“Yes Marcia that is exactly what IT needs,” he replied putting the emphasis pointedly on the it.
“IT?” Marcia asked with equal emphasis, smiling.
“Yes Marcia, IT, fucking IT.”
“Well then I suppose IT should get a woman’s touch shouldn’t IT!” Marcia said softly as they pulled across the junction.
“Jesus, Marcia, that’s fucking brilliant,” Gareth groaned as Marcia’s fingers closed round his erection. “Oh shit sorry,” he went on, slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front.
‘He’s got a nice dick’ Marcia was thinking as she eased it out of his trousers. It was gorgeously hard, nice and smooth, fairly long and encouraging thick. It was very warm and she could feel it throbbing. She closed her hand round it, gripped it lightly and ran up and down its length, slowly.
“Oh yes, that’s great.”
“So IT likes the woman’s touch does it Gareth?” she asked as the car once more came to a halt in heavy traffic around Swiss Cottage.
“Does it? IT loves it,” he replied, leaning forward a little and reaching out with his left hand.
“Good,” Marcia muttered, enjoying touching his cock and the sheer sordidness of what she was doing. She momentarily wondered whether she could go down on him and give him a blow job, but guessed the steering wheel would prevent that.
Gareth got his hand on Marcia’s leg, just above her knee. She had smooth, tanned skin. She liked the feel of his warm hand on her. He started moving up wards. ‘I’ll fuckingwell find out about those panties now,’ he thought as the side of his brushed against the hem of her skirt. Just then, the lights changed and he had to change gear so he had to move his hand away. Marcia though kept rubbing his cock. Not too hard so that it would make him cum, but firmly enough for him to feel it.
“You’ve done this before, you’re fucking great,” he grunted.
“Not in a Porsche,” she smiled, adding, “It’s too fucking cramped.”
“So if it’s too cramped for this, I guess it’s no good for a fuck either is it?”
“Not a chance.”
“I’ll have to get a Rangerover then.”
“Ah now you’re talking,” Marcia said, giving his dick a hard squeeze.
They stopped again. Gareth was desperate to find out whether she had anything under the skirt. It had been short when Marcia was standing, laid out almost flat as she had to be in the low-slung car, with her legs bent a little and her body turned slightly to one side, it was miniscule. He put his hand on her leg again; it felt great. He slid it upwards, almost to the hem, but again he had to change gears. ‘Fucking manual shift cars,’ canlı bahis siteleri he thought, vowing in future to get automatics that were big enough to fuck in.
Going along the Finchley Road, they picked up speed a bit, so Gareth had no chance to try to find out. In any case, Marcia had guessed what he wanted to do; she was usually one-step ahead of her lovers.
As they stopped again, now near to Hampstead, he tried once more. This time they were still for some time. Long enough for Gareth to get his hand on Marcia’s leg, long enough for him to slide it upwards and long enough for him to reach the hem of her skirt. It felt good. Marcia was aroused, she got that way quite easily, particularly when she was in an exciting situation such as this and especially when she had a cock in her hand. She was tempted to let him go on. It would be so nice to feel his hand on her pussy, pressure on her clit or fingers up her cunt. The sheer outrageousness of the idea of lying back in the seat, her knees bent, legs drawn and wide open, perhaps one wrapped round the gear stick the other pressed against the leather dashboard, had a very strong appeal. Being finger fucked as they drove up Haverstock Hill, played to her sense of extreme sex.
The time they stopped at the lights by Hampstead station was long enough for all of that to happen. It was also long enough for Marcia to grab his wrist.
“Now, now, what do you think you are doing?”
Gareth was now frustrated. He had a vile temper and lost it quite easily. He was used to getting his way and getting what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to shove his hand up Marcia’s skirt and see if she was wearing knickers and she was stopping him
“I am trying to get my fucking hand up your fucking skirt, what it’s look like I’m trying to do?”
She smiled. “I had gathered that Gareth and do you know what I am doing?”
“Yes, fuckingwell stopping me,” he moaned struggling to free his hand.
“Well, big boy, if you look at the traffic you’ll see why.”
“Oh shit,” he grunted shoving his foot down and changing up to second.
“I only wanted to find out if you were wearing anything under that sexy skirt.”
“Ah well Gareth, sometimes you don’t always get what you want do you?”
“Too fucking true,” he said as they drove across the Heath and into Frognall.
“How about we stop somewhere, we’re quite close to where you live aren’t we?
“Stop on the Heath”?
“Yes, it’s nice and dark,” he said pushing his still splendidly hard cock against the palm of Marcia’s hand.
“You must be crazy, it’s full of gays, rampant ones as well, it’s not safe. No, take me home.
Following her instructions, he wiggled the car through the narrow streets.
“Turn left here and pull into the second set of gates on the left.”
He stopped the car on the short gravel drive, thankfully he thought a little out of sight from the house. Leaving the engine running, he put his arm round Marcia, pulled her towards him and kissed her, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you at Amanda’s earlier on.”
“Good, it was nice,” she replied taking his face in her hands and plastering little kisses all round his lips and chin.
He pressed his left hand against her breast, finding and pinching her right nipple as once more he put his hand on her leg and started moving it upwards. She grabbed his wrist.
“What’s the matter?” Gareth asked.
“As odd as it might seem to you Gareth, I don’t like being touched up in my driveway in front of my own house.”
“Oh right sorry.”
“So Gareth you are going to see what you said you would love see.”
“Me getting out of this fucking ridiculous car.”
And with remarkable agility, almost total decorum and, from Gareth’s perspective, undue haste, that is exactly what she did.
Unless they had anything special on, such as going to a Grand Prix, almost anywhere in Europe, a big football match at Spurs or Arsenal, a wedding or Bar Mitvah or something very special, Gareth and a group of his cronies usually spent their Sundays getting stoned and/or drunk.
He had bought a luxurious flat in St John’s Wood, which was fairly convenient to the City where he worked as a trader, but more importantly was close to the posh restaurants and clubs of London’s West End that he and his fellow city boys frequented.
“I tell you it was the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen.” Gareth was slurring to his mates the following Sunday.
“What was?” One of them asked.
“How do you mean? You didn’t see it in the car did you?”
“No, but she asked me in.”
“Yes, Stephen, her husband was away on some fucking conference or convention or some piss up junket.”
“You jammy bastard.”
“That’s moi,” Gareth replied taking a big slug of Stolly.
“So, come on what happened?”
“Well like some fucking Russian gymnast Marcia was up and out of the Porsche without flashing anything, these posh birds can do that.”
“Yeah they’re trained that way, look at Princess Di when she was alive and got out of cars. You didn’t see either her tits or her knickers, more’s the pity.”
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