Returning from the Airport by thelastenglishking

Returning from the Airport by thelastenglishking

[yoast_meta_description]<br/> It was three-thirty in the afternoon when I drove out of the airport; I was hoping that I could make it home before the evening rush-hour traffic got going in earnest. I hadn’t been away anywhere, I’d just been to the airport to drop-off my wife Julie and two other girls; they were flying out to Prague for Julie’s sister Anne’s Hen-Party weekend.

Anne had hosted a much larger, hen-party already for those friends and family who couldn’t make the trip. That had been held the previous night and if Julie, or the two other girls I’d just chauffeured either were anything to go by, it’d been a lively evening; Julie had been detuned all day, so I couldn’t help thinking that this evening’s festivities might not go on very late?

Anne and three other girls were being delivered to the airport, by her mother Marsha; she pulled up in the drop-off parking area just ahead of me a few seconds after I’d finished unloading my own passengers and their luggage. Marsha too had been at last night’s party too and I hoped that she’d been a little more restrained with her alcohol intake; Julie certainly wasn’t yet fit to be driving.

I gave Marsha and the girls a wave as I pulled away and headed for home. The traffic proved worse than I’d hoped, but better than I’d feared and it was just before five when I came to a stop on our driveway. I found myself, parked behind Marsha’s car once again and wondered both what she was doing here and how she’d managed to arrive before me?

Both questions were immediately answered, once we were out of our cars, with Marsha opening the conversation: “Did you get bogged down between junctions twenty-four and twenty-six Paul?” When I nodded in reply Marsha concluded “Yea, I’d thought the motorway might already be busy around there, so I came up the side roads through Shardlow and Borrowash.”

I nodded once again before enquiring “And what brings you here on the way home?”

“Julie’s silver-grey pashmina; Jim and I are going to a party on Sunday and she said that I could borrow it.”

“OK, fine; did Julie say whereabouts it was?”

“On the top shelf of her wardrobe; probably at the left hand end.”

That came as a relief… I’d no idea what a pashmina looked like, never mind whereabouts I might find it.” Well, come on in and I’ll let you get it for yourself while I’m putting the kettle on; can I offer you a brew or do you need to rush away?”

“I’d love one, thanks; coffee please, with milk and no sugar. I’m in no hurry at all, Jim’s working late this evening so he won’t be back until after seven… or more likely eight if he calls at the pub on his way home”

The coffees were made and I was sat on a kitchen chair before Marsha reappeared from upstairs; I’d heard the lavatory flush which no doubt explained the delay. Marsha had a big grey scarf in her hand which I’d seen Julie wearing around her shoulders a few times… So that’s what a pashmina looked like. “You found it OK then.”

“Yes thanks; tell Julie that I’ll get it back to her before next weekend.”

I nodded my understanding and gestured towards the kitchen worktop. “Your coffee’s there Marsha”

“Oooh thanks Paul…” Marsha leaned back against the kitchen units as she took a mouthful. “That’s just what I needed.”

“Feeling a bit ropey after last night? I was wondering earlier if you were OK to be driving.”

“Tired rather than hung over. I got more to drink than I might usually, but nowhere near as much as some of the girls… Julie really hit the tequila, though you probably spotted that for yourself when she got back?”

I gave that one another nod, and a grin too; Julie had been pretty wasted when the taxi dropped her home. “I didn’t know that it’d been tequila, but I knew that Julie’d had a lot of something.”

“Well don’t let Julie know I told you; that’d be against the rules wouldn’t it.”

“How so?”

“What happens on the hen-night stays on the hen night; or does that just apply to this weekend’s trip to Prague? It was mentioned last night and Julie was adamant: She ‘won’t be telling Paul what she does in Prague and you apparently won’t ask her’. It all sounded very… liberal to me.”

I gave that a grin too. “Yeah, that pretty much sums things up; what happens in Prague, will stay in Prague. I’m not complaining mind, I’ve been away on plenty of stag parties and rugby club weekends myself and the same rules applied; what’s sauce for the goose and all that.”

“Very different from my day, Jim would never allow me to go swanning off abroad on my own and even after night out like last night’s, I got the third degree when I got home. But what about you; is whatever Paul gets up to this weekend… off the record, as well?”

I smiled, but didn’t offer a reply. Nor did I offer more than another enigmatic smile to Marsha’s enquiry as to whether those don’t ask/don’t tell rules applied to whatever I did this weekend.

“Yes very different… I learnt all about Hall Passes too last night, it seems that all the girls have one; Ryan Reynolds and that Johnny Depp would both be in for a busy night should they ever come to town.”

My smile developed into an outright laugh at that; Johnny and Ryan had both made Julie’s current list. “Yeah, but that’s just fantasy stuff and we fellas are allowed our Hall Pass lists too.”

“So I heard; who were they on yours? Emily Blunt, Jennifer Aniston, Gabby Logan, Kelly Reilly and Helena Bonham-Carter… An interesting selection; they must all be older than you; in fact it wouldn’t surprise me if Helena Bonham Carter was older than me!”

I think that’s when I felt the first rumble of… discomfort at our conversation; not just that Julie had been sharing that list with her mother, but that Marsha had remembered the names… exactly! “As I said, it’s just a bit of fun; fantasy stuff.”

Judging by Marsha’s reply, I suspect that my discomfort had shown on my face?

“Don’t worry, Julie wasn’t being intentionally indiscreet, she thought I’d fallen asleep by then. It’s a ploy I’ve used with Julie and Anne since they were children: Those two will chatter away without a care in the world, once they think mum’s drifted off to sleep.”

I responded with a grunt of understanding and made a mental note to let Julie know for future reference.

“But your telling me it’s ‘just fantasy stuff’ is being a little disingenuous; I also heard that those fantasies sometimes get brought a little closer to reality… I think ‘Role-Play’ was the term that Julie used.”

I gave a hopefully casual shrug of my shoulders and reiterated that such games were ‘just a bit of fun’, but that rumble of discomfort returned with a vengeance when Marsha offered an enigmatic smile of her own.

“I’m sure that they are and perhaps rather more than ‘a bit’; but is there not a point when such fantasies get a little too close to home and perhaps become rather… inappropriate?”

I’d been right to feel uncomfortable about the direction of our conversation; just how drunk had Julie been last night? I didn’t need to speak, the answer to that question would’ve been evident from my expression; I could feel the colour rising in my cheeks and Marsha could no doubt see it too.

Marsha had pushed herself upright from the kitchen unit and was already walking towards me when she continued. “No need to look so embarrassed Paul; it was quite flattering to hear my named mentioned in conjunction with the ladies on your hall pass list…”

In that moment I was beyond replying or even movement; it wasn’t just what Marsha was saying, but the glint in her eyes. Marsha was standing right in front of me, her hands had already unfastened my belt and had begun working with equal efficiency on the buttons of my jeans, when she continued:

“But there’s no need for you to role-play when you can enjoy the real thing… That’d be much more fun and a don’t ask/don’t tell weekend is surely the perfect opportunity.”

Whilst still beyond speech, I did regain the ability to move; assuming that lifting my arse and inch off the chair to allow Marsha to slide my pants and boxer shorts below my knees counts as movement. As my erect cock sprang free and bounced upright Marsha growled “Oooh goody… Julie wasn’t exaggerating about that either.”

I released a feral growl when Marsha’s hand caught my swaying cock with a firm grip as she swung her left leg across my thighs. An instant later I felt my cock-head brush through the coarse and seemingly very damp hair of Marsha’s pubis and the thought ‘she’s not wearing any knickers’ was still rolling through my brain in the moment my cock slid into Marsha’s cunt.

My full length sank into Marsha in a single stroke, that thought about the absence of panties was replaced by another regarding how wet Marsha was down there and my feral growl morphed into an “Oh fuckkkkkkk.”

That growl of mine was matched by the similar one which escaped from Marsha’s lips, though hers concluded with a gasped “Oh, yes please.”

I realise that I’ve not actually given you a description of Marsha; ah well, better late than never: Marsha bears a striking resemblance, albeit somewhat more buxom, to Helena Bonham Carter; perhaps why that lady has for so long featured on my hall-pass lists?

54 years old, pale skinned and dark eyed, with angular features and cheek-bones so high and sharp that you could cut yourself on them; the whole being topped with an untidy cascade of raven black hair, though I suspect that nowadays that’s tinted to hide the grey? The word ‘raunchy’ sprung to mind in the moment we first met and has never gone away.

Almost ten years on and Marsha was proving that first impression correct as she rocked back and forth in my lap, grinding her clitoris between my deeply buried cock and her pubic bone. Marsha’s motion wasn’t fast, but it was aggressive and continued to draw those feral growls from us both; in addition each impact saw Marsha’s breasts jounce before my eyes.

A clear view of those was perhaps what I’d craved most during the time that I’ve known her. I’d seen Marsha’s boobs cosseted in a selection of low-cut tops and swimming costumes over the years and strived for a better view whenever I did, but never anything more than that. This opportunity wasn’t going to escape me and I fumbled at Marsha’s blouse buttons with trembling hands.