by Lexy Harper
Lexy
Harper
The
Anniversary
Stories
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
First published in Great Britain 2012
Copyright © 2010 Lexy Harper
All Rights Reserved.
www.lexyharper.com
Published by Ebonique Publishing, London.
A note from the author
I usually write Black romance and erotica, but I wrote the story Is the Tramp a Lady? to submit to Every Night Erotica who have a 2000-word limit per submission. Halfway through writing I had passed that limit and was really enjoying the story. It became the first of the standalone wedding anniversary stories based on the happily married couple, John & Helen Elliot, and a favourite story of visitors to my Literotica author page and my website.
I’m hoping that the story inspires couples, especially those who feel their sex lives are becoming a little stagnant, to revamp their sex lives by spicing it up with a little fantasy or roleplay.
CONTENTS
Is the Tramp a Lady?
Isn’t a Sister’s Love the Best?
It’s Good to be Neighbourly!
Other titles by Lexy Harper
Is the Tramp a Lady?
John Elliot drove the bus into the depot with a sigh of relief. His muscles ached from being in the driving seat for the last eight hours with only two short breaks. Switching the engine off, he stood and turned to make a quick visual check of the bus.
“Ma’am?” he said in surprise when he noticed the lone woman seated on the left in the third row of seats. “This is the last stop.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, getting to her feet. “I thought you made one more trip.”
“Only on weeknights,” he explained. “On Saturdays the last bus finishes an hour early.”
The woman picked up her small bag which looked as though it contained all her worldly possessions. She had an elegance and dignity about her although it looked as though she had nowhere to sleep for the night. John’s heart when out to her—like it had done every time he had seen a stray dog or cat when he was a boy. His parents had scolded him for bringing in the strays, but had allowed him to rescue as many as he’d wanted. Until he had picked up a cat with Feline Upper Respiratory Infection which had infected all the other cats. He learned a hard lesson and no matter how pitiful a stray looked he had never taken another one home again.
The woman walked to a bench and sat on it, her bag held tightly in her lap.
John went in to the office, turned off the lights and closed up for the night. Then opening the doors of his Ford Mondeo remotely as he approached, he kept his head resolutely forwards.
Yet, as he started the engine, he found himself looking through his rear-view mirror at the woman, praying that she would be okay.
Feeling terrible for leaving her, prey to anyone with evil intentions, he sped away quickly.
He turned left at the next corner, then left at the next and then left again. Another left and he was back where he had started.
Instead of driving into the depot he parked his car outside and observed the woman. She was still sitting on the bench, her back straight, her head held high, proudly.
His wife, Helen, wasn’t home; he really shouldn’t take a woman to the house. Ordinarily Helen wouldn’t mind, but she would be more than a little suspicious if he brought a woman to the house on a night she wasn’t home. Especially a redhead. Why couldn’t the woman have been blonde or brunette? If the woman had been older and looked like a downtrodden tramp Helen might have been more understanding, but the woman was beautiful and though he had caught her hot, musky scent as she had passed him on her way off the bus, it was obvious that she had either found somewhere to wash as often as she could or hadn’t been on the road for long.
A burly man walked passed the entrance of the depot, glanced in and continued on his way. Fifty metres on, he turned and retraced his steps. John tensed as the man turned into the depot, headed straight for the woman and sat next to her on the bench, dwarfing her as he leaned close and engaged her in conversation. She kept shaking her head until suddenly he stood up and grasped her arm roughly, pulling her upright against his larger body.
John was out of the car and hurrying towards them in an instant.
“Hey!” he shouted as he neared them. “Leave her alone!”
“Who’s going to make me?” The man looked dismissively over his shoulder at John’s slim built and kept hold of the woman.
“I am,” John informed him quietly, bringing the gun in his hand into view. It was only a toy which belonged to his five-year-old, Tim, but the man couldn’t know that. “If you don’t want a bullet between your eyes, let her go now!”
“Cool it, mate! She’s all yours if you want her.” The man backed away nervously and John watched him hurry away with contempt. For all his massive size, the man was a wimp.
“Are you alright?” he asked the woman worriedly.
“I’m fine, thank you. He offered to share his bed with me for the night and was a little put out that I refused,” she explained.
“It’s not safe here. Is there nowhere you can spend the night?”
“Please don’t concern yourself with me,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t leave you here,” John protested.
“I’m not your concern,” she insisted.
“Look, it’s too deserted here. At least let me take you somewhere the shops are open all night or somewhere there are other people around.”
She looked at him and then at the gun he still held in his hand. Hastily, he slipped it behind him and into his waistband, out of sight.
“I don’t want to go to anywhere noisy. I’m desperately tired—I need somewhere quiet where I can get some sleep.”
“If you sleep here you’re likely to end up raped or murdered,” he told her flatly, finally losing patience. All he wanted was a shower and his bed. But he would toss and turn all night if he left her here. If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.
“And how do I know that you’re not a rapist or a murderer?” she asked.
“You don’t.” He felt surprised that she could think him capable of harming her. But, he reasoned, most serial killers were persuasive smooth talkers.
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she apologized. “It’s been a long day.”
“Look, my wife’s not home, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you coming home with me for a bite to eat and a shower,” John offered. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if he had to think of her out here on her own, prey to thieves, rapists or murderers.
“Your wife must really trust you.”
“She’ll be fine once I’ve explained the situation to her.”
“In that case I think I’d like to accept. Thank you.”
Abruptly she turned and headed towards his parked car. Hurrying, he overtook her and held the door open. He closed it once she was safely seated. When he came around the car he was pleasantly surprised to find that she had leaned over and was politely holding his door open for him.
He thanked her as he fastened his seat belt.
“Normally, I wouldn’t dream of trusting a stranger, but....” she broke off.
“You are perfectly safe with me,” he ass
ured her.
They drove in complete silence—the woman immediately tipped her head back against the headrest and fell asleep within a minute of him pulling away from the kerb. She hadn’t lied about being exhausted.
He shook her gently when he had parked the car in the garage and switched off the engine. “We’re here.”
“Are you sure this will be okay?” Revived from her short nap she didn’t seem keen on the idea.
“Look, do you want me to call my wife and check first?”
“No, don’t do that,” she begged him hastily. “It’s late. I don’t think she would appreciate being awoken from her sleep. I just don’t want you to get into any trouble.”
“My wife and I have been married for six years. I think she knows me well enough by now.”
“Sorry to seem so ungrateful.” Clutching her small bag she made to open the door, but he quickly reached around her and opened it.
Once again her hot, musky scent filled his nostrils. It was her perfume, he realized. It wasn’t unpleasant, just stronger than his wife’s subtle floral scent. But then, his wife was a cool blonde; this woman was a fiery redhead—the kind he’d secretly fantasized about when he had masturbated as a young man.
***
He imagined her in the shower washing that curtain of red hair that fell to her waist. He had given her one of his bathrobes to wear after her shower—giving her one of Helen’s wouldn’t have been right.
His cock was harder than it had been in ages. His face was hot, flushed with desire.
God, he hoped she wouldn’t notice the state he was in!
Getting up, he fiddled with the place settings. She had been obviously hungry but had insisted on having a bath first, saying that she wouldn’t feel right sitting in one of the chairs in the same filthy clothes she had been sitting around in all day.
“I feel human again. Thank you.”
John turned and watched her as she walked into the room. She had piled her slightly damp hair carelessly on top of her head. It gave her a sultry look and made him notice the incredible length of her neck for the first time. His bathrobe swamped her and even though she had pulled the sash tightly, it gaped at the front showing a generous amount of cleavage, and he realized as he looked down, almost the entire lengths of her toned legs as she walked towards him. Her toenails were painted a surprising red and for an insane moment he wanted to beg her to rub her high-arched aristocratic feet over the bulge in his trousers.
Oh God, he thought in dismay as he got a full view of her breasts as he pulled out the chair and seated her before going to the other end of the square table. Her breasts were beautiful—not the firm, slightly hard mounds of a younger woman, but the soft, full curves of a mature woman who had perhaps given birth and breastfed a child or two. Her nipples were a deep pink and amazingly distended. If she hadn’t breastfed a child or children, he thought, then there must have been a husband, boyfriend or girlfriend who had sucked on the tempting peaks constantly.
“I’m afraid it’s only leftover roast chicken,” he apologized. “I can’t cook. My wife baked a whole chicken yesterday and there was enough for dinner tonight. She’s back tomorrow, thank God!”
“Chicken is just fine, thank you.” She held out her plate as he forked several slices of moist chicken breast on to it and then held up a hand when it seemed as though he wanted to give her more than her share. “That’s enough, thanks.”
“Are you sure? I ate a late lunch and I’m not that hungry.” He wanted to make sure that she had enough to eat. He could make do with whatever was left.
She smiled as if she knew he was telling a white lie. “I’m quite sure.”
They ate the meal in silence. John had never realized how cosy the little dining table was before. It was ideal for his family of four. When the twins were younger it had been convenient for him and his wife to have them close in case they needed help with feeding themselves. But as they had grown older Helen had adamantly refused to purchase a larger table, not wanting to lose the intimacy of their family meals.
It was erotic to watch her take dainty bites and chew slowly when he knew that she must be ravenously hungry.
He hadn’t asked her name he suddenly realized, but it was too late now to do so without embarrassment. His prim and proper mother would have scolded him soundly for not immediately making the lady’s acquaintance.
“You can sleep in the spare room,” he offered, knowing that she desperately needed a good night’s sleep.
“Thank you, but no. You kindly offered me food and a shower and I’m grateful for those. When I’m done here I will get dressed and you can take me to a shelter.”
“I think you need a decent night’s sleep. Don’t worry, there is a lock on the door—you’ll be perfectly safe.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and then suddenly smiled.
“Perhaps, I will take you up on your kind offer. You’ve been driving all day. It would be a shame to make you go back into the cold. And I really could do with a soft bed and clean sheets tonight.”
“It’s the third door on the left,” he told her as he got up and gathered the dishes, protesting as she made to help him, “No, no. You go on through. I’ll put these into the dishwasher.”
“Goodnight.” She stood awkwardly twisting the sash of his robe.
“Goodnight,” he responded, his heart beating a little faster as he reached for the platter which now contained the meagre remains of the roasted chicken.
She approached and quickly pecked him on the cheek before turning and hurrying from the room.
Hastily, he put the platter down and rested his hands on the table as he took deep steadying breaths. He was fully and painfully aroused...and all by one innocent kiss on the cheek!
***
John thought that he would have immediately fallen asleep; he’d had a long week and had eagerly looked forward to having the day off today. But Carl, one of his most reliable drivers, had called in sick and he’d had to step in and cover the bus route. His wasn’t a large bus company, but the poorer members of the community relied on the service and he had vowed when he had bought the badly-run company from its drunken previous owner that reliability would be his watchword.
He was exhausted, yet he couldn’t sleep.
He felt edgy with the woman in the house and wondered if she was sleeping.
She was the embodiment of all his fantasies. He had berated close friends for cheating on their wives, thinking them weak and dishonourable. He had been so sure that he would never be tempted himself. He had a beautiful wife and two healthy, gorgeous children. He wasn’t a devout Christian, but he went to church often enough to feel guilty about his attraction to the woman in the spare room. She was a temptress and he was at his most vulnerable.
He hadn’t really paid her much attention on the way home. She was just a woman in need of help, but it was as if her fairy godmother had waved a wand and transformed her in the shower. The image of her as he looked up from straightening the cutlery seemed burnt on his retinas. She had been alluring, innocently provocative, in his overlarge robe. And the totally unexpected red toenail polish. He had wanted—
John tensed as he heard light footsteps outside his door. A minute later the knob turned and the door pushed open. She walked in still wearing his bathrobe and in her bare feet.
“I can’t sleep.” She smiled apologetically. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a while?”
“Sure.” Just as he made to get out of bed and join her in the living room, she came further into the room and sat on the bed.
“Are these your kids?” she asked, smiling as she picked up the framed photograph of the twins taken two months ago at a costume party. They had decided to go as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. He and Helen had laughed at the idea but the kids had been so keen, they hadn’t the heart to tell them that the cartoon characters were a couple, not brother and sister. She picked up another picture, one of him alone, and compared the two. “They’re so cute
. And they look so much like you.”
“Actually they look more like their mother.”
She stared intently across the bed at the photograph of Helen beside the reading lamp on his side of the bed and then back at the ones in her hand. Finally she conceded, “I think they have a little of both of you.”
John could never see the resemblance himself. He thought they looked entirely like Helen, but his mother always insisted that Tina looked like him when he was a boy.
“You seem to have a great marriage,” the woman commented, replacing the photographs in almost exactly the same position as she had found them.
“I have a wonderful marriage,” he confirmed.
As the woman shifted on the bed, the robe parted again to reveal one of her deep pink nipples. John felt blood immediately rush to his groin.
“But even wonderful marriages are sometimes not perfect. Isn’t there something special that she doesn’t do for you that I can?” she insisted. “Does she go down on you?”
“Yes,” John smiled, remembering his wife’s lips around him only two days ago. It had been hair raising to say the least. The kids had been up and about, and the bedroom door closed but not locked.
“What about anal sex. She doesn’t look the type to indulge in that type of activity.”
John hissed as several drops of pre-cum oozed out of his straining cock. It was the one topic that had the potential to totally unman him. He respected his wife’s reservation about anal sex. Their sex life was great without it, but...
“I haven’t done it that often myself and only with my husband,” she confessed.
“You’re married?” he queried. He hadn’t even considered the possibility.
“Yes, but it’s a long story that I don’t want to get into right now. Let me do this for you. One night where you forget the rules and take the pleasure being offered to you.”
“You don’t have to sleep with me just because I offered you some food and somewhere to sleep for the night,” John protested, trying to be honourable.
“I know I don’t. I just want to give you pleasure. You’re a wonderfully generous man in a world where people look the other way rather than help the less fortunate. That man could have raped me or worse killed me and dumped my body somewhere tonight if you hadn’t rescued me. I want to show my appreciation.”
