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Collected by Djian
update marts 10 2007
Me and Mrs. Jones
by Shakes Peer2B
We Get a Thing Goin' On (F/m oral anal
toys Fdom?)
(C)Copyright 2003 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes-peer2b@sbcglobal.net
There is more of the House in the Woods set to come, but I had the idea
for this one, and wanted to get it started while it was still fresh in
my mind, and it didn't fit within the premise of the House in the Woods.
Please let me know what you think, as this is somewhat different than
the other stories I've posted - if the feedback is good, there'll be
more chapters of this.
________________________________
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If
you're not both of those, don't read it. Characters in a FANTASY don't
get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't
use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't
live in a FANTASY so be safe. The fictional characters in my stories
are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what
they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here,
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the
characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental,
since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You
can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but
if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
_________________________________
I don't recall having seen a story or series titled "Me and Mrs. Jones"
before, but I would be surprised if there weren't several out there -
it's such a natural for this sort of story. Anyway, my apologies to
anyone who might have used it before, but I couldn't think of a better
title for this series!
Me and Mrs. Jones - Epilogue (nosex)
(C)Copyright 2003 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net
(remove 'NONO' from above address)
I've been writing this from the study of our new home. By the time
Becky and I got married two years ago, our combined fortunes, built on
the seed money given us by Mrs. Jones, totaled an amazing amount. We
took our time finding this place, in this neighborhood, and it's
perfect.
The house sits atop a low hill about a half-mile from the
electronically operated gate at the foot of the drive. The place is
completely surrounded by high hedges and trees, not to mention a state
of the art security system.
The staff and movers completed the job of setting up house and home
last week, and we made our grand entrance on Sunday.
The driveway would have handled the Limo, despite its excessive
stretch, quite easily, but we arranged to have Charles, our butler,
meet us at the gate in his electric runabout.
The long black limo slowly wound its way through the quiet
neighborhood, and like the pied piper, collected a parade of adults
and children in its wake. The chauffeur, as instructed, pulled up to
the curb in front of the gate and waited for five minutes with the
engine off, while Becky and I checked each other over.
At the allotted time, the uniformed driver emerged and walked sedately
to the left rear door of the shiny new Mercedes stretch. Standing
stiffly at attention, he gravely opened the door and stood back,
allowing me to emerge. I stepped out into the bright sunlight and
straightened the wrinkles from my tuxedo. I checked the carnation in
my lapel, then nodded to the chauffeur. He slowly closed my door. I
followed as he marched around the rear of the limo to the passenger
door on the other side. In a mirror image of his actions on my side,
he opened the curb-side door and came once more to attention.
A long, slender, elegantly accessorized arm emerged gracefully from
the opening. The perfectly manicured hand poised just so as I bowed
and kissed it lovingly. Then, supporting its owner with barely
perceptible pressure under those long slender fingers, I watched with
pride and awe as the lovely Mrs. Nash swung endlessly curved legs out
the door and, planting shiny stiletto heeled pumps on the sidewalk,
effortlessly assembled her perfect form atop those luscious columns.
As always, her top barely covered the hard nipples that tented the
fabric of her clinging, mini-skirted dress. Its plunging neckline
showed acres of cleavage and reached as far south as her bejeweled
navel, displaying the unbroken tan of her abdomen to great advantage.
Rebecca removed a single long pin from the severe bun at the back of
her head, allowing her long golden locks to flow in waves about her
shoulders. She pecked me lightly on the cheek, and turned slowly to
survey the ever growing crowd of onlookers.
Her gaze settled on a young lad standing astride the frame of his BMX
bike as if in a trance. She took off her sunglasses and fixed him
with her piercing blue eyes, smiling just a little bit more than
usual, and I knew she had found her first 'special boy'.
As I finish the final edits on this tale, Mrs. Nash is down in the
playroom, giving the young lad his first lessons. Already I can hear
"Yes, Mrs. Nash!", "No, Mrs. Nash!" wafting up the stairs. If I cared
to, I could watch on the monitors, but I prefer to have her tell me
about it later, as we 'play' with each other.
I will not get to sample the lad for a few weeks yet, but I can wait.
When the 'special children' are not here, I have the lovely and
talented Mrs. Nash all to myself. In the meantime, I am busy seeking
out other potential candidates for Mrs. Nash's special attentions.
Oh yes, I must not forget to open an account in young Davy's name.
>> The very beginning
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.