Life was beginning to return to normal after lockdown and this meant that live music was finally back on the agenda. My friend Gaz and I had our eye on several gigs, one of which was in Bristol, a three-hour drive for us.
I took care of the tickets, Gaz took care of a hotel. Neither of us knew the city and as the gig was a Saturday night we decided to take the chance to have a few beers and a wander round a new place the day after.
The day of the gig came and, due to Gaz recovering from a broken foot he sustained six weeks before, I was driving. On the way, we did the usual “covid chat” about how mad it had all been and how nice it was that things were hopefully getting back to normal. Everything was going well until we turned up at “The Grande” hotel.
The façade had seen better days and I got a feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was going to be a night that ended with not much sleep.
“Mate, you are 39 and earn decent money. Why have you booked us into this shithole?” I asked.
“Well, John, I thought we could recapture our youth! Do it on the cheap.”
“You tight bastard.”
Gaz chuckled as we made our way up the steps to the front door. We wandered in and were hit with what might be described in some circles as “shabby-chic”. The Grande, however, was lacking in chic. The girl on the reception desk was wholly uninterested as we checked in and handed us a key to room twelve.
We found our way upstairs and opened the door. I dreaded the worst. I’m not fussy when it comes to hotels. I use them purely for sleep and as long as they are clean then I’m happy. The room WAS clean.
It was also a double.
“Fucks sake” we uttered in unison.
Gaz went down to the desk to sort it out while I sat on the bed and felt all miserable. Five minutes later, he was back.
“Good news and bad news, mate. What do you want first?”
“The bad.”
“No other rooms.”
“What a surprise. Go on then, what’s the good news?”
“Well, we’re top and tailing I guess and to the best of my knowledge, my feet don’t smell!”
“Oh yeah? Mine fucking reek!”
We looked at each other for a moment before laughing our heads off. Fuck it, it was one night, the band would be great and we would have a good time.
————————————————————————————————————————-The band were indeed great and Bristol had no end of decent pubs for us to explore. Gaz is a notorious lightweight and soon enough, he was drunk. I knew I had a long drive the next day, so my ratio of two soft drinks to one pint seemed sensible, even if my companion was calling me a pussy for it. I decided what Gaz needed was something to soak up the booze so we tried to find somewhere to eat. Most of the restaurants were closing their doors for the evening, but we found one Indian establishment that let us in, despite Gaz’s inebriated state. I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to hot food so had a chicken korma, while the drunkard ordered a Prawn Phall, despite my warnings. Fair play to the lad, he polished it off and we were soon on our way back to “The Grande”.
Gaz collapsed on the bed, still clothed, farted once and fell asleep, all within a minute of us being in the room. I got changed and got into the tiny bit of the bed not taken up by my friend. Being a big fellow, this was no fun. No disguising it, I’m a fat bloke and got the feeling this would be a long night.
It would be, just not how I expected it to be.
Just as I was dropping off, Gaz stirred and made his way to the bathroom, where he was violently sick. This happened twice more before I gave up. I remembered seeing a lounge downstairs with a tatty old sofa. Perhaps I could get at least a couple of hours sleep on that. I dressed and checked on Gaz. He would be ok. I made my way down to the lounge.
I checked my phone before I entered. Half past midnight. I entered the lounge and, to my dismay, the sofa was occupied. A large woman who I guessed was in her late sixties with long grey hair was sat in the middle seat, illuminated by a lamp on a side table nearby. She looked up at me and then back at the book in her hand.
“Hello” I said. “I’m surprised to find anyone here.”
“I live here” she replied without looking up.
“Oh, you’re the owner.”
“Yes, that is why I live here. Why are you down here? Is your room uncomfortable?”
“It is. My friend is currently sleeping off a skinfull”
She chuckled and finally looked at me. “So you weren’t getting any sleep and thought you would sleep down here?”
“Unless you have another room I could use, yes.”
“Sorry, no vacancies” She replied.
“Well, I guess an armchair will do.” I said, settling into one and closing my eyes.
A few minutes of silence passed and I could feel myself drifting off before the prospect of sleep was snatched away from me again.
“I’m Margaret.”
I opened my eyes to see had put her book down and was looking at me. “John,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“Would you like a coffee, John?”
“Coffee won’t help with sleeping,” I chuckled. “I’m fine thanks.”
“Well, if you need to sleep, I will make my way up to my rooms. I don’t tend to sleep very well, so often find myself down here.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I hope we both find it tonight.”
She walked to the door before pausing and looking back. “You’re not a murderer, are you?”
This took me by surprise.
“No.”
“A mad-man by any definition?”
“No again”
“Then I have a more comfortable sofa upstairs, if you would like to try it. Might even thrown in a pillow and spare duvet.”
I grinned tiredly at her. “No extra charge?”
“Have a drink with me and it’s all on the house.” She replied with a smile that lit up her face.
Margaret’s rooms were a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment she owned. Modern, comfortable. You could not get more different. She laughed at my face when I saw and she explained that the hotel was on the market. She had been left the hotel by her estranged father and, having just got divorced and with not much money, felt she had to take it on. Turns out that Margaret hated the hotel and hated running it and was desperate to sell it. The location was all it had going for it and she knew it but simply didn’t care. I admired her honesty if not her work ethic.
She made a bed up for me on the sofa then asked what room I was in. She said she would do us a favour and extend our check out time by a couple of hours. At this point, I was sat on the sofa and in brighter light, I had a better look at her. Her grey hair fell past her shoulders and ended at the top of a cleavage that…well…I had no idea how big her tits were but they were big. She was round and short, maybe five feet and three inches. Her face was a weary one but friendly all the same. She wandered into what I assumed was a small kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two coffees.
“Check out time extended John. No excuse not to have a coffee with me now!”
She sat next to me on the sofa and handed me the steaming hot and, as it turned out, very strong coffee.
Margaret asked me about myself and I gave her the unremarkable facts. Unmarried, no kids, dead end job. She had a way about her that made it easy for me to open up to her without really realising I was doing it. I went on to talk about some of my issues, my weight among them.
“Oh I like a man with some meat. What is it they say now, someone with a dad-bod?”
“I look like two dad-bods put together!”
She laughed and playfully swatted my thigh. Her hand remained in place. “Don’t put yourself down, John, you’re a handsome man.”
“Why thank you, Margaret.”
“Maggie and are you not going to tell me I’m an attractive older lady?”
“Well, of course you are.” I mumbled.
She laughed again, throwing her head back.
“I’m old, fat and over the hill. And, frankly, I don’t give a shit.”
“Over the hill? How old are you?”
“You can’t ask me that!” Maggie replied in shock horror.
“I just did!”
“Not telling.”
“Don’t make me guess!”
“Dare you to guess!”
“A dare? What happens if I get it wrong?”
“Then the dare comes into play.”
This had the potential to be either fun or a disaster. I took a long swig of my coffee before looking at her.
“Sixty-seven.”
“You cheeky sod. I’m fifty-six!”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.”
“Dare time! You don’t like your body. Take your top off.”
I was wearing a hoodie, so assumed I was safe and peeled it off.
“And the t-shirt.”
“No.”
“A deal is a deal, John.”
“I don’t remember making a deal!”
“Get it off!”
I didn’t really feel I could say no, she was doing me a favour after all. Wasn’t she? Reluctantly, I put down my coffee and pulled off my t-shirt. I then sat there, mortified and trying to somehow hide myself, my arms across my stomach. I felt Maggie’s hand take a wrist and gently pull my arm away, then she repeated the movement with my other arm.
“There, John. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
I turned and looked at her. She was smiling softly.
“Well done, John. That wasn’t easy for you, I can tell.”
I don’t remember my mumbled reply. Through the haze of my own thoughts of low self-esteem, I heard her say…”can I rub it?”
I turned and looked at her, puzzled.
“Rub…what?”
“Your belly.”
“Why?”
“It’s lovely. Perfectly round.”
She didn’t wait for my consent. Her hand, warm from the coffee cup she had just been holding lay flat on my stomach and she began rubbing it in a slow, circular motion. I found it calming in one sense. In another though, I was beginning to get aroused. I tried to make sense of what was happening, putting the pieces of the evening together. I couldn’t make any sense at all! Yet, here I was, in the home of an older woman I had just met, having my bare, round belly stroked.
My eyes were locked on her while she performed this action, and almost jumped when her hand went around me to my back.
“You’re awfully tense, John.”
“Yes, well…how can you tell? You’ve not exactly examined me proper-”
She cut me off. “Lay on your front. I will be back in a moment.”
I did as I had been instructed. I don’t see myself as a submissive person in any way, but something just made me follow her instruction. I lay on my front and realised how right Maggie had been; it WAS a comfortable sofa! A moment turned into several minutes and, despite the odd turn the evening had taken, I could feel myself drifting off. I was woken by a warm sensation on my back.
“What’s that?”
“Oil, John. Shh, just relax.”
I relaxed and soon enough, Maggie’s hands were exploring my back, warm oil making it feel smooth and slippery. Years before, I had played rugby at university and had my fair share of injuries and rehabilitative massages. Despite the fact I was very much enjoying this massage, something told me Maggie was not a trained masseuse! She remained silent as her hands slid across my back and then up to my shoulders, applying gentle pressure, sometimes using her nails. When she did this, the sensation was amazing and I could feel my cock stirring into life.
Maggie’s voice, again, pulled me out of a nice state of relaxation. “Turn over, John.”
I shifted and rolled onto my back. Maggie had changed her attire. Gone were the jeans and oversized shirt she had been wearing, to be replaced by a long, black, see-through nightie. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I didn’t dare to check if she was wearing panties.
Maggie laughed, having clocked what must have been a shocked expression on my face. “I wanted to be comfortable, John. You should be too. Why don’t we take those jeans off?”
“Um, no, I’m ok thanks.”
“Come on, it will help you relax.”
Fuck it, I thought. It’s been weird up to now, can some more weird really hurt? I undid my belt and jeans, raised my arse and began to pull them down. Maggie reached down to help me and I got a good look down her nightie. Her tits were huge, veins were faintly visible but with their age and the sag factor that inevitably effected them, I could see no nipples.
“Enjoying the view, John? I know I am.” I followed the direction of Maggie’s gaze to the tent that had appeared in my black boxer shorts. I decided discretion was the better part of valour and just nodded. Maggie applied more oil to her hands and began to massage my belly. She stopped briefly to trace a line along a scar on my knee. “What happened here?”
“I snapped my cruciate ligament playing rugby at university. I used to be in decent shape!”
“You still are, silly boy!”
I smiled up at her. “I’m glad someone thinks so!”
“Given your injury, I feel I should work on your legs as well, John. Be a shame to miss them out.”
With that her hands left my stomach and moved to my right leg, avoiding the knee in question altogether and began caressing, not massaging, the inside of my right thigh. It felt amazing and I was acutely aware of the blood rushing to my cock. I looked up and the first sight that greeted my was another look down Maggie’s nightie. I looked then at her face and she was staring at the bulge in my boxers again. I felt her fingers gently brush against my balls. She looked up and our eyes met. As they did she reached up and hooked her fingers inside the waistband of my boxers. Her look at me now was purely to see if I would stop her. I simply nodded.
Maggie gently pulled my boxers down and I raised myself again to help her. My cock sprang out; it isn’t a magnificently long member, coming in at about six and a half inches but it is thick. Maggie wrapped her hand around it, still warm and slippery from the oil. Her other hand began to stroke my balls. I felt my head rock back as a groan escaped my lips. I don’t know how long passed but Maggie had wiped my cock with a wet cloth and told me to turn and sit up straight. I did as requested and before I knew it, my cock was deep in her mouth. Her one hand stroked my cock while her other reached up and took one of mine. She linked her fingers with mine and squeezed gently before guiding my hand to the back of her head. I smiled and began to guide her movements, slowly bucking my hips in time with her. Her technique was incredible, her tongue dancing over the swollen head of my cock. I could feel a tightening in my balls….”Maggie, I’m going to cum!”
She pulled her head away and smiled up at me. “You can cum in my mouth if you like. Or, you can fill my cunt. Up to you, John.”
To be continued…