The wife and I were spending a little bit of us time. I own a cabin out in the wilds (not too wild) and we were having a bit of a holiday, just the two of us. One of the benefits of this cabin was that it was only a fifteen minute walk to a lake and I’d negotiated a deal with the wife that I could go fished a couple of times. Another benefit was that there was some picturesque scenery and abundant wildlife which would allow Marge to do some photography.
These two benefits came together quite nicely as Marge didn’t like fishing and she also didn’t like me going along when she was shooting. (For some reason she reckons that I scare off all the wildlife.) This meant that when I went fishing she went shooting, in a photographic sense.
This particular day was one of the days I was going fishing. I’d had breakfast, gathered my stuff and headed out to the lake. Marge was just getting out of bed as I walked out the door. Five minutes down the track I had a clear vision of my lunch, sitting on the bench back at the cabin. A quick check of my bag and a rude word later I turned around to go and get it. I figured getting it now would be a damn sight faster than having to walk all the way back from the lake when I got hungry.
I could just see the cabin when I heard the sound of a bike coming down the track that ran past the cabin. Marge apparently heard it too as she stepped out of the cabin, looking down the track. She was still in her pyjamas, I noticed, apparently having been taking her time with breakfast and coffee.
Not really wanting to meet anyone and having to socialise I paused where I was, waiting to see who was coming. I was damned thankful that I’d waited when I say Bobby roll up on his crappy old bike. As far as I was concerned Bobby was a crude, loud-mouthed, bore, although Marge seemed to like him.
He stopped outside the cabin.
“Hey, Marge, is James around?” he yelled. (He always yelled, even when he was standing next to you. I suspect that he was slightly deaf.)
“Not right now, Bobby. He’s gone fishing. Did you want him for something?”
“Silly bastard. Why’d he go fishing when I want him to give me a hand? No consideration I call it.”
“Be reasonable, Bobby. He wasn’t to know that you’d want him to give you a hand.”
“He would if he had a damned phone,” he grumbled.
“He does have one. So do I. What we don’t have is service. For some reason this is a dead spot. Give him ten minutes and he’ll have reached the lake and will be able to receive calls.”
“Fat lot of good that will do. If he’s fishing he’ll just look to see who’s calling and then ignore it. Nah, I’ll have get Mike to help and he charges. Greedy for money, that man.”
“And you’re not?” I thought. “Trying to get free labour instead of paying for it.”
“Them’s the breaks,” said Marge, sounding remarkably unsympathetic. “Ah, what do you think you’re doing?”
The last was said with a giggle and the slapping of a hand against a hand. That son-of-a-bitch had pulled the neckline of Marge’s top to the side, showing off a boob.
“Just looking,” said Bobby. “I was betting that you had nothing under that top and I was partly right.”
“What do you mean partly?” asked Marge.
“Well, I wouldn’t call this nothing,” explained Bobby, calmly pulling her top out again and poking the exposed boob. This is most definitely something. So’s this one.”
He’d switched sides, pulling out the other side of Marge’s top and exposing the other boob, which he also poked.
“Hey, do you mind?” said Marge, giggling again and slapping at his hands.
“Not in the slightest,” Bobby told her, “although this will give me a better view.”
The this he was referring to was him calmly flicking open the top button of the pyjama top and pulling the sides apart, causing another button to pop. This allowed both Marge’s boobs to be displayed.
“Stop that,” snapped Marge. “Get your hands off my boobs.”
“Why? I like the feel of them. You like the way it feels when I touch them.”
I was feeling a little shocked. Marge was mainly giggling and pushing at his hands. In my opinion she should have been hauling off and letting him have one right in the kisser.
“Like it or not is irrelevant,” Marge pointed out. “I said to stop it.”
“If you insist.”
To my amazement, and undoubtedly to Marge’s as well, Bobby reached down, took hold of her pyjama trousers and gave them a firm tug. They were only held up by an elastic waist and when he tugged at them they no longer were, slithering down Marge’s legs.
“Bobby!” yelled Marge, sounding scandalised, frantically holding her pyjama top stretch down in front of her crotch.
Bobby laughed.
“When you hold your top like that you sort of defeat the purpose of your top at the other end,” he pointed out, indicating where the top had pulled down, leaving Marge’s breasts on display.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” said Marge and I’d have approved of this statement a bit more if she hadn’t giggled when she said it.
“Why don’t you do me a favour and lift up the front a bit? You do that and I’ll stop trying to sneak a peek.”
I couldn’t believe it when Marge just snapped, “Fine,” and lifted her top, showing her pussy. I approve of her shaving but right then I wished she had enough hair down there to make a bearskin rug.
“Nice,” said Bobby, and I was relieved to see his hands were no longer on Marge.
“Just what the hell were you trying to prove?” demanded Marge and I could still hear the giggle in her voice. Why the hell was she finding it all so amusing?
“Wasn’t trying to prove anything. It was just preparatory work, you might say.”
“Eh? What do you mean?” My sentiments exactly.
Bobby’s trousers dropped. Apparently when he’d pulled his hands back it was simply so he could undo his trousers.
“What do you think I mean,” he asked, pulling Marge’s hands over to his groin.
I waited for a scream and a slap but neither came.
“Oh, god, you’re awful,” said Marge, still giggling and not pulling her hand away from where he’d placed it.
I was just waiting for my cue so I could go rushing out and beat the shit out of Bobby. As soon as Marge screamed I was heading over.
“You don’t really expect me to let you use this thing, do you?”
“What’s with this let? I’m just going to push you up against that wall and help myself. Let doesn’t come into it.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Marge denied, but still holding onto him and still with that blasted giggling.
“No? Let’s see.”
His hands were on her breasts, pressing against her, encouraging her to back up. He also managed to undo the remaining button on her top so that the sides swung wide, effectively making her nude from the front. Marge backed up until she was leaning against the wall of the cabin, still holding him.
“James will kill you if you do this,” she told him and Bobby just laughed.
“So don’t tell him. Ah, do you know what to do with that thing you’re holding, don’t you?”
Damn it. He was daring her to steer him into position. What was even more infuriating she was damn-well doing it. She kicked one foot free of her pyjamas and lifted her leg, wrapping it around him. At the same time she moved his erection between her legs, steering it into place. I could tell when it was placed because he jerked his body and his cock just slid into Marge. Into my wife, damn him.
That, of course, was just the start of it. Bobby started thrusting into Marge, banging her hard against the cabin. It was fortunate that the cabin was sturdily built or he’d have knocked it off its stumps.
For her part, Marge was entwined around Bobby, hanging on grimly, squealing and giggling and carrying on, moving with him in quite an energetic manner.
Bobby banged, Marge laughed, and I fumed. I was so going to do something, I just didn’t know what, but it would come to me. All I had to do was wait.
For what was supposed to be a quick bit of illicit sex they sure took their time. Bobby just kept on banging away with Marge urging him on. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Bobby must have been somewhat short in the cock department because I sure never had this much trouble getting Marge all worked up and exploding.
When Bobby finally wound to a halt I couldn’t tell if he’d brought Marge to a climax or not. I suspected not as she tended to be rather noisy when she did climax.
They finally separated. Marge leaned back against the cabin, breathing hard while Bobby hitched up his trousers.
“Damn it, Bobby,” I heard Marge say. “I told you last time not to do that again.”
Say what? Last time?
“I know, I know,” came Bobby’s booming voice. “What can I say? It’s your own fault for not being dressed. Anyway, I’ve got to go and find Mike before he starts work with someone else. See you.”
I decided not to worry about my lunch, turning and heading back to the lake. Any decisions would have to wait until after I’d been fishing. First things first and all that.