In my mind it was a one-off thing that was better purged than left to fester and now that it was out of his system we would both act like nothing had happened and refuse to acknowledge any wrongdoing on either of our parts. I was confident he would present a completely oblivious face to me and to everyone else and I in turn would do likewise. And when we met again in the course of our social interactions that was exactly what happened. However, his intentions for how our relationship would proceed soon became clear.
Every week or two he would visit me on some pretext or other, often made easier by my daughter’s concern for me and insistence that her husband be at my beck as call for any repairs or assistance I might need around the house. If I had a jar that needed opening, I was to contact her immediately and she would send him over. And he would come over and be as polite and helpful as ever, only while we chatted his hand would be inside my underwear and he would keep teasing and rubbing until I was no longer able to hold up my end of the conversation, at which point he would fuck me.
There would be no conversation while he relentlessly broke me into pieces, moving me around, positioning me in various poses to get better access. And I would accommodate him as best as I could, grinding against him, shaking my hips at the right tempo. When he finished, he would zip up and say some vague farewell, maybe pass on a message from my daughter or invite me to one of the children’s music recitals and leave me half-dressed or fully naked, splayed across the settee, hunched over the kitchen table, flat out on the bed, his pearly white semen leaking out of me and a sloppy grin plastered across my face.
It might seem that what we were doing was despicable and unconscionable. A betrayal of my daughter and my entire family. But I don’t see it that way at all.
I remember last year my daughter came to me somewhat distraught and after a little maternal meddling she revealed she was worried about her husband, who had always seemed so steadfast. He was down and moody, she suspected even depressed, and he wouldn’t talk to her about it. I soothed her with the usual platitudes but he hadn’t visited me for a month or so at the time and I also felt something amiss. A day or so later I called her complaining about a loose shelf that I was worried about falling on my head and she was only too happy to send her resident handyman over.
When he arrived he greeted me as polite and well-mannered as ever but he seemed distracted and his eyes were not as warm as they usually were. He held up the toolbox he’d brought with him. I told him the shelf in question was upstairs and led the way. Once we entered the bedroom I pulled the cord holding up my dress, which I had chosen because of this feature, and it fell to the floor revealing me completely nude.
No words were exchanged but he dropped the toolbox and proceeded to fall on me like a wild animal sinking its teeth into freshly caught prey. While he had always handled me with a certain roughness, which I enjoyed, never had he treated me quite so aggressively as that day. He pushed me down and took hold of my knees and spread my legs as wide as they would go and sank his face into my vagina. His tongue licked me in one long stroke, passing down over my perineum and then he turned me over and ran his tongue up into my anus. Frantic sounds of his belt buckle slapping around were followed by his zipper being ripped open.