Pick-up at the Airport

I wasn't in the best of humours as I drove into the airport on that Friday evening; I'd been expecting to spend the weekend in the Lake District, with my husband Phil. Our trip had been cancelled three days earlier, when Phil announced that he was instead going to Dortmund for the weekend, to attend a Sales-Strategy meeting at his employer's head office.

Of itself the trip to Dortmund wasn't a problem; though it was the first time Phil had allowed one to clash with a prior arrangement of our own. It was only the previous night that I'd become annoyed: Phil had left his travel documents on the table while he was upstairs packing; Phil's plane ticket showed his destination to be Barcelona, which is further from bloody Dortmund than we are here in Harrogate!

As ever, I'd bitten my tongue and let it slide. Why you might ask... the answer to that's simple; I can't afford not to: Our palatial house is mortgaged to the hilt, the fancy cars are both leased and the exotic holidays and wardrobes filled with designer labels that we both enjoy are paid for using credit cards that are maxed-out by the end of each month.

Our lavish lifestyle might appear impressive from the outside looking in, but it's reliant upon Phil's salary and bonus cheques landing in our bank account at the end of every month. Of course I realise that it can't continue like this forever; one of these days the whole house of cards is going to spectacularly collapse, but I can see no mileage in accelerating that day of reckoning with a messy divorce.

My mood hadn't improved when we arrived in the airport's drop-off zone: Phil was out of the car in an instant, advising "I'll text you the time to collect me, just before I take-off on Sunday" while grabbing his bag out of the car's back seat, turning away and heading for the airport's entrance door. Not a please, a thank you, or even a word of farewell.

My annoyance rose still further a few moments later: I waited for a taxi to pass before pulling away from the kerb, only to jerk to a stop when the taxi blocked me in. There wasn't sufficient space ahead of me, so the taxi driver had simply parked diagonally across the front of me and I was boxed in. I sounded the horn, but all that earned me was a hand gesture from the taxi driver, which indicated -- hopefully - that he'd only be two-minutes.

The taxi driver began unloading his passenger's luggage while I sat there seething; until the appearance from the rear seat of the taxi of a tall, slim, twenty-something, blonde nearly pushed me to the point of screaming. I recognised her immediately, she's called Melanie and I was certain that she would have a ticket to Barcelona in the Gucci bag she was carrying.

Melanie twice looked in my direction, but she gave no sign of reciprocating the recognition; though perhaps her sunglasses along with my car's tinted windows were to blame? Melanie is the latest in a long line of tall, twenty-something blondes who've had the title of 'Personal Assistant' to my husband; I doubt Melanie will be the last and she certainly wasn't the first... That was me.

As Melanie sashayed towards the airport entrance doors, the taxi pulled away and I was finally able to pull out behind it and head for home. I made it about fifty yards before jerking to a stop once again; it wasn't a taxi that arrested me this time, but a young man standing at the kerb waiting to cross over to the bus-stand area.

Tall, slim and heavily suntanned, with equally sun-bleached and overly-long hair, dressed only in shorts, tee-shirt and espadrilles; hardly the most sensible outfit for a chilly March evening in Yorkshire. I wasn't certain of my identification -- I'd not seen the man in five years -- but I wound down the window anyway and called out "Nick? Are you heading for Harrogate?"

The young man -- I say young, but he'll be thirty or thirty-one by now -- bent down to peer through the open window. His eyes took in my face, then dropped to my breasts for a long moment before rising once again and his starting to speak; that glance at my cleavage had been sufficient to confirm that I'd guessed right, Nick had always been enamoured by my boobs.

Nick Halliday had been my eldest daughter Anna's first 'serious' boyfriend; they'd never been formally engaged, but were together for almost three years. It hadn't been a relationship that I'd encouraged, as while Nick was handsome and a nice enough lad, he was in my opinion far too old for her; not that I was able to say so, their five year age difference was barely half the gap between Phil and I.

Thankfully, their relationship petered out naturally: Nick took a job in Qatar -- he does something in construction management -- hoping to earn enough money for he and Anna to buy a house and marry. Anna was only twenty and those three-month separations took their toll; she met someone else and sent Nick a 'Dear John' letter, though I suppose nowadays it'd have been an email, a year or so later.

"Hi Mrs Jackson, long time no see."

"It is indeed. Are you heading for Harrogate... Going to visit your parents? I can give you a lift if you'd like."

Rather than his answering, Nick's eyes darted around; mainly focusing between the bus stand and my breasts; this was a leopard who'd not changed his spots. I moved things along: "I can't wait all day, my time in the drop-off zone is nearly up. Jump in; I saw a Harrogate bus leaving just as I arrived and dressed like that, you'll freeze to death before the next one gets here."

That, or perhaps the allure of my boobs seemed to swing the balance; Nick tossed his holdall into the car's rear seat and climbed in beside me, he was still fastening his seat belt as I pulled away. I saw a Harrogate bus coming in the opposite direction before we'd driven half a mile along the A658 and I hoped that Nick hadn't noticed it too. Why had I lied about having seen one earlier?

Nick remained quiet, his eyes I noticed now flicking between my breasts and my legs. I noticed then, that the hem of my skirt had ridden up my thighs, probably when I'd leant across the car to speak to him? I made no effort to readjust it, surely something I could and should have done; Why not? Something else for me to ponder.

"Are you back from Qatar for a holiday?"

"Sort of, though I've come from Saudi Arabia rather than Qatar. The Qatari contract ended two years ago and with nothing back here for me any more, I signed on for a three year gig on a new hotel project in Jeddah."

I chose to ignore the 'nothing back here for me any more' and looked to lighten the mood. "Saudi eh, from what I've read and heard that doesn't sound like much fun... No beer for a start."

"No Mrs Jackson, there's no beer to be had in Saudi... Nor anything else either for that matter."

"Oh do drop the 'Mrs Jackson'... It makes me feel old; you're more than old enough and know me well enough to call me Jane." Nick didn't reply to that, though he did appear to nod in agreement; then again, he was perhaps just ogling my tits and legs again?

"So how often do you get time off nowadays? I can't recall ever having seen you back in Harrogate since... since you broke up with Anna."

"I didn't break up with Anna... It was she who dumped me" There was a long and pregnant pause before Nick continued. "I work the same pattern as on that Qatar contract, three months on then a month off. But no, you wouldn't have seen me; I rarely come back here beyond calling in on my parents for a few days during my nearest vacation to Christmas every year."

"March isn't very close to Christmas... So what's brought you back at this time of year?"

"It's my mum's sixtieth birthday on Sunday and then my mum and dad's fortieth wedding anniversary next Friday; there are big parties for both, so I've come home for those; I flew from Riyadh into Paris, this morning and then flew on to here."

"Are you going to be staying in Harrogate for a whole month then?"

"Not bloody likely! The day after the anniversary party I'll be jetting off somewhere a bit more... exotic."

"Where are you heading to?"

"I've not decided yet, that'll depend on flights and stuff. Usually it's Thailand or the Philippines, but I was in Brazil on my last vacation, so I might go back down there again."

"Sounds lovely and a bit warmer than Harrogate too."

"Warmer and livelier; I need to create some memories to see me through my next stint in Saudi."

I didn't press Nick further on his plans, not really my business after all; instead I moved the conversation on to enquiries about his parents and family and gave him a few highlights of what constituted 'news' in Harrogate. The elephant in the room was of course Anna, I'd no idea if he knew that she was now married with two children; Nick didn't enquire and I didn't volunteer that information.

We were approaching the outskirts of Harrogate -- it's only a half-hour's drive from the airport -- when Nick said "If you just drop me near the junction with Hookstone Road I can get a cab from there."

"Don't be so daft, you'll freeze to death out there now and it won't take me ten minutes to drive you out to Starbeck. You'll have to give me directions at the end though, I know your parents live on one of those streets off Prospect Road, but I can't remember which one."

Nick was slow to respond and when I glanced across he was suddenly looking... uncomfortable. "What? Where is it they live? You've not forgotten yourself have you?"

"No, they're still on South Beech Avenue, but they're not expecting me... Well, not tonight anyway, I told them that I'd be there in time for lunch tomorrow."

"And tonight?"

"I was just looking to... decompress a bit, after Saudi; I've booked myself into a hotel for tonight."

"Fine, I'll drop you there instead; which one is it?"

"I'm... I'm... Staying at the Ranleigh."

"The Ranleigh... You're kidding me! The Ranleigh's no more than an upmarket broth_."

I halted in mid-sentence; Nick hadn't been away from Harrogate for that long, he had to know exactly what the Ranleigh was like! For many years the Ranleigh has been the venue of choice for adulterous couples; an upmarket no-tell motel and word was that if you didn't bring a partner with you, for a price, you would always find one in the bar; male or female and swinging either way.

We'd both fallen silent, Nick looking embarrassed -- he wasn't even raising his eyes as high as my legs - while I was busily recalling our conversation and the indicators that I'd perhaps missed: The 'anything else' which wasn't to be had in Saudi Arabia along with Nick's usual choices of holiday destination... All of those were exotic in more ways than one.

Nick's eyes finally raised about a half-mile later, just as I took a turning to the left, though he didn't look any more comfortable; we were driving towards the Ranleigh. Nick's discomforted look deepened when I made a second turn, changed to one of confusion with the third and only after I'd made a fourth turn did realisation begin to dawn.

The look on Nick's face was by then a rather cute amalgam of surprise, overlaid with a large dollop of disbelief; his eyes were flicking back and forth to my boobs once again too. I would have loved to enjoy that expression longer, but needs must: "We have a couple of rather inquisitive neighbours, so it might be best if you were to duck down a bit."

Nick responded in an instant, going so far as to release his seatbelt and slide the seat backwards to its full extent, before sliding down completely into the footwell; had he done this before? Fast as he reacted, Nick didn't move quickly enough for me to miss yet another change in his expression; the broad grin suggested that the disbelief had gone, his eyes now shone with hopeful... expectation.

Having pressed the remote control for the entrance gates, I slowed the car to a crawl; I didn't want to risk making us any more visible by stopping completely. I did of course have to stop while the garage door rolled up, but by then the driveway gates were already closing behind us; those are solid timber boarded, not so much for the security that provides, but to thwart the nosy bitch who lives opposite.

We were inside the garage with the door almost fully rolled down behind us before Nick rose back into his seat. There was a wickedly predatory grin on his face now and I was the one who was tongue-tied and embarrassed. What the fuck had I committed myself to and when the hell did I get the idea; was it only after Nick mentioned the Ranleigh, or had it been germinating even as I offered him a lift?

Despite that predatory expression, Nick's approach was tentative... Or perhaps careful is a better word? He leant across the car and kissed me gently on the lips; I didn't recall his ever even having kissed me on the cheek while he was dating Anna. When I smiled rather than slapping his face, Nick's following kiss was both more searching and more protracted; that was the one I responded to in kind.

Those that followed were increasingly passionate -- from both of us -- and Nick's left hand, perhaps unsurprisingly, soon gravitated to my breasts; the right one first, but my left got its share of attention too. Nick kneaded and groped them with ever changing force -- exploring my preference? - while rolling and twisting my nipples similarly.

Though we were kissing, the groans, moans and growls still escaped. I'd be hard pressed to say which of us was the louder, but I think Nick's were the more heartfelt; mine were fuelled only by pleasure and desire, while the sounds Nick made also voiced the fulfilment of a long held ambition, or fantasy. It was only when Nick began to unbutton my blouse that I checked him.

"Hold on Nick, there's no hurry. Phil is away and everyone else thinks that I am too... We're not going to get interrupted, so let's take this somewhere a little more comfortable."

Nick had sat upright and was seemingly halfway through nodding in agreement when a huge smile spread across his face and he cried "The back seat! Let's take it into the back seat!" I was gobsmacked, thrown completely by Nick's suggestion; I hadn't... made out, in the back of a car for nearly thirty years and why the hell did Nick want to when we'd six bedrooms to choose from?

"What? You've got to be Kidding!... Why in the back of the car for Heaven's sake?" Nick was already getting out of the car and sliding the front seat forwards again as I'd enquired.

"That was my very first fantasy about you Jane... Not the last mind, even now I still sometimes fantasise about fucking you during those lonely night's in Saudi."

"That's nice to hear, but why in the car?"

"You probably won't remember, but the first time we met was when you picked me and Anna up after an afternoon concert in Roundhay Park. It was a few days before Anna's driving test, so while I was climbing into the backseat, you moved over into the passenger seat, to let Anna get some practice in on the drive back to Harrogate."

"Rather than your getting out to walk around the front, you just clambered over the centre console, which provided me with a great view of your legs. Then once there, you flipped down the sun visor to check your make-up in its mirror while Anna was getting in; you left that visor down for the way home and from where I was sitting it offered me a fantastic view of your cleavage."

"I had a cock like a billy-club by the time that we got there and as soon as I got into the house, I went straight up to my bedroom and whacked-off; thinking about how it could have been if you'd joined me in the back seat while Anna drove us back."

I laughed at Nick's explanation... How could I not, before replying: "But Anna has always been very careful driver, especially back then. If I'd been sat on your lap, riding your cock in the backseat, I think she might have spotted us and at the very least have complained about my blocking her view through the rear view mirror."

"But Anna wouldn't have seen you; in my fantasy that day you were knelt on the floor behind her seat"

It took me a couple of heartbeats to interpret the implication of Nick's words; when I did, I signalled it with a playful grin that matched his own. I all but leapt from the car and suspect that I'd slid the driver's seat forward and made it into the rear seat -- kneeling on the floor where suggested -- before Nick had got in there himself; I was sliding his shorts down even as Nick settled onto the seat.

When Nick's cock sprung free it was evident that he was as hard as a billy-club again today. I gave a yelp when it made its appearance... It was the size of a billy-club too. OK, perhaps I exaggerate, Nick's cock wasn't blue-movie big, but it was the largest that I'd ever seen in the flesh and it dwarfed Phil's. Not that I spent long viewing it; it took but a moment to grasp it in my hand and steer it between my lips.

Despite this being 'real-life' I was hopeful of matching or perhaps even surpassing Nick's youthful fantasy. Though I say it myself, I've always been a damned good cock-sucker; I've long suspected that my... oral abilities where a major factor in my making the transition from being Phil's PA to his wife. The gasp that my tongue's first sweep across Nick's cock-head drew suggested he was equally enamoured.

That evening I pulled out all the stops: My tongue rarely stopped moving, that continued teasing even while I was nibbling and tugging at Nick's foreskin with my teeth -- that's always proved a popular move -- and while my right hand massaged Nick's thick shaft, the fingers of my left teased at his ever-tightening scrotum.

Those alone drew some colourful language from Nick -- all of it complimentary, but crudely so -- and when I eased off to take him further into my mouth, he lost it completely. Nick's hands entwined in my hair, pulling me forward and down, so that his cock penetrated deeper; through my mouth and on into my throat, encouraged by a growled "Take it all, you MILF whore."

While Phil has throat-fucked me often enough -- and with a similar litany of foul-mouthed abuse -- Nick was far larger and slid deeper than Phil or anyone had in the past. I was surprised and not a little proud of how successfully I accommodated Nick's incursion; but as we've all learnt over the years... Pride invariably comes before a fall.

Heralded by a snarl of "That's it! Now swallow it slut." Nick blew his load with the force of a howitzer. It had only been a few minutes, two or three at most and I'd not realised he was so far along; all those months in Saudi, with just his own hand for company? I mistimed things completely; Nick's cock was deep in my throat in the moment that he ejaculated.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the outcome was... messy. I gagged in the instant, pushed myself free of Nick's cock and was coughing his semen from my mouth while he was still hosing more -- and there was no shortage! - across my face and into my hair. It must've been twenty or thirty seconds before I could again control my breathing and take stock of the situation.

The first thing I took in was the expression on Nick's face. He looked devastated at the outcome of his... over exuberant assault; his head was shaking from side to side as he whispered apologies. That was the easiest problem in the world to rectify: I wiped off the especially large dollop of cum that was hanging from my nose with a finger, then smiled around it as I sucked it clean.

Nick's visage relaxed in that instant and morphed into a wicked grin when I plucked the finger clear to suggest that he "Try to give me a little more warning next time you want me to swallow your cum" In punctuation, I wiped another stream of semen from my left cheek bone and transferred that one into my mouth as well.

I knew we were back on track when a still grinning Nick crooned "Christ Jane, you're raunchier than I ever imagined."