I don't get too many Fantasy Friday stories these days. Certainly not ones written with the amazing writing skills of the one I got the other day. Rosie's husband, Harry, has done it again. He wrote a sequel to his first story that you can read here. I serious when I say Harry is a fantastic writer and I have no idea why writing hasn't always been his career. I have no doubt you'll agree with me.
Sunlight Sunday - What happened next?
It was a beautiful late summer afternoon and the sun warmed his back through his shirt, making him feel mellow and quietly happy. Rosie’s mother had visited for lunch that day and he had just returned from taking her home. The red brick house positively glowed this afternoon and, with the curtains half drawn against the earlier strong sunlight, it seemed as though it was happily drowsing with heavy eyelids. Harry couldn’t think of the word that best described the feeling he was experiencing, it was on the tip of his tongue but kept eluding him like an answer in a crossword puzzle. He was watching a robin that flew nearby and settled on the ground. It tilted its head and studied them; not as a source of danger but as if it was also enjoying a shared moment of contentment. Ah! That was the word that had been escaping him, contentment.
He reviewed his situation. Here he was, in his late 60s now, sitting on the firm comfortable cushions of a bamboo sofa, enjoying the late summer warmth and admiring the superb view in his garden. The garden was a tranquil place bordered with tall trees to the sides and a high wooden fence at the far end. This meant that he and Rosie were seldom disturbed. Their neighbours on both sides were private people like them and although there was an unlocked gate between each house no one just walked in on each other. As it happened this weekend both neighbours were away visiting family and so he alone had the privilege of the stunning view.
He had studied those hills and the valley long before he and Rosie had found the house and bought it. The garden, with the prospect of studying the view in private, was one of his enticements to buy. He cast his eyes over it for a thousandth time and felt the happiness course through him again. The valley before him was neither too wide nor too deep and was formed by nature many years ago, like him! It was still smooth sided with an attractive flat area just before the hills began rising to the south. Harry was always attracted to this feature and insisted on describing his joy of it to Rosie, whose position on the sofa meant that she couldn’t actually see it. The hills reminded him of the North Wessex Downs around Lambourn, an area in southern England where the hills were soft and without blemish, they rolled from one into another with grace and ease.
At this time of day the hills were particularly attractive, what with the fading sunlight that seemed to gently caress the eastern slopes. The shadows were starting to form in the lee of the hills and he knew that soon, as the temperature dropped, the area below the valley would become damp and moist.
Unexpectedly the hills began rising and moving, shifting position as Rosie squirmed face down across his lap, upsetting her naked landscape and destroying his little fantasy. “I’m getting stiff and I’ll soon have goose bumps all over my bottom if you don’t stop admiring the view,” she said. Well, Harry thought, I can’t have my lady complaining about the service can I? His right hand fell across the furthest hill (her right hand cheek) and her derrière trembled back and forth with the shock. Not so Rosie, who had been expecting this arrival with some anticipation and indeed trepidation, for she had not been a “good girl” today.
With nobody home next door the caresses and the volume increased in intensity and Rosie began to squirm again, not with anticipation now. Although the day’s temperature was falling, the heat was rising nicely and the lower part of the valley did indeed become damp and moist. Rosie’s hills had taken on a very pleasing pinkish tint which, Harry thought, went well with the fading sunshine. Unfortunately the robin had departed with the sound of the first warm up caress – he seemed, well, shocked that this warm sunlit garden could be the scene of such goings on. The house of course knew better. In Harry’s mind the robin’s departure was something of a shame as he thought that he could probably colour match the robin’s proud breast with Rosie’s proud bottom – his work rate intensified along with his thoughts. Rosie hid her smile.
They had evolved an ad-hoc routine when Rosie’s mother came to Sunday lunch. Ordinarily they would lazily waste the morning in bed with breakfast followed by a glass or two of Champagne and then one thing might lead to another. This morning, however, Rosie had, without provocation (the house would confirm this he was sure) sent his almost hot coffee over his hand resulting in “grievous pain and suffering” – his words. Rosie dismissed his complaint with a “Pffft!”
This was his revenge (and his pleasure), and from under the cushion he took hold of a mighty weapon he had found in a small shop in France – a long handled heavy wooden jam spoon. Rosie was in fear of this implement and he took delight in secretly producing it for maximum effect. The trick was to change hands from right to left during spanking without Rosie realising, and then apply justice with the spoon in his right. The effect was immediate, a yell escaped from Rosie’s mouth, full blooded and panic-stricken as she attempted to escape her position. He was having none of it. Harry was ready and waiting and quickly placed his left hand firmly in the small of her back with a “I don’t think so my darling.” The spoon left pretty blobs of pink flowers where it had rested on Rosie’s cheeks – no sign of goose bumps now, he could feel the heat beginning to rise as the smile left her lips.
Harry never used the spoon more than 5 or 6 times on these occasions, after which he caressed and gently smoothed away the sting, allowing her breathing to slow again. He rubbed one pink globe up and down and then the other, gyrating them against each other – they were magnificent. His hand began exploring the darker areas of the valley while Rosie recovered and found that the dampness had turned into an enticing trickle. His fingers spread her lips and began searching for the source of this wonder. Rosie’s breathing had reversed and began increasing again with small snuffles escaping from her mouth. She was almost delirious as the messages from her body flooded her brain. He loved this power over her and it often gave rise to erotic thoughts, what if Rosie were bound and helpless?
He used his left hand to softly pry her arms from her sides, moving them, bent at the elbow, into the small of her back so that they overlapped side by side. His right hand was still busy exploring Rosie’s soaking wet softness, keeping her brain intoxicated. The smoothness and delicate internal places of a well lubricated woman was still a great wonder to him. Harry now put into action a plan, no, a fantasy, he had been constructing for some time. He took some strips of bondage tape from behind the cushion and, without hesitating, wrapped them around Rosie’s forearms where they overlapped, binding them and pinning them in place. Rosie woke up to her predicament but was now helpless in desire and in fact. Harry and the one eyed monster, along with his two cohorts, were on a mission and the planning was working out very well indeed. More strips of tape followed rapidly and voilà! With the intimate exploration proceeding below, indeed Rosie seemed to have changed up a gear; she was now truly at the mercy of his desires.
The house viewed this unexpected development with the alarm of a maiden aunt. It had witnessed some times with these two but, really! In the garden! In daylight! A light breeze swung the curtains closed as if hiding its embarrassment.
Harry allowed the awareness of Rosie’s position to fully sink in, whilst not relaxing his attention on her intimate areas. He now had the logistical problem of rearranging Rosie into a more receptive position from across his lap. If she resisted, his plan was in ashes; he would not, could not, force his wife against her will. However, that iron will seemed pretty pliable right now. By gently pushing his left hand beneath Rosie’s upper body he was hoping to lift her and use his right hand to move her hips, swinging them across her body so that she would be sitting on his lap and, err, other things, with her back to his chest. However, as his hand pushed under her body he found her breasts taut and her nipples hard. The contact brought a soft moan from Rosie’s lips and as he lifted her she swung herself the opposite way to that which he had planned. Suddenly Rosie was facing him with her knees bent either side of his legs, her body with those beautiful, needy breasts pushing against him!
Harry suddenly had the surprised look on his face, whereas Rosie had a really clever, clever, little girl look on hers. When Rosie smiled like that, he thought, her face could write a song on his heart.
Rosie laid her head on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Move forward on the sofa darling, otherwise we can’t reach each other!” Soon, she was moving, arms bound, with a beautiful rhythm.
Harry forgot what happened after that, but suffice to say the house didn’t make any night-time noises for a month, the equivalent of it not speaking to us, he thought.
Serves it right – it must have been peeking!
Told you, didn't I? Harry, thank you so much for participating in Fantasy Friday and sharing your talents with us. And please don't stop. This is a talent you should explore more and more. And if anyone else would like to try their hand a little writing, I'll be happy to host you. Send any stories to firstname.lastname@example.org