A Farmer's Wife, Maxine?

I fumbled to get the key in the lock, hindered by Maxine, who seemed to want to flow over my shoulders and have her hands rummage in my clothing at the same time. Distracting and obstructing, she hugged my back, as her hands ran over the front of my shirt and occasionally skirted across the front of my trousers. I kept twisting and buckling, not wanting her to feel the erection that was growing rapidly.

“Shh,” I hissed, “You’ll wake the neighbours.”

“Which floor are they on?” slurred Maxine.

“Next door,” I replied, “this is my house.”

“Ooh, isn’t Toby fancy, he’s got his own house,” Maxine giggled as the lock finally surrendered to my machinations, and the door burst inwards, crashing noisily against the coat rack and scattering stuff from the hall table.

“Shh,” I repeated, turning to close the door behind me and meeting head on the determined assault of Maxine, who seemed to want to desperately rip my jacket and tie off. In which order, she didn’t seem to be bothered, as long as something came off.

“Do you want a drink?” I suggested, thinking that this might slow her down and give me more time. Time for what, he wasn’t sure.

“Okay,” replied Maxine brightly, “I’ve got a bottle of wine in my bag and,” she grinned as if this was a marvellous revelation, “I borrowed this tiny bottle of brandy, because no-one seemed to like it and it was all lonely and on its own in John’s desk.”

The revelation that Maxine had purloined a litre of Brandy from the boss’s desk struck me as scandalous and hilarious at the same time. It was theft, and yet she’d helped herself to a bottle during a party where all you could drink was free. Something it appeared Maxine had taken full advantage of.

“I’ll get some glasses,” I said, trying to detach myself, get the door closed and head for the living room, in one order or another.

“You do that,” slurred Maxine, stepping back and leaning back, with her breasts thrust forward as she weaved in what she imagined was a seductive manner. “I’ll go and get into bed.” She turned. “Where is it?”

Toby looked at her, lost.

“Your bedroom, which is it?”

“Oh, top of the stairs, first on the left. Little girl’s room is on the right.”

“Is that the same as the big boy’s room?” giggled Maxine, her foot slipping off the first step of the staircase, and her handbag crashing against the wall with a sound that was perilously close to that of a bottle of wine shattering.

“Why don’t I take that wine,” I suggested, lifting the thankfully-still-attached neck of the bottle from her handbag and stepping back to watch as she tried a second attempt of scaling the stairs.

Standing there, I watched Maxine’s firm, pert arse ascend upwards. Her narrow waist and wide hips gave her a classic womanly figure and made the exceeding tight material of her skirt slide from side to side over her buttocks. As she did so, the hem raised steadily each time she lifted a foot and eventually revealed what were definitely stocking tops. She was adorable, even drunk. Gorgeous and lovely. I watched her until she took the last step and her long blond hair, which cascaded down her back in a sea of waves, turned the corner and vanished from sight.

I took a deep breath and straightened my cock, which was now hard to the point of throbbing in my trousers. She was a live one, alright. I’d have to be careful and respectful. She certainly didn’t know what she was doing. A small drink, just a nightcap, and then I’d see her settled in bed and go and sleep in the spare room. After all, she had looked far too vulnerable getting into that Uber alone. It was undoubtedly a good move to bring her here, let her sleep the office party off, and see her on her way tomorrow. That is what a gentleman would do, and I was a gentleman, I told myself. Much as I’d love to hold her in my arms, that wouldn’t exactly be informed consent would it, she was, as my father would say in his broad Yorkshire accent, ‘completely blathered’.

I staggered through to the kitchen, knowing I’d drunk far more than I normally did, too. I was too drunk to drive, I’d taxi back and fetch the car tomorrow, but I seemed to be making sensible decisions. I wasn’t the one that was truly pissed. I put the cheap bottle of Liebfraumilch in the fridge and picked up a couple of tumblers. Brandy snifters seemed unnecessarily delicate and pretentiously refined.

From upstairs, I heard a toilet flush and then footsteps across the landing before the unmistakeable sound of my bed’s old bedsprings. It had been my grandparents’ bed, cast iron framed and ancient, and my parents had insisted I took it with me when I moved out. I did, however, get the removalists to take the mattress away and promptly went and bought a brand new one. That was about thirteen years ago, and the mattress how had a soft side and a harder side. One side softened by use, the other totally unused. For some reason, I could just not sleep on the right-hand side of the bed.

Putting my jacket over the back of a kitchen chair, I rolled up my tie neatly before putting it in a pocket, then undid the top three buttons of my shirt. I had been a long day, and I was tired. The strain of going to the office party, of socialising with people, of engaging in inane chit-chat was exhausting. But it had been worth it, once I finally plucked up the courage to talk to Maxine. And for a change, she didn’t just dismiss me, as every other woman I’d ever spoken to had seemed to do. Perhaps it was because she was drunk. Perhaps it was because she liked me? I straightened my shoulders, picked up the tumblers and started up the stairs.

I was half expecting to find Maxine asleep sprawled across the bed, and as I climbed the stairs I imagined carefully and respectfully tucking her in, turning off the light and retiring. That however was not the scene that greeted me as I turned into the main bedroom.

The ceiling light was off, and the room was only lit by a single bedside light, the shade of which had been turned to point at the far wall, then draped over by a thin red piece of unidentified clothing. Where the rest of Maxine’s dress had gone I didn’t know, but she was now laying in the bed, the sheets thrown invitingly back. All she was wearing was a red, lacy bra that displayed far more cleavage than I’d ever seen in my life, or even imagined. She truly was a big girl up there. Even when I had surreptitiously and guiltily looked down her top when she sat typing at work, I’d seen such a delightful view. My cock throbbed again. But she didn’t look all modelly, half starved and then infeasibly large, silicone breasts. No, she just looked busty. She had looked, well, cuddly, in the overly tight little black dress she had been wearing all night, but she actually had a very narrow waist. A waist that now was clearly ringed by a black suspender belt.

I gulped, highly aware that my cock must be pushing out the front of my trousers. I stood stock still, my eyes tracking down Maxine’s incredibly long stocking legs, then back up the hosiery to the tiny back G-string. Even in the dim lighting of the room, he could see a few dark tufts of hair escaping through the top of the triangle of cloth, before the narrow end vanished between dark, fleshy lips. I gulped again. She was almost naked, and in my bed.

“Well, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to get your kit off.”

I stood, paralysed, like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s lamp.

“Have you got any condoms?” Maxine asked, flowing off the bed and kneeling before me, her hands reaching for my trouser belt. All of a sudden, she seemed very much in control and no longer slurring her words.

“No-o-o,” I stammered, the implication of her question seeming to blow the last remnants of alcohol fog from my mind.

“Never mind, I’ll get the morning-after pill tomorrow. Now come here and let me have a look at what you’ve been hiding.” Her hands finally released my trouser button, loosed the fly, and then pulled my trousers and underpants down in one swift move.

My cock, rock hard, veins bulging and glans already pushing back the foreskin, sprang out. Not outwards, so much as skywards, but pointing almost straight up from what I always thought was an over-sized ball sack.

“Oh, my lord!” exclaimed Maxine.

I bent at the knees, desperately trying to reach down and pull up my trousers, trying to hide away that that had so appalled Maxine.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, fighting off her hands as they continued to drag down his pants. She was going to mock my cock, my erection. I’d be a laughingstock in the office on Monday. She wasn’t acting like this was the first she’d seen, all no doubt much bigger than me.

“What the F’ are you sorry for, you magnificent specimen. My lord, how many girls have you made squeal with this beauty?”

The question must have been rhetorical, if not mockery, but as Maxine tried to surround my cock with one hand and stroke it slowly, I thought I at least owed her an answer.

“None. Never. I’ve not…”

“What never?” Maxine was aghast. “What, you are a virgin?”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Oh, my sweet lord. Am I going to open your eyes tonight.”

Before I could wonder what she meant, Maxine’s lips surrounded my bell-end and pushed downward, retracting the foreskin and plunging the exposed glans into her mouth.