A Houseguest for the Ages

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Ever since my husband passed, I’ve been renting out rooms in my house as a means to make a little money on the side. I never had much in the way of job security. I’ve always been a housewife. My husband, Keith, was in the military, and when he passed during a training operation, I was left comfortable with the money given to me by the government, but it was never enough to truly get by in the way we did before.

Life was difficult for a time, but five years down the road from my husband’s passing, the pain has eased, and the grieving process has passed. I even tried dating a little. It’s never been an issue for me. I always knew when Keith said it was my intelligence that made him keen on me, it was really, well a few other assets. In particular, my body has always brought the eyes of almost every man that passes me by. These days I usually wear conservative clothing, but I know my hourglass shape, the sway of my rear end, and (to my dismay) the excessive size of my breasts, still bring the men nearly to their knees. Dating online is practically impossible. One horny boy after another, begging to do ungodly things and asking for nude photos for money. I have zero interest in that. So for about a year now I haven’t dated at all and kept to myself.

I never saw any reason for things to change, but eventually they did, and it all was born from a booking request I received for a room in my home out in the country. I have a rule to only allow women board at my home, out of respect for my husband’s home, but also simply to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness. It’s easier this way. But when I got a request from Tim, I couldn’t help but sympathize with his circumstance. He wrote to me and said he was a businessman, and that his hotel had overbooked. There was, apparently, a conference in town, and he was quite desperate for a place to stay and would be willing to pay double. To top it all off, he informed me that he’d be gone most of the day at the convention, so I’d be seeing very little of him. Perhaps his looks didn’t hurt either. His photo on the website showed a strapping darker man, a chiseled jaw, a form fitting suit that could barely hide the muscles at his shoulders. It was less that he was beautiful — although he was — but so put together that I wouldn’t have to worry about such an individual giving me any issues. I told him I’d be happy to have him at my home for a few days. Not knowing everything that would transpire in the days to come.


I have a two-story home, and the guest room has a separate entrance to the upstairs, and the room looks over the view of the hillside as well as my garden down below. I was actually gardening when Tim arrived, and I hardly heard his footsteps behind me, but his shadow, looming over my roses, was enough to grab my attention. I turned and found him just as the photos showed, his eyes piercing, his well-trimmed beard, jet-black, leading towards a smoothly shaved head. He extended his hand and I took it, noticing that he did not even take a second glance at my body.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I told him. “Let me show you to your room.”

I took him upstairs and he assessed the room for only a moment before turning and telling me that it would do. I felt flush at his tone, as though he’d been expecting less and found more. I was proud of the space, and quickly began to discuss the renovations I’d recently completed (was I trying to prove something to this stranger?), when he cut me off and told me he really was intrigued but needed to prepare for an upcoming meeting at the convention.

“Of course,” I told him. “I won’t be a bother!”

He smiled at this, looking down upon me with a warmth I’d yet to see in him. “You’re nothing of the sort, Melissa. I’m actually remodeling my home, too. I’d love to discuss it with you. A space this beautiful . . .” his eyes glanced around, before landing, once more, on me, “Well I’d love to know what went into it. When the time is right.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, unsure of what else to add.

I departed quickly, and I couldn’t help but notice the unconscious bounce in my step, the swaying of my hips, and I wondered, with all the shame in the world, if he was staring at my ass I was left.

“Oh, Melissa.”

I turned to find Tim with his suitcase open, already putting his clothes away, not looking at me at all.

“If you could bring me some extra towels. I break a bit of a sweat when I work out each morning . . .”

“Of course,” I told him.

The rest of the day was slow, just television and a quick jog. I might add that jpgs were another battle with the public. Keith, after receiving his enlistment bonus, had suggested I get breast implants. I was nineteen at the time — eight years go — and didn’t know any better. It only added another dimension to my frame, a reason for people to ogle, and it was difficult even running with my breasts nearly bursting out from my sports bra. I’d considered a reduction, but hadn’t gotten around illegal bahis to it. When I returned home it was dusk, the sun slowly creeping down the skyline, the moon a soft glowing crescent farther above. I had just had a sip of water when I heard a car pull up the driveway, some laughter.

From my kitchen window I spied Tim, accompanied by a woman. She was around my age perhaps, a smaller, Asian woman, and the way they were laughing it appeared that they were more than friends. A strange feeling overtook me at that point. Tim was so jovial with her, joking about work, about life, that I had the vague sense of jealousy that he hadn’t acted in such a way with me in the morning. It was entirely ridiculous, childish, but I couldn’t help but feel the pang somewhere deep within me. They were out of my eyesight before long, going around the side of the house to the stairs that lead to the guestroom.

I had no rules about overnight guests. Perhaps I should have. But nonetheless, I tried to ignore the peals of laughter upstairs. I showered, poured myself a drink, thinking perhaps that as night fell, Tim’s guest would leave, and the normalcy I was used to, the quietude of the country, would fall over the house once more.

But it wasn’t to be. As I sat with the television on, their voices carried down, and I realized I was trying to listen to them far more than I was listening to the show I had on. Then another thought struck me — I’d forgotten the extra towels I’d promised Tim. With some hesitation, I collected them from the laundry room. I went towards the stairs, then, noticing that the sounds from the guest room had abruptly ceased. I was nervous, a woman in her pajamas and her hair up, standing at the foot of her own stairs, concerned about going up them, as though her guest was the man of the house, holding her at bay from his own private actions. But I’d told him I’d bring the towels, and as a good host, it felt necessary to keep to my word.

The guest room is at the far end of the hall upstairs. It was dark, but I could see light under the bedroom door, so I knew he — or, they — weren’t asleep quite yet. I only needed to get a bit closer to confirm as much. As I tip-toed, I thought it was the sound of my feet growing somehow louder with each step, before I realized it was not my feet at all, but rather the sounds of my guest-bed meeting the wall. Soon I could hear Tim’s guest. These were stifled moans, dim against the sound of the headboard, and I imagined her mouth was against the pillow, or some other obstruction. I paused at the door, worried I might be heard, or perhaps, somehow, seen. The thought nearly brought a trickle of sweat down my brow, and in some strange moment, I imagined it going between the rivulet of my breasts, down my chest, sneaking down to my private parts. I felt there, as though to remove the bit of sweat, and in doing so, all while hearing that woman moan, the headboard bang, I felt my clit and felt a twitch in the depths of my pussy.

Suddenly I heard a man’s groan, the bed grow quiet, and in a quiet voice, I heard the woman finally speak: “No one’s fucked me like that in years. Your cum is spilling out of me!”

I couldn’t hear Tim’s response, but I heard bodies moving, and knowing they’d have to leave the room for the bathroom to cleanup, I dropped the towels quickly and hurried for the stairs; part of me wishing, all along, with a growing sense of embarrassment I was now growing used to, that I could stay in anticipation of more that might come later in the night.


It was almost as if the night before was some sort of dream that had grown distant when I woke up. But I knew it was real, if only by how aroused I had been, for it had been so long since anything had gotten me so worked up quite like that moment. I almost wanted it to happen again. I got up early, as usual, around six, and already Tim was awake, as I heard him upstairs, on the patio, apparently working out. There were some rough grunts the sound of the wood rumbling, and I stepped outside in my pajamas to see as much for myself. Once more I felt a bit out of place — groggy, with no makeup, now in my assuredly see-through satin nightgown, my nipples apparent, glancing up in the hope of seeing this man I heard in the night before in such a private moment. I suppose he was still in a private moment. He was only wearing shorts, tight at the thigh, two drawstrings snaking down the center. His muscles rippled under the first light of the day, like some sort of illusion. His head dripped sweat.

I was only slightly outside of the door, and nearly aligned with the hedge of rose bushes aside me, and I saw him mostly through the slatted planks of the patio above. But as he moved, I could see everything there was so to glean from such a fine-looking man. I wanted to get a closer look, but I was afraid, standing there frozen only a step beneath the patio, and if I took another step, he would assuredly be able to gaze down and see me.

More than anything, I wished, desperately, to illegal bahis siteleri feel myself in a manner I had been too afraid to attempt the night before. It had been so long since I’d been touched, so long since Keith had passed, and I all I wanted to was to imagine such a stallion of a man, holding me, caressing me, or even giving me the same treatment he had given his lover the night before.

My nipples were rock hard, and my pussy, untouched for so long, felt almost raw with heat. He was doing push ups, his chest nearly right above me, his face staring straight ahead. Had he looked down, between the slats, he might see me. But once again he was up, doing jumping jacks.

I heard him groan with pleasure, his workout apparently over, and then what happened next, to this day, it’s difficult to even conceive of as real. It was as though a dream had come true. The deck was silent for a moment, and I saw one of the towels I had given him flip over the patio railing, nearly right above me. The world, for a moment, was still. I don’t know how a man could have the gall to do what he did, in a widow’s home, but I suppose the isolation of the country, the serenity of the wild, tempted him in some manner, and he couldn’t resist. It must’ve been some sort of post-workout ritual — and nothing could stop him from partaking.

I could see his shorts were off, and his cock, flip out of them. It spanned the open gaps of nearly three planks of wood, and my jaw immediately dropped. I could see him stroking himself, long thrusts of his hand over an enormous pole of meat. It was as though I was in a trance, for I couldn’t take my eyes of the small glimpses of his chest, of his cock; the noise of his grunts. Caught in the moment, I found myself moving back against my will, until I knew I was immediately before the porch, staring upwards, his snake of a cock glistening in the morning sun. His eyes were closed, his abs trembling as he neared orgasm. My hand was under my nightgown. I was furiously rubbing myself, watching this specimen before me, yielding to the moment entirely.

I saw him reach for the towel on the railing, seeing it wasn’t where he’d put it.

“Where did it . . . Fuck it,” he muttered.

He stepped forward, and I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen me, the long thick piece of meat pointing out in the air like a horizontal flagpole, pulsating in the chill of the morning.


Ropes of cum, in quick succession, jettisoned from his prick, somehow flying with incredible force big globs of it falling directly onto my nightgown, one on my head the other splattering my shoulder. I quickly stepped forward in disbelief, out of view, just as I sent myself into a furious orgasm, my legs buckling with such force that I nearly fell to my knees. A single peep emitted from my mouth, and I quickly covered it with my hand, but as soon as the noise came forth the patio above me was silent once more.

A shadow fell over the planks of wood, covering me from above. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought, quite certainly, that I could hear a smug giggle from the floor above me, just before the screen door leading into the guest room closed.


I hopped in the shower immediately, masturbating and sending myself into a rapturous orgasm once again. I was nothing more than a puddle on the floor, feeling the hot water spread over me, imaging that each drop was another slick droplet of cum sent forth from Tim’s enormous member. Was I simply going stir crazy? So long I had been in this house, to myself, venturing out only to see friends on occasion, to run errands… missing, desperately, the hold of a man. And this wasn’t just any man. It pained me to think of how assertive he seemed upon my patio. Like it was his patio. Thinking of my husband, our home, the thought made me shudder, but also enthralled me. I had to distract myself. I had to make this day busy so as to put this all in the past.

When I cleaned myself off, I went to the kitchen, and any thought of moving on from Tim was dashed. For he was sitting at the dining room table. I nearly choked up in fright. Not that I wasn’t pleased to see him — but the act of the morning was so perverse that it was difficult to act normal. Yet he was behaving perfectly appropriately. He was dressed in slacks and a tucked-in polo, his pectoral muscles bulging from his chest. He was eating an apple, reading the paper, right where Keith used to sit when he was home. As I choked on my words, he stood up, towering over me, and gave me a hug I was not expecting. I felt my breasts squish against his tight abs, the soft start of his groin against me, before he let go. I sat down beside him immediately.

“I hope you don’t mind I helped myself to an apple,” he said.

“Not — not at all. Anything here is yours.”

Anything here is yours? What on earth, Melissa?

“You’re so gracious! A-plus host if I’ve ever seen one.” He winked, sitting back down.

“Well, I try. How as has your trip been?

His eyes went alight. canlı bahis siteleri “Fantastic. I already closed two deals! One of them was playing hardball. She’s a big player in the industry, and when I say I had to wine and dine her, I really was working to close that deal all night! I even got in a solid workout this morning as a little way to celebrate. I know, weird. But it’s just how I pat myself on the back. A little exercise.”

He bit hard into his apple. His walnut eyes were soft, but his smile was wide and almost devilish. I leaned forward, my tits resting on the table like a shelf, and asked him more about his life. Little did I know how long we would chat! He told me about growing up on the east coast, getting sent to private schools, and I told him about my time growing up as well. Eventually I saw his eyes coast to the pictures on the wall, and I told him about Keith.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice genuine.

“It’s been some time now,” I said. “It’s difficult to move on but I’m trying. Even meeting people was a chore afterwards. It was hard to learn to be social again.”

“I would say you’re doing a fine, fine job,” Tim told me.

It was at this point I felt a fuzziness against my leg. I glanced down to find his knee against my own, for only the briefest moment before he pulled it away. He took another bite of apple, placing the core before me.

“I should get going,” he said. “More meetings.”

“When should I expect you back?” I stammered, trying to recover from this comment. I mean in case you need more towels, or anything else, I can accommodate. You sound so busy.”

“More towels would be excellent,” he said. “I’ll be out there again on the patio tomorrow morning. It’s quite the sweat in that morning heat.”

“Of course,” I told him.

With that he rose up. He then nodded at the apple core, as though designating it to me, my job as his host.

“I’ll throw that away for you,” I said quickly.

“Very good, Melissa. I look forward to chatting again with you soon.”


That night, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I put on my tightest pair of jeans and a form-fitting top that showed off my body in every way men craved. I hadn’t dressed like this since I’d gone out with Keith when he’d last been on leave. I even put on some makeup. I could’ve been a cocktail waitress at a club, a cheerleader for a football team. I wasn’t just happy at the idea of Tim returning that night, but that I was rediscovering a side of myself that had been gone for so long.

I had a casserole in the oven. I poured myself some wine, sat in the living room with my laptop open, as if I was working on something that might just keep me up until a certain someone returned. And yet that’s all I did for hours — waited. Soon the moon was up, the house was quiet, and there I was, looking ridiculous, wondering what I’d possibly been thinking in the first place. The casserole had gone cold some time ago, and how pathetic it looked, cold atop the stove, uneaten.

And then- then — I heard a car door shut, the car pull away and down the gravel driveway. My heart was pounding. My foot was tapping against my stool. I checked my hair in the mirror across the way in the living room, and then, finally I heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the guestroom outside.

I waited fifteen minutes, checking my phone, the news, doing whatever I could to stall. Then I went upstairs to the guest room door, and without another thought, or a second guess, I knocked. Waited.

“Tim?” I called out.

Another pregnant pause — and then the door opened. He had a bottle of wine in hand, sipping it eagerly, his tie undone, his suit jacket on the bed behind him.

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t want to intrude –“

“I just needed a little something to calm the nerves,” he said. “Long day. Rough day.”

“I know what that’s like. Well, I made a casserole downstairs, and I have more wine if you’d like me to share in your miseries. It’d be my pleasure, really.”

He eyed me up and down, like I was something to be inspected, then looked me straight on.

“Dinner would be good,” he said. “Let me just get into something more comfortable.”

I told him that sounded good and walked away — wondering, just like after our first conversation, if he was looking at my ass in those jeans, bobbing up and down, nearly bursting the seam down the middle. This time, when I looked back, he had his hand on the knob — he was biting his lip, looking straight ahead at me. He didn’t even flinch when we made eye contact. He merely smiled and slowly closed the door.


I was taken a bit aback when he sat beside me at the dining room table. I already had a glass of wine out for him, one for myself, and candles lit. A rush of heat went through me when he held my shoulder as a crutch to sit down, his fingers firm against my shoulder blade.

“This looks lovely,” he said.

He was dressed as though he were ready for bed — a tight white tee-shirt and a thin pair of basketball shorts. I served him the salad and the casserole, and he ate it ravenously, as though it was his first meal in weeks. I watched his jaw muscles clench at each bite, nodding in approval at the food.

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