Day two of my adventures started fine and warm. I set the Satnav and drove off, heading to Packwood, the house Stan had told me about the previous evening. About half an hour later, as I drove between two stone gateposts, my satnav announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”

The woodland gave way to open meadows, bright green in the sunlight. I drove down the hill and passed the old house before I turned right into the car park. Walking back, I found the entrance and made my way to the imposing frontage. For the next hour, I wandered from room to room, soaking up six centuries of history, and then walked around the garden and nearby grounds before retracing my steps to the cafe next to the car park.

I still had most of the afternoon free, so I decided to walk around the estate. A small gate led out to a grassy meadow, and I followed the fence bordering the cafe on a well-worn path. The ground sloped gently away,  and ahead was a footbridge leading to another field. Quite happily trudging on, I started to hear squelching underfoot. I stopped and cast my gaze around. I realised I had wandered off the pathway and was now on marshy ground. Twisting round to head back to the path, I lost my balance and fell face down. Ugh!

Unhurt but stunned by my misfortune, I lay there feeling water soaking into my clothes. My thoughts were interrupted by a panting sound, then something wet and warm nuzzling my cheek. Lifting my head, I looked into the eyes of a dog.

"Hello, madam. Are you all right?"

Typical British understated politeness, I thought.

I lifted myself to kneel on the sodden turf.

"I'm not hurt, thanks, just wet and messy."

Striding towards me was a rather handsome man who looked about my age, with a full head of white hair and dressed for dog walking in wet fields—especially the green rubber boots that covered his lower legs.

"I say, you do need some TLC."

A wet tongue licked my hand, and in response, I stroked its rough fur.

Above, I saw a proffered hand and gladly grasped it, hauling myself back upright.

"You have already made friends with Jasper, so it is my turn now. My name is Michael."

"Thank you, Michael; I'm Dorothea, and I'm grateful for both of your concerns."

He smiled at me.

"You are in a pickle, young lady."

"Young lady? I'm sixty-eight."

"Bingo!"

"Very nice, Michael. Please help me get back on the path. I need to get to my car and return to my hotel.

"I can offer you sanctuary. We are near my home, and I can dry your wet clothes."

"That's very kind, but a lot of bother for you."

"Not at all; take my hand; let's get you sorted out."

A little later, trailing Michael's car, I turned into his driveway, parked, got out, and then gazed at his house. It was like something out of a romantic novel. It looked ancient with tiny windows, rendered pale yellow walls, a thatched roof, and flowers everywhere in the garden. Jasper jumped out of his car and careered around the garden, barking joyfully.

"I think it is beautiful, Michael."

He smiled at me, then led me to the front door, where I noticed a carved plaque “Rose Cottage” above the lintel, and walked straight in.

"Don't you lock it when you're out?"

"No need out here."

I followed him upstairs and into a bedroom.

"Wait here, I'll get you something to cover up with."

In a trice, he came back with a huge towel.

"Take your wet stuff off, then wrap this around you. I'll be back in a mo to carry it all downstairs. The bathroom is across the landing; you can wash the mud off and have a bath or shower if you like."

I closed the door, struggled out of my sodden clothes, wrapped the towel around me, and then sat on the side of the soft bed. A gentle knock on the door told me the laundry service was ready.

"Come in, Michael, I'm decent!

He swooped in, gathered up my bundle, and disappeared. I walked to the bathroom, locked the door, and thoroughly cleaned myself under his shower.

Later I lay on the bed, wrapped in his towel, and promptly fell asleep.

Deep in sleep, I felt his presence, perhaps an aroma or a movement. I don't know, but I stirred and opened my eyes to see him looking down at me.

"I'm sorry; I didn't want to disturb you; I just wanted to see you were alright."

I looked up at his face, concern etched into his expression.

"You've been so kind to me, Michael."

"I brought you some water."

I turned and saw a carafe and tumbler on the bedside table.

"Thanks. I'd like some, please.

He filled the glass and then handed it to me. As I took it, I felt his fingers under mine, a fleeting touch that switched something on deep inside.

With my thirst slaked, I handed it back to him, and this time his fingers touched mine as he took the glass.

We sat quietly, and then I wanted to touch him again. I raised my hand and tenderly stroked the skin of his arm. Neither of us moved; our eyes were locked together, and there was tension, almost an expectation on my part.

Slowly, he lowered his head, and then, close to my face, he whispered.

"Please, Dorothea, I want to kiss you."

One-handed, I grasped his wrist, and my other gripped behind his head and pulled him onto my lips. Our lips mashed together, and at first, it seemed Michael was holding back, unsure of the almost inevitable next step.

His tongue probed my lips, and I eagerly opened my mouth to let him in. I smelt him—a musky mixture of countryside and dog. Our tongues flicked together, playing in my mouth. My fingers, no longer pulling him down, stroked his hair, enjoying the touch of soft furriness. On and on this first kiss went. I never wanted it to stop; it had been years since I had felt such an intimate connection with a man.

When he broke the kiss, I looked into his eyes and saw kindness and compassion, traits I had yearned for when my home life collapsed. His hand brushed the flesh of my upper arm over the artwork adorning my skin.

"Who is this beautiful lady on your arm?"

"She is Summer, a painting by the Czech artist Mucha. She is wonderful, and I adore the red poppies on her head."

He smiled at me. "Can I kiss her? Would that make you jealous?"

I giggled back at him, feeling quite lightheaded.

"She is part of me, like a sister, so kissing her is kissing me too."

He leaned across me, chest pressed against chest, and I felt his breath caress my skin just before the touch of his lips on Summer's sweet face. His tongue teased me, licking the length of her, and I laid a hand on his head, gently playing with his silver locks.

I felt so good; warmth spread through my body. It was as if this beautiful man had switched something on inside me. He finished playing with Summer, then sat up and gently teased apart the knot in the towel above my breasts before pulling it down to expose the twin mounds surmounted by my brown areola and erect nipples.

His fingers rolled my flesh, then he leaned down, sucking and licking each teat in turn.

I moaned in pleasure, "More, Michael, do it more."

My body was on fire; I was writhing on the bed, wanting him.

He opened the towel fully, exposing the length of me, then ran fingers down my tummy until he found the little thatch covering my mound.

"You are beautiful, Dorothea; I want to make love to you."

My reply was barely audible: "Yes, Michael, I want you."

His fingers slipped further down, and I felt my lips prised apart before he slipped inside. Oh, how wet I was! Deep inside, he probed, pulling more juice out before smearing it all around my pussy. And the moment he touched my clit is forever etched into my mind. My hips jumped, and I whimpered, "Yes, yes."

I watched as he stood by the bed, stripping off his clothes. The shirt, trousers, and underwear all dropped to the floor. He stood naked, and I reached out to touch the tip of his stiff shaft, smearing a drop of his lube around the exposed purple head.

I opened my legs, letting him kneel between them before he slowly leaned forward until he was supporting his weight through locked arms on either side of my chest.

"Guide me, Dorothea."

Grasping his erect cock between finger and thumb, I wiggled it between my pussy lips, smearing my juices over him. Then I set it over the entrance to my tunnel and looked up into his eyes as he pushed into me. I felt him slide inside, filling a space emptied of love for far too long.

Michael rode me, and I felt the weight of his body on me, pressing me into the yielding mattress. The room was full of the sounds of our rutting: grunts, groans, and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

An expert lover, he rode me high, every thrust bearing on my clit. I was at peak arousal and knew I was going to orgasm fast. There is a moment every woman should experience: the release of sexual energy when your body wants to flex and surge in spasm, but the weight of the man on you stops all but the smallest movements. That moment came for me, my brain electrified by orgasmic release, my body desperately trying to escape from his weight.

"Was that good for you?"

Breathing heavily, all I could do was nod my head and force a gasped "yes" through my lips. I realised he had stopped, completely still, hard as nails and buried deep inside me.

"Go on, fuck me more."

He resumed his thrusting, still bearing on my clitoral area, which was incredibly sensitive to his touch. Faster and faster, he fucked me, and I knew that I could cum again, and I tried to hold it back, willing him to give me his treasure.

There were no words from him, just a sudden gasping, followed by a series of violent thrusts as his orgasm hit and his life jetted into me. I felt his cock pulsing, and I felt the warmth of his fluids caress the folds of my flesh. The force of his thrusts on my clit tipped me over the edge again. I felt nothing but extreme pleasure, my whole world bounded by our shared orgasms, two bodies in perfect harmony.

"Stay on top, Michael; I want to enjoy you inside for as long as possible."

He lowered his lips to mine, and we kissed deeply, snatching at breathing between each delicious play of our tongues. I felt his shaft softening, slowly sliding out. Desperately, I tightened my muscles, trying to hold him in there, but we were too slippery. Below my pussy, I felt a stream of fluid running down to my crack, making the sensation of completion and satisfaction course through my mind.

We lay there, Michael on top of me, until he rolled off to lie beside me, one arm thrown across my chest just below my flattened breasts. I turned to him and laid an arm on his. We kissed again and again, lost in our little world.

I started to feel drowsy; my eyes would drift shut, and after a few seconds, I would snap awake, but each time the temptation to sleep became stronger until I could not suppress it any longer.

=.=

It was late afternoon when I woke, and as I opened my eyes, I saw Michael by the bedside.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I think jetlag is still affecting me."

He smiled at me. "Nonsense, you are just as wonderful asleep as awake."

"But I have to get back to Stratford for dinner, and I'm going to be late."

"Look, Dorothea, why don't we go out together locally? The Boot is an excellent gastropub, and it's only a couple of minutes drive."

"But I only have my day clothes."

He almost rolled his eyes in despair.

"It's a pub, not a posh restaurant. You'll be fine."

I nodded, and our date was fixed.

"I'll check if your clothes have dried and book a table."

The hours flew by. I spoke about my horrible life at home and praised my darling daughter, who had been my rock through turbulent times. He told me about his childhood sweetheart, who had died after a long illness a decade previously, and his three adult children scattered around the world. We gelled, chatting constantly in the cottage, car, and pub. Two lonely people suddenly released from their isolation. All the time, Jasper was either on my lap or licking some part of my body. At The Boot, the publican welcomed us like old friends, which was what Michael and Jasper were.

Back at the cottage, Michael surprised me with an offer to go out together the next day. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed he would collect me around ten in the morning. I was so happy; the thought of another day in his company lifted my spirits so much, and the deep, wet kiss he gave me as I unlocked the car left me on a high as I drove away.

=.=

The following morning, he collected me from my hotel as we had arranged. As we drove away, I turned to Michael and asked, "Where is Jasper?"

"Oh, he's happy as a pig in shit. He has the run of the back garden and a nice kennel to doze in."

After a half-hour drive through the rolling countryside, we arrived at our destination, Upton House. The rural home of a multi-millionaire a century ago, it houses an incredible collection of art.

In awe, I stood in front of a huge canvas that filled my field of sight.

"Canaletto," mummered Michael.

I gazed at wonder after wonder as we perambulated through the galleries.

Later, in the cafe, we enjoyed scones, jam, and tea. I chattered while Michael sat opposite, smiling gently, eyes locked on mine.

"Come for a walk around the gardens; there is a lot to see."

We walked around the house and across a lawn that looked as smooth as a billiard table. At the far side, there was a sheer drop of about fifteen feet, with flower and vegetable terraces below us. Further away, a lake glistened in the afternoon sun.

"This is beautiful, Michael. I would never have come here without you. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Dorothea. Now let's move on to see a special place."

He took my hand and led me away from the lawn onto a path descending steeply amongst trees.

We arrived at a flat area surrounded by balustrades overlooking the lake. Michael put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, then turned to me, placed a hand on my cheek, and turned my head, putting our faces close together. Then he kissed me, just lips to lips, gentle and tender.

I forgot the world around us, pressed against him, and pushed my tongue inside. I turned fully and lifted my hands to rest on his hips. Time was standing still for me.

"Oh, Michael, you beautiful man."

"Come with me, Dorothea. There's more to see."

He took my hand; we returned to the path and walked further until we reached a barricade. It looked out of place, a red plastic monstrosity blocking the way, but it was no barrier to Michael, who pulled me around one side of it.

"Michael, we shouldn't be here."

"Yes, we should! It's to keep visitors away from the sunken garden that's being repaired. We are going somewhere different."

I followed him along a narrow path overhung with summer growth until we came to a grassy glade. On one side was a small pond surrounded by reeds and alive with damsel flies. On the other was a wooden bench seat set back in the shade.

Michael led me to the bench. We sat half-turned inwards, then we leaned close and touched lips. His tongue slipped between my lips, and I used my tip to play with his.

He broke the kiss and then started kissing me all over my face. Nose, cheeks, eyelids, brow—he found them all. It was so intimate, intense, and loving. I was in paradise. Michael moved my head and laid it on his shoulder while he hugged me, stroking my back and arms with his big hands, blowing gentle puffs of air in my ear. Then I felt him nibbling at my earlobe—no one had ever done that for me—and my body shuddered in pleasure.

"Oh, Michael, please."

I did not know what I was saying, but I wanted him. I felt a hand slide under my skirt and along my thigh, kneading my flesh softly with every move.

The sensation of his fingers touching my pants was electric.

"Yes, more, please, more."

His fingers fumbled with the hem, then slipped inside, pressing against my pussy. There was more fumbling as he sought to prise my lips apart, and then he was in, and I suddenly realised I was aroused and wet.

I shifted my body down, splaying my legs wide, giving him the opening he needed to find my clit.

My head dropped back until I looked up at the canopy of leaves, with a background of the cobalt blue sky. Michael's head appeared and blocked my view, and our lips met in a deep, deep kiss.

His fingers plunged into my tunnel, scooping out globs of my juices before spreading them over my clit, flicking and rubbing it as my body responded.

I felt my hips flexing, wanting release. Our mouths seemed glued together; I was breathing through my nose and sensed he was doing the same. I had one hand behind his head, pulling him onto me, keeping the flow of saliva from his mouth to mine, swallowing it as I filled up, knowing his body fluid was going deep inside me.

My other hand was on his back, kneading his flesh through his shirt, and when he hit my clit's special spot, I slapped him hard; this seemed to spur him on even more, pounding my clit harder and harder.

I came, feeling my body jerk as spasms hit me from head to toe. Michael's fingers never stopped, and as my orgasm receded, he was working me just as hard as before. I came again and again. I lost count—the quantity was a blur. My life was bound between our mouths and his fingers on my clit.

I think he understood when I had reached my limit. His fingers quietened in my crotch, and he lifted his mouth from mine to kiss my face again.

"Oh, Michael, you beautiful man. Thank you. That was so good."

He moved off me, sitting alongside me, cuddling me tight.

"My pleasure, beautiful Dorothea."

I laid my hand on his chest, then slipped it down to his waist, unbuckled his belt, and then pulled down his zip. When I felt inside, his underpants were soaking wet in front, and underneath his shaft was rock solid.

I looked up at him.

"It's my turn now."

I used two hands to release his pants and expose his beautiful, erect cock. I dipped my head; and let the tip slip between my lips, flicking my tongue around, savouring the taste of his pre-cum, while the fingers of one hand slipped under his scrotum to cradle his balls and the other grasped his shaft, gently working up and down.

His hips responded to my work, and after my multiple orgasms, I wanted to give him the best blowjob of his life.

Gradually I moved my hand faster, bobbing my head up and down over the head, occasionally releasing my hand and diving to take his whole length in my mouth, feeling his glans touching the back of my throat for a moment, and then when I started to gag, I withdrew back to the top.

I wanted his cum so much, and when his body thrust and jerked as I worked his cock, my satisfaction was complete. I felt the first squirt flash across my tongue, then the flood filled my mouth. As his orgasm ebbed, I kept my head down, trying not to swallow his seed.

My final act was to sit up and open my mouth to let him see the creamy-white liquid on my tongue and lips. I closed my mouth, swallowed, and then opened it once more, showing an empty void.

Michael leaned to me, then pushed his tongue into my open mouth, placing a hand behind my head to join us together.

Satisfied and content, we made ourselves look respectable and snuggled together, holding hands with my head resting on his shoulder. Michael was right—no one had disturbed us in our love nest—the barrier did its job well.