There was no doubt in Emma’s mind that her marriage to entrepreneur, Simon Grant had been short of the full package. The attraction of having such a massive change in her life was easy to understand. Having lived in a family home in which her parents appeared to be constantly living hand to mouth, her first marriage to flashy Ray Valance, when she was twenty-three, had her believing that it was a way out of poverty. Inside a year, she had discovered that she had married a callous wife-beater, whose lifestyle was based on drug dealing and the sale of stolen goods.

Escape from that desperate situation came, when she was twenty-six, when Valance was given a long-term prison sentence. Emma, with all modesty, knew that she had been gifted with a level of physical beauty that could attract men, but her time with Ray made her extra cautious. However, within a year she attended an upmarket charity function.  When silver haired Simon had asked her for a dance, she had found herself in the arms of a witty, charming older man. Emma learned he was fifty-eight years old, and in her mind that was rather too old for any serious consideration.

But after accepting an offer of a further date, she had been taken to be captivated by his beautiful six bed-roomed house, surrounded by lavish gardens. So, taken aback was Emma by this kind of luxury that, by the time his proposal of marriage came, there was no doubt in her mind that this was her route to a secure future. Later she was to recall two pieces of information that Simon had slipped into their conversations when he proposed. One was that he needed a beautiful woman on his arm when he attended the many social functions he was invited to. There was also his involvement in his electronics business meant much time away in the city.

Accepting his proposal, Emma had seen no problems with either of those points. So, after a luxurious wedding, on which Simon regretted that his son, Mark could not attend, because he was building his air-conditioning business in Barbados, they had honeymooned in Paris, where Emma was shocked to find Simon’s inability to rise to the occasion. Having had only two drab affairs before her marriage she had been looking forward to real fulfilment. No such luck. It became clear that being on his arm really was her ‘raison d’etre’.

Simon openly admitted that he had little interest in the physical side of marriage, but he wanted her to be comfortable. “Now he tells me,” had been Emma’s reaction to that.  The other consideration which she had accepted, were his trips to the city, it was more frequent than she expected. Yes, she had one or two friends, but that hardly eased her boredom of being alone.

 Simon’s wide circle of friends, meant that he and Emma were invited to lavish dinners, but, sometimes she ended such times wishing that Simon would stoke her fires. Sex had always been something she could tune into when she felt like it, but after eighteen months of marriage she had a definite need to have those fires lit.

It was one morning, over breakfast, when Emma had just turned twenty-nine, that Simon revealed his son, Mark, having his business firmly in place, would be coming home for a while. It sparked her just a little to learn he was nearly twenty-six, and unmarried. “He’s a jolly lad, you’ll like him.”

Emma couldn’t help thinking, he’d have to be ‘like a gargoyle’ for her not to like a twenty-five-year-old, in her present state. Simon told her he would be arriving some time on the following Sunday. When that day came, Emma watched as Simon went to pick this Mark up from the airport.

Emma had taken some time brushing out her dark brown hair, in her bedroom. Might as well be neat for the new arrival, she’d thought. She’d dressed in a tight body-fitting black dress, with blue panties but no bra underneath. That wasn’t meant to be provocative, she was still pleased that, at her age, she could get away with no bra. Small, but perfectly formed, she laughed as she smoothed her dress over them while looking in the mirror.

She hadn’t heard any noises while she’d been preparing herself, so she had assumed they weren’t back from the airport. But, as she stepped out onto the landing she almost collided with the tall figure of a man. And what a man!

That first encounter came as a complete surprise, or was it shock, or just pure lust? Emma had no doubt what it was in her case, as her lower body seemed to have a seizure, and an almost forgotten moistening had her clenching her thighs. This man in front of her wasn’t just tall, under his black T shirt he looked to be all muscle, and handsome? Under a tumble of dark hair his facial features, nose chin, eyes were all perfectly proportioned. And it was those eyes that were doing it to her at that moment. She felt them slowly removing her dress, lingering over her breasts. No doubt noticing her nipples which she was sure were rising against the thin cotton of her dress.

He was the first speak, but Emma was pleased to see that, although his words came out clearly, he wasn’t finding it easy. “I was meant to seek out my new step-mom,” he said, his voice little more than a croak. “You haven’t seen an old biddy kicking around here, have you? Her name is Emma.”

Emma’s heart was pounding against her ribs as she managed to reply, “I’m Emma, and I’m guessing, you must be Mark—” She managed a strangled giggle as she added, “My step-son.”

Now his voice strengthened, “My God, my father told me I had a step-mom, but he didn’t tell me she was a super step-mom.” And with that he stepped in closer, placed a hand on each of Emma’s upper arms, and planted a kiss on each cheek. The electricity coursing down her arms, did not stop Emma from sensing that the second kiss lingered longer on her cheek than was usual.

“Ah, you two have met already. Good.” Simon’s voice came from where he stood looking at them from halfway up stairs. “Come on down to the lounge. I’ve poured us sherries.”

Sitting in the comfort of the lounge, Simon urged his son to tell them all about Barbados and how his business had developed. Emma tried to keep her eyes averted from that handsome, animated face. Some gargoyle, wasn’t he? She shivered at each glance he threw in her direction. Her lower body remained moist.

Later, Simon told her he was taking Mark to his Men’s Club to have a father/son get-together. “It’s been a long time,” he said. Emma was pleased in a way, to remain home and watch television. She doubted being able to stay in Mark’s presence too long without grabbing him by the---She chuckled, no, stop thinking like that. But she knew well, there were problems ahead. Mark’s glances in her direction had been coated with desire.

The following day was a struggle. It was just as well that Simon took the day off, so any temptation was dulled. But Mark sat out on the patio with his shirt off, soaking up the sun. Emma couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way the muscles of his upper body rippled whenever he moved. She did try desperately not to look. Deliberately she avoided wearing the tight short shorts and halter top she would have worn on such a bright day.

Things began to come to a head after the evening meal. Emma was just crossing the hall when Mark came up behind her took her hand and led her gently into the conservatory. Startled, Emma looked into his smiling face. “Dad’s having his after-meal nap in his favourite chair in the lounge.” He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs and sat directly opposite her in the other. “We need to talk.”

Heart racing at the touch of his hand in hers, Emma nodded, but said, “That’s all we can do, isn’t it?” And had she allowed a tone of regret to creep into her voice? Probably, because she could see no way to move.

“Look, before my mother died three years ago,” Mark began, his eyes firmly on hers, “she told me how my father had been impotent since his minor stroke two years earlier. Not telling you, I think that’s so cruel. So typical of him.”

“But that’s not your business, is it?” Emma said weakly.

His full lips pursed before he said, “Yes, it is, when you look the way you do.” And he gestured from her face, down over the thin silky dress she was wearing. “I’m not able to live through day after day, getting this hard-on whenever I look at you.”

Emma, loving his words, but shaking her head. Wanting him but knowing the impossibility of the situation. “Mark, please, don’t go on. He’s my husband, but he’s also your father. We can’t change that.”

He did not reply immediately, just sat there looking into her face, and unwittingly, making every inch of her skin scream for his touch. At last he said, “So you believe that if we could avoid thinking of our relationships we might get somewhere?”

“I don’t know whether that makes sense,” Emma said.

“I’ll give it some thought,” Mark said, and with one long lusting look at her he walked out of the conservatory.

Somehow for the next twenty-four hours or so Emma endeavoured to keep out of Mark’s way. This was made even more difficult by the fact that Simon had returned to the city. On the Wednesday morning, a bright July day, Emma, with an unspecifiable excitement rising inside her, had dressed exactly as she had on the afternoon she’d met Mark. A tight fitting, black dress, and no bra. Was she being crazy?  She hoped not.

Hurrying downstairs to the kitchen, she picked out one of her cookery books and searched out the recipe for blackberry and apple pie. She was checking that she had the necessary ingredients, when there was a rather loud knock on the door. She glanced at the clock, which showed just after ten. Hurrying through the hall, she wondered why she should feel slightly nervous. Being alone in the house never usually worried her.

Opening the door, she drew a deep breath at the sight of the tall, good looking man standing there, a diffident smile on his face. He was wearing blue jeans, with a black shirt, sleeves rolled up tight over muscular arms, and Emma felt her heart beating just a little faster, as she asked what he wanted.

The man's eyes regarded her coolly, as he replied, "Excuse me for the intrusion, madam, I'm from pest control," And he held up what looked like an identity card, which Emma had little time to inspect. “We've had reports of a rat infestation in the area, and I'm being charged with ensuring all houses are clear."

“A rat infestation?" Emma asked, wondering about this feeling she was having, this mixture of hope and fear. "We've had no rats."

"No, madam, but we're just playing safe. Would you allow me to inspect your downstairs regions.”?  Emma wasn't sure whether a smirk crossed his face at the way he had phrased the question, but he went on. "You do have a cellar?"

Emma nodded, and when he asked if she could show him, she stepped to one side to let him in. His body squeezed along her side as he entered. Hadn't she left enough space for him?

Leading him to the cellar door, she was asking herself, “Would I normally allow a man into the house so easily?” She opened the cellar door and reached for the light switch, as he attempted to squeeze past her, and for a second time his body was pressed against hers, so briefly, yet so tellingly. Emma was beginning to feel worryingly warm everywhere on her body.

The man went quickly down the stairs, and took, what Emma thought was a cursory look around the edges of the walls. "Yes," he called, "if you could just take a look at this."

Uncertainly, Emma moved down the stairs, very aware that he was below her, looking up her skirt. Once down, she followed him to one corner, "I always look for a place where an entry can be made. Like here, feel."

Emma held out a hand to where he was pointing, a slight crack between wall and floor. As she groped, he leaned over, took her wrist and guided her fingers to a small fissure.

"There, feel it? I like to fill all cracks." And as she stood up, he did not immediately release her wrist so that, momentarily he had it trailing up his sturdy thigh.

Emma knew her face was red as her blood pounded through her veins.  The man thanked her for her cooperation, and then said, "Could I trouble you for a drink of water?"

Emma led the way upstairs, wondering if that was genuine moisture she could feel between her thighs, and she was also wondering where his eyes were looking as he climbed the stairs close behind her. She led him into the kitchen, and knowing this could be a dangerous invitation, she asked, "Would you prefer a cool beer?"

"That would be very kind of you." He seemed to be standing unnecessarily close behind her as she opened the fridge door. Nervously placing two cans of beer on the bench, she stretched up to the cupboard for two glasses.

"You have a husband?" the man asked, and now he was standing very close.

"Of course," she said, her hands frozen at the cupboard door, as she added, "And he could be home at any time.”

"Then we can’t wait," he said, and the next moment she felt him pressed against her back, as he added, "But--," and his hands wrapped around her to spread wide over her belly. "-- does he fuck you?"

That word hung in the air, as Emma desperately asked herself why she wasn't struggling. Why should breathing be so difficult? She just couldn't concentrate on anything. Something was going to happen, and she couldn't avoid the idea that she wanted it to happen soon.

All she could manage was the breathless statement, "You're no pest controller, are you?" Something hard was pressed against her buttocks, something she feared, or something she longed for? The time was near. Time to challenge or time to scream? But she knew very well that she wasn't going to scream, knew well that the moistening between her thighs was real. The man behind her was hardened---for her.

"What time does he get home?" his voice was barely a whisper.

"Why are you here?" she asked, ignoring his question, almost stupefied by the emotions that were running through her whole body. The man's hand had moved under her dress and was now sliding over the bare skin of her belly. Did her skin actually tingle under his touch? Could she keep any kind of control? Why wasn't she stopping him? Her breathing became even more irregular, as though she'd run a mile race.

"I've been observing you for a long while, without being a stalker." And his chuckle beside her ear wasn't at all frightening. "I think you know why I'm here. I'm here to satisfy you."

Yes, she did know why he was there. It was like something preordained. But, God, how she wanted it to start. Twisting her body round so that she was facing him, she cried, "Prove it!" And her mouth mashed against his. Instantly, his tongue was searching for hers, and he was clutching her tight against him, half lifting her so that she could feel the bulge in his jeans, pushing into that part of her where she needed it so much.

Their lips still clamped together, the man eased back and began to loosen her dress with one hand, while the other reached for her bare breast as it came free. Emma wrestled with his belt buckle and pushed at his jeans.

Crazily, still kissing, they staggered across the floor, like drunken dancers, as he ripped her flimsy panties away, and Emma managed to push jeans and boxer shorts down.

His cock was freed. She couldn't see it, but her hand reached for it, and it felt like a hot steel bar, as their staggering had her back thudding against the wall. For a few moments the man bowed his head to nuzzle at her breasts and suck gently on the erect nipples.

Emma, trembling at the searching of his mouth, knew so well that the next few minutes were crucial. Could this marvelous erect cock achieve placement in this position? Could it? Would it? Longing for it, craving it, she went up onto her tiptoes, and the man sensing why she had done that, bent his knees and took his cock from her fingers to guide it up between her weeping thighs.

My God, was she going to feel the reality after such a long time? There had been little real foreplay. On this occasion she needed no foreplay. She desperately needed penetration. And that’s how it was.

All in one movement, he jerked his hips and was up and inside her. Their kiss broke as his thrust lifted her off her feet. That solid rod was filling her, massive, yet travelling so smoothly, that she groaned with the sheer ecstasy of the it and wrapped her legs around his body to pull him in harder. Her hands clutched at his buttocks to increase the pull. Oh, God, this was what she’d been denied for too long. This wonder, this passion.

He thrust again and again. His face, level with hers, revealed his own pleasure as he whispered, "It's good. It's going to be better."

Emma's whole being was glowing, as her inner walls tried to match every thrust he made, while her hips rose to encourage him. He was so powerful, and it was all so surprisingly sustaining that Emma knew she was approaching some massive conclusion.

Just three more strokes and her whole body shook with the exquisite forces that tore through her. Her mind went adrift of the kitchen and was somewhere else, as she climaxed, and realized that he was still pushing into her. That was amazing, unbelievable, but then he gave a loud gasp and his surging hardness pressed and released pulse after pulse of his cream deep inside her. Until, both gasping and laughing, they sank to the cool tiled floor,

He looked deep into her eyes for a while, and murmured, "It was good.”

She gave a weak half smile, "It was better than just good." Catching her breath, she whispered, “Whatever gave you the idea of being a rat catcher?”

He shrugged, “Just thinking of feeling for cracks and filling holes.”

“You were very convincing.”

“So were you. You looked genuinely worried.

“Maybe I was.”

Mark was silent for a moment, before asking, “Has our role play helped your anxieties?”

Emma had already thought of that. She knew there was no going back on what they had just done. Although there were some doubts about where they were going in the fullness of time, there was no doubt about how she wanted it to go right now.

She climbed slowly to her feet, and said to Mark, “Would you wait until I have a shower?”

“Of course,” he replied, his eyes once more caressing her naked body. “Anyway, the rat catcher has some unfinished business with you.”

His words, his look, had her excitement rising as she picked up her dress, hurried away to climb the stairs, and went into the main bathroom.

The shower refreshed and energized her. She was feeling so good as she stepped out and began to scour herself with a large towel. Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and Mark, completely naked barged in. He only gave a shocked Emma a cursory glance as he strode directly into the shower, turned on the water and as it splashed over him he yelled above the sound, “You are in some trouble, lady. Do not dare go anywhere.”

He sounded so serious, his acting was so believable that Emma could not suppress a big grin. Seeing it, Mark snapped, “It’s not funny, madam. I’m sure you’ve got it,” He had been busily scrubbing himself, soaping his genitals furiously.

As he stepped out of the cubicle, Emma handed him a towel, before stepping back, holding her own towel in front of her. “What have I done?” she asked, enjoying seeing him trying to keep a straight face.

He had dried off very quickly, now he took a step towards her, and reached out to strip the towel that covered her. “You can’t hide behind that.”

Emma, loving this situation, was trying to frown, “I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath, “I came into this house with a special tool.”

Joyfully, Emma joined in the joking, “Not a very big one, if I recall.”

“What? It was massive. You have to be searched.”

Before she could guess what he would do next, he had snatched her up in his arms, carried her into the nearest bedroom, and lowered her onto the bed. “Now, where would you hide it?” he asked, as he parted her thighs.

“It just shrank,” Emma groaned, already moistening from his attentions, more so by his next action.

Mark momentarily looked into her face, and then shook her to the core as he dived his head between her thighs, mumbling, “I’m going to search for it.” Emma could not withhold a wild cry as his tongue trailed right along her pink fold, poking into her entry, before returning to flick at her clit.

Emma was helpless and unable to do anything but run her fingers through his hair, as two fingers slid up inside her. Not far enough, but their wriggling alongside his tongue on her clit were driving her crazy.

“Mark, oh, Mark, I know where it is.”

He sat back, and she saw that his cock was already semi hard, “There it is!” she cried, “but I think I need it. Need it whole.” She struggled to sit up, and reached out her hand, “Bring it here.”

His face showing curiosity, he wriggled up towards her until she could lean in close and lick along the growing length. Should she? Yes, oh, yes, it had to be, and she took his cock into her mouth and within seconds she could feel the excitement of it growing larger there. Mark’s fingers of one hand continued to caress her clit, moving to her breasts and alternating every now and then.

Emma was in raptures, but now she wanted this large member, down to where it should be. She drew her head back to tell him, “I think you can use that again.”

Mark nodded and motioned her to lie flat as he gently parted and raised her knees, before easily sliding his now familiar hardness, deep, deep into her. Emma was overjoyed to flex her internal muscles as that iron rod entered and re-entered her channel. She managed to match Mark’s rhythm as his lips sucked at her nipples.

Their hips heaved faster and faster, Emma sensed she had had an early orgasm but knew there was more. Faster and faster, before briefly, his face pulled back from her breasts to stare up and down her body. He murmured a breathless, “Wonderful,” before returning his lips to her nipples. That was wonderful for her but drove her nearer to the big one.

 Mark was beginning to grunt, and his thrusts were becoming more rapid. Suddenly his head flung back from her nipples, and he groaned, “Oh, God, Emma, I’m—"

Next second Emma knew he was emptying into her and knew that she could let go to join his climax. Together they shook the whole bed, the whole room, the whole world. It was fantastic, for her, and for him. It took them an age to recover their breaths.

They lay hugged together, his head on her breasts, “What now, Mark?”

She could not see if there was a future in their relationships.

“Could I make a suggestion?”

“Go on,” she urged.

“Let’s just play it by ear for a while. Do you doubt that we’re good together?”

Emma had to admit it, “I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

“So, my father doesn’t want or need you physically. Can we just go on like this for now?”

Emma agreed that was what would be best. They knew they could keep their relationship out of Simon’s way. She told Mark her thoughts.

“If he did find out? Well, that could be the best solution.” He paused and tenderly kissed her lips.

Emma wasn’t too sure. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your father.”

“Knowing my father, I think he will eventually see the light. And more, if he does find out, being the kind of man he is, I believe he could see that as a face-saving option. And then--” Mark paused to look into her eyes, “-- I fancy he’ll put you on the first flight-- to Barbados—with me.”

“I would settle for that,” Emma said gleefully