The Plumber's Daughter

I placed my thumb and forefinger on her chin and lifted her head to meet her eyes, "If you want to cry, go right ahead. My mother always said a good cry could do a woman good. Or we could talk things out if that will help. The chores can wait because the horses aren't here yet, and if they were, the chores can still wait."

Marie:

He has such kind eyes, and I was so wrong about him. I was such a bitch with him when I unjustly lost my temper. I still didn't know what to say to him. I should consider myself lucky that he didn't lose his temper with me when I tried to hit him with the shovel, or after he played back the answering machine. Looking at him standing there, I wished that Patrick would just hold me, and tell me everything would be all right. He surprised me again, and I was thinking, "Who are you, my Blue Knight?"

"Do you want me to hold you when you cry? Or would you like to be alone?", and with that he stood up and pulled me close to him, putting my head on his shoulder, and I let him, relaxing in his strong arms, "I don't know what's bothering you, but I promise, everything will turn out fine."

I finally gave in to myself, as my sobs wracked my body, as he held me gently but firmly, for a long overdue cry.....

It was after dark when I awoke here for the second time. The clock on the dresser said 9:00 PM. I was absolutely drained, and exhausted from that good cry. I remembered that Patrick carried me to the bedroom, suggesting that I rest and collect my thoughts. I needed that sleep. The look on his face told me that the suggestion was not up for discussion. My Dad gave me such looks. I woke up refreshed, as if a burden was lifted from my soul. Everything was going to be all right. I could smell potatoes frying, but not just any potatoes, but potatoes with green peppers and onions. Just like my Dad used to make every Sunday morning. I was absolutely starving, and my mouth was watering for a big plate of them. I wondered if he had any Tabasco Sauce.

I went into the bathroom to wash up and comb my hair before joining him in the kitchen. I sat at the table watching him cook. He was quiet as he moved about the kitchen, looking at me occasionally and smiling. I noticed then that he had dimples in his cheeks.

Patrick was quiet during dinner, and thoughtful. I was pretty much the same. It wasn't a strained silence, it was actually quite peaceful, a truce. But what a wonderful meal it was. In addition to those delicious potatoes, we had thick cut fried pork chops and I ate two. We also had freshly sliced tomatoes and green beans. It was a simple, hearty meal, but skillfully prepared. Obviously as a widower, Patrick wasn't helpless in the kitchen.

After dinner he got up from the table, and suggested, "Coffee would be nice," and then went outside and sat on the front porch. He left me with the dirty dishes to wash and food to be put away. I sat for a minute, smiling, remembering that I used to have a housekeeper for such mundane things.

After I cleaned the kitchen, I joined him on the porch swing, bringing out two cups. I poured his coffee into a large brown earth ware mug that I knew to be his. It was the only mismatched mug in the cupboard of small matching cups, dishes and bowls of the same pattern. We sat together and sipped our coffee, watching the fireflies.

When it started to get chilly, he was ready for that. There was a large patchwork quilt folded on a small table next to him. Patrick pulled me close to him and covered us both. I knew he was waiting for me to speak, just as I knew that he had claimed me to be his woman with my temper and all.

I snuggled up to him feeling very safe and secure, "I am Marie Antoinette Bernardino a plumber's daughter, and I want to....."

Patrick:

We sat outside until around two in the morning and talked. Marie Antoinette, what a beautiful name. I sat and let her talk and she did tell me a great deal about herself. She mentioned being married for 16 years, and that her divorce was final. How her husband cheated on her, not going into detail. She told me nothing about her married life. Mostly she told me about her life before she met him, about her mother and father, and growing up in Brooklyn. We compared notes, on growing up; country as opposed to city. She was 3 years older than me. I thought that she was in her twenties.

She asked tons of questions about my mother and father, leading in to how I met my wife, Anne. I answered honestly and directly with things that I was willing to share. I had her laughing about my graduation commencement, and how I wrangled my first date out of Anne. Many women would be disinterested, or even offended at the subject. While it seemed to comfort her. We discussed a little about the sex club, and I again reassured her that everything would be fine. She squeezed my hand under the quilt, and then we sat quiet for a bit, until bedtime.

Marie:

Sixteen years of marriage and after he graduated medical school we never sat on a couch together, let alone outside on a swing, wrapped all cozy together in a quilt. I realized for the first time, that towards the end, even when the ex and I were in the same room, alone, we were never together. Or when we were together as a couple, we were invariably in large groups of people at different functions, his or mine. We spent time together apart.

Patrick answered all my questions directly and honestly. I could tell how much he loved his wife from the way he spoke. They did everything together. Their private world was primarily this small farm, and then the small community that they lived in. They traveled the country doing their reenactments. I would have never have guessed that upper class people like Doctors, Lawyers, and Professional people did reenacting with average people like plumbers or farmers. His wife had her small Art Gallery and Patrick his business. They walked to their kitchen to have lunch together, or just to make love in the afternoon, I'm assuming that they did, Patrick said take a nap and he was smiling. For all our wealth, we commuted between Long Island, and the City, to busy with our careers for much else. Many people in our group never left the City in their entire lives, and thought the New York State boundary lines began and ended at the New York City Limits.

Patrick and his wife would get in the truck on weekends and just drive. North, South, East or West, the direction didn't matter. An adventure, because they felt like it. They stopped along the way; no real plans; researching this and that in the small town museums or historical societies. They attended County Fairs, and Fireman's carnivals or Church Picnics and Lawn Fetes. Denomination didn't matter to them. They attended church wherever they ended up, often staying overnight in the parishioner's homes, the new friends that they just met.

They often times spent the night in a tent, making love in two sleeping bags zipped together. He never said making love, but again, that was a given. I could tell by his smile, and the faraway look in his eyes. Everything they needed for their (adventures) that was the word he used was in the bed of their pickup truck. My ex and I drove our Ferraris or Mercedes alone.

How could I possibly tell him about the privileged and selfish lives we led, or how we, how I, looked down on people. In his arms, I was a plumber's daughter again, and content to be so.

What he wouldn't discuss was the money he gave back for the sword. He refused my offer to pay him back, explaining it this way, "If I hadn't been there I would have never met you, my Queen. The expenses of a Knight are his own and his duty. His lady fair lady shall never insist, or stain their honor in discussing base silver," Ending simply with, "End of discussion, my Queen, subject closed, and its bedtime."

I have seen him in action when he wasn't angry, so I dropped the subject, case closed. He stood, helped me up, and then opened the doors for me, following me in, and finally closing and locking the screen and front entry door behind us.

Patrick:

My wife and I used to sit on this swing on chilly nights like this, and it was so nice being under the quilt with Marie Antoinette. She hasn't asked me to take her home yet, so that's a good sign. She also apologized for trying to hit me, and for calling me a liar. I allowed the liar part to slide as a misunderstanding, because it was. I won't let being called a liar slide again. What a temper she has, such passion. I wonder if she brings that hot blooded passion to her love making. Obviously her husband couldn't handle her fiery spirit, the wimp, and may have been intimidated. What challenge is there in a passive woman? Saucy mouth or not, the hitting with has to stop.

I hate sleeping with anything on in my own bed, underwear included. I only wore pajamas the first night to save getting dressed if she got sick again. The drugs should be out of her system by now, and I'm exhausted. Marie got to the bathroom first. I got tired of waiting and went outside to use the old outhouse. Some of my neighbors find it odd that I still use it and keep it in repair. I simply explain that flush toilets are a passing fad and I'm waiting for outhouses to be back in style again. Some laugh, some don't, who cares?

Marie was still in the bathroom when I got into bed. I was lying on my back, just nodding off when she came into the room turning on the bedside lamp. I took one of her pillows, and put it over my face, until she settled down and turned it off.

Marie didn't. Instead she pulled the quilt off completely off of me. When I looked up she was kneeling on the bed, naked, looking down at me. She looked incredibly hot. It was obvious why she spent so much time in the bathroom. She found the curling iron in the cabinet. Marie's head was a mass of soft brown curls.

"Don't move, Sir Knight. Your Queen commands you."

"Yes your, Majesty," I was wide awake now.

Marie then leaned forward and kissed my mouth, and touched my face gently, "You have dimples in your cheeks when you smile, my Blue Knight," which naturally caused me to smile, "And you are special, Patrick. You have such kind, gentle eyes. And now for your reward, you may have your way with me tonight."

Marie:

When I pulled back the covers, I was surprised again, thinking, "Momma Mia, he's hung like a stallion! No wonder his wife took so many naps with him? My ex-husband's is a little cocktail wiener compared to that big cock. I'd love to be on top and ride him."

Patrick got up on his knees facing me. He took my face in his strong callused hands, looking into my eyes....really looking. I was tingling all over. He kissed me lightly and gently, a teaser of what was to come. He then closed his eyes and sighed deeply saying, "You have no idea how luscious your lips taste. From the first time you kissed me in the club, you were all that I could think about. You and those hot vanilla kisses. I was wondering about the girl behind them. That sultry purple lipstick, and gold sparkles couldn't hide you from me, the real Marie Antoinette Bernardino, pretending to be something that she is not."

I was thinking, "If he only knew how right he was about years of pretending."

He kissed me again, this time long and deep. I could feel his wholesome passion through his lips, experiencing what his wife must have felt.

I was fleetingly jealous of her, and then regrettably ashamed of myself, wondering, "Could Patrick ever love me like that?"

But his kisses... his kisses are incredible. He is incredible, eliciting so many emotions with just his kisses. I could feel the wetness between my legs from just those two kisses. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and although he hadn't touched them. I could feel the blood rushing to my nipples, as they hardened at the thought of him caressing my breasts with his strong hands, as he kissed me a third time.

He opened his eyes and looked at me, sliding his hands down my neck to my shoulders, "You looked so peaceful and innocent sleeping next to me, the first time my Queen. I couldn't have my way with you then, and now I shall, with your gracious indulgence."

Patrick put his hands around my waist, kissing my face. I closed my eyes as he kissed my throat, the sides of my neck and behind my ears. His hot lips and tongue were branding me were they touched, marking me as his. He kissed his way down to my breasts, slowly and methodically, while returning to kiss my lips, my tongue desperately seeking his. I wanted those kisses to go on forever....and they did, in my passion for my Blue Knight, I was losing all sense of time.

His hands were everywhere, touching me in places I was never touched before by a man, leaving invisible tattoos, marking me forever his; Patrick Ian Buchanan's woman.

Patrick:

My god, what I wouldn't give for Marie to be my woman, and not just for the night. I was right, about her, such hot blooded passion just under the surface. Her womanhood was damp before I hardly had touched her. Her musky womanly smell was driving me crazy, fueling my passion, and the taste of her lips are beyond belief. I can feel her fiery spirit through the very tips of my commoners' callused fingers. My lips were scorched by her creamy, white flesh until I could stand it no more, and then to be soothingly healed by her luscious full lips, as I returned to them, time after time, to the memory of my first succulent kiss.

Marie:

We lay on our sides, facing each other and my hands were all over him now, all over his hard body. Patrick is all muscle, but not the bulbous kind that you see in the gym, reeking of steroids. He has the healthy, compact ropey muscles that were earned by the sweat of his brow from years of hard manual labor. I have been so long without a man, so long without that sweet orgasmic release. My vagina was dripping with sweet bliss as he teased me with the tip of his huge cock, probing while we kissed, our tongues intertwined. He brought me to the brink of my sweet release several times, only to pull back, he was driving me crazy with desire for him, and he knew it. I desperately tried to pull him into to me, grabbing his tight ass and pulling, trying to impale myself on his cock, but to no avail. He held me easily in place as he did in the truck when I wouldn't behave.

Patrick:

Marie's hips were gyrating as she pushed her plump pussy towards my cock, "Tell me what you want my Queen. Do you want to come, shall I let you come?" She didn't answer, and grabbed my ass, struggling to push her dripping pussy on to my cock, "Tell me what you want, Marie, I want to hear say it?"

Marie:

I didn't answer him, he knew I wanted to come, and then he pushed his cock all the way into me, or so I thought, holding it there, and making me gasp, before pulling it out again, it filled my cunt entire cunt so tightly, it was so big.

"I know what you want, Marie. You want to buck, and squirm and scream," and then he did it again, slapping my ass hard enough to sting and arousing me all the more. "By your leave and command, I am going to have you my Queen. I don't want you to hold back, I want to you to be yourself, the hot little spitfire that you are."

In my pre-orgasmic euphoria, I was thinking, "How could Patrick possibly know that? I had to be so passive with the jerk and hold back. He hated when I did that. I believe it intimidated him; Wee-wee-wee little cocktail wiener man, all the way home."

Patrick gently pushed me over onto my stomach and then got on top of me, straddling my dripping and welcoming pussy with his cock. He then leaned forward until his face was close to mine kissing my cheek, Please, Marie," and then he entered me, pushing slowly, making me gasp and moan, stretching my tight cunt until I could feel his balls caressing my ass cheeks. He was pushing me down into the mattress, holding me in place with his cock while supporting himself with his arms, (My ex could never manage that for long. He would get tired and would lay on top of me with his full weight, almost suffocating me). It seemed that Patrick's cock filled my entire uterus, and I have never experienced anything like this before. I started to orgasm immediately, moaning and squirming from side-to-side as my sweet orgasm washed over me

Patrick continued, making love to me slowly, and gently; in and out in and out, his balls kissing my ass cheeks, his cock caressing clitoris. I was thinking, "Isn't he ever going to come? It feels so damn good to have his cock in me. I don't care if he never comes just as long as he leaves it there."

He got up on his knees and started pounded me relentlessly, his thrusting becoming more forceful and his cock seemed even bigger and harder as his balls spanked my ass. Amazed, I felt the beginning of another orgasm building as he was fucking me. Then he started to get wild. But so was I, moaning and bucking, clawing at the sheets. I knew that he would like that, I just knew it. It got him even more aroused. I can be myself with him. Soon, I was on my hands and knees and Patrick had his hand in my curls pulling my hair.

This enhanced my second orgasm, and then the third, better than the first two as they consumed me. (I have never had more than one orgasm with the jerk.) I could feel his hot creamy semen flood into me, I was thinking, "Here is a man who actually knows what do with a woman's hair. Patrick is such stud, thank god; hung like a stallion and he fucks like one? What an interesting contrast to his gentle ways."

Patrick:

My Queen was magnificent, what a hot little number she was in the sack with all that bucking, loud moaning and panting. I loved that. She really got excited when I pulled her hair, moaning, and talking, "pull my hair.... fuck me harder.... fuck me harder. Yea, she looks cute with short hair, although I would love to see it longer, but that's her choice not mine. I will only suggest, and only if she asks my preference. Marie cuddled up next to me afterwards, while I played with her soft, thick curls, as we touched each other and kissed. I was thinking, "Boy oh boy, we are so compatible in the sack. I wonder if she likes French fries with malt vinegar." That was my last thought as I contently drifted off to sleep, dreaming of my wife. Anne was smiling as she watched over me from Heaven......

Marie:

Patrick actually held me afterward, running his fingers through my hair, and we kissed...it was nice. Before he fell asleep, he kissed my cheek and said, "Thank you, Marie," and then he sighed and closed his eyes. He had to be exhausted though from that long drive, getting little sleep and then doing his chores the next day. I wanted to talk, but that could wait. After he fell asleep, I got out of bed and went into the kitchen to see what I could put together to make him breakfast. I then lay down next to him, putting his alarm clock underneath my pillow, so that he could sleep in........................

I was up bright and early taking a quick bath. I found a simple yellow house dress to wear. All of his wife's clothes, including her bra and panties fit me perfectly. I said a little prayer for Anne Marie, and then for myself, asking God that things work out between Patrick and me.

I even said a little prayer for the Jerk, finally letting go. All the repressed anger and angst that I was carrying inside of me for so long was finally gone. I had forgotten how healing that prayer could be, remembering that when growing up, the family never missed Mass. We always went St. Luke's and Dad seldom misses it there now. He still carries my First Holy Communion Picture in his wallet. The one where I am dressed completely white, white dress, shoes and veil, everything white. God knows how many of the original wallet size photos he still he has. When one wears out he retires to his sock drawer. That's my Dad. Patrick doesn't care where he goes to church. I'm afraid that when he and Dad finally meet, sparks are sure to fly. No man is good enough for me according to Dad. My father might just finally meet his match.