I didn’t see it coming. I know I should have, but I just didn’t.I guess it all started at the Christmas party at my parents’ pub. The Fisherman’s Retreat is the only pub in this small Cornish fishing village. In the summer, the place is buzzing with holidaymakers. In winter, it’s a community hub for the locals. On this night, it was holding its annual Christmas fancy dress party in the large function room.I was home for Christmas from university and had spent most of the day making the old barn look festive, so when ‘Laurel and Hardy’ arrived to the sound of Brenda Lee’s ‘rockin’ around the Christmas tree,’ even if I say so myself, the place looked amazing. Patrick, my date for the evening, had texted me to say he was running late, which didn’t surprise me, as he’s late for everything, but what it did do was give me time to dress.This year I was going as Santa’s naughty daughter (what do you mean you’ve never heard of her?). I have to say that the short red dress was shorter than I’d expected, making me think twice about my choice of a red thong as underwear. But what the hell, it was Christmas and I do have a reputation to uphold at these events.As I entered the hall, the first person I saw was my Dad. As usual, apart from a festive hat, he hadn’t bothered to dress up.“For Christ’s sake Jenny! Really?” he cried, as I walked into the room. Mum, on the other hand, was laughing her head off. There’s nothing official, but we do like to compete. This year she was one of Santa’s little helpers in a short green fur-lined dress, and a top so tight that her large boobs made for a quite spectacular cleavage.Let me tell you a little about my parents. Dad is the business side. He does all the paperwork, making sure the whole place runs smoothly. My Mum is strictly front of the house, chatting with the visitors and flirting with the men. Together they make a great team.Patrick arrived as the lion without a nerve from ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ To be honest, the scarecrow would have been more suitable, but it wasn’t his brain I found attractive. It was Friday night, with the next day being Christmas Eve, so most people had finished for the Christmas break and were in great spirits.I was aware of Emma’s unexpected attention early in the evening; she looked amazing as ‘Marilyn Monroe’ in a knee-length white dress, her shoulder-length blond hair looked perfect. I had first noticed her when she was peddling her bicycle across the harbour years ago. She had one hand on the handlebars, with the other fighting a losing battle to preserve her modesty and keep her green polka dot summer dress down in the sea breeze. We were not what you would call friends, but we would chat if ever we had the opportunity. Her position as headmistress at the local school demanded she conduct herself in a certain way, so you very rarely saw her really let her hair down.Her husband Mack had positioned himself at the bar with a group of fishermen including my lion. Looking back, I really should have spotted the signs. Maybe it was the season or the alcohol, but Emma paid me way more attention than usual. When we danced, or when we talked, her eyes were always making contact with mine. And then it happened.Nat King Cole was singing “the Christmas song,” and we were dancing close. I mean really close. At first, I thought it was more of a show for our drunken partners at the bar, but then she kissed me. It wasn’t a peck on the cheek kiss, it was full on the lips. Her hands held my face as I opened my mouth and our tongues met. She tasted sweet. Cherry lip balm and Bacardi and Coke. And then the spell was broken.“Why don’t you two lezzers get a room?” It was Mack, laughing at the bar. Mack is one of those guys that when he laughs, everyone else feels compelled to join in. He’s a popular local fisherman with a huge reputation as a lady’s man. When he married Emma, I couldn’t see her attraction to him. She was the educated, well spoken, schoolmistress. He was a very rough and ready fisherman, seemingly only seconds away from his next fist fight. The evening ended with a hilariously drunken version of ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’ before everyone departed into the crisp night air, my lion included.“You and Emma seemed very pally?” Mum ventured, as we began to half-heartedly clear the room. I could have retorted that so had she been with Mr. Rouse, but I let it go.“I know, it was a bit weird. I haven’t a clue what she sees in Mack?” I replied.“From what I’ve heard, about ten inches,” she laughed her dirty laugh as Dad shook his head while carrying Escort Beşevler glasses to the bar. That’s what I’d heard as well. As I said, he’s got a reputation.The New Year heralded a fresh start for me. I finished university before returning to the much more tranquil pace of home to help in the family businesses on the harbour. The family not only own the pub but also two-holiday cottages and a gift shop which I planned to turn into a gallery. My first summer back home was spent mainly behind the bar, but I didn’t really mind as the downtime on the beach and posing in my bikini for the boys was reward enough.All too soon the summer’s heat began to fade, and autumn closed in. The holidaymakers left, and the locals started to reclaim their village. Most take this opportunity to depart to sunnier climes to recharge their batteries. I’d decided to redecorate the gallery.It was about seven o’clock on what had been a miserable day with a mist from the sea shrouding the town, and it was freezing. I was just finishing the last wall in the back room when the annoying little bell on the door that signals a customer arriving, rang.“In the back,” I called, knowing it must be a familiar face, probably Dad. I was perched precariously on a ladder, cutting in the last stroke with my brush.“Looks nice.” I looked down to see Emma staring up at me. She was buttoned up in an oversized coat. I hadn’t seen much of her over the summer although she had occasionally visited the pub with Mack, and I’d seen her at the annual summer beach barbecue.“I’m nearly finished if you fancy a winter warmer in the pub by the fire.” She giggled, appreciating my unintended innuendo. Taking a last look at my handy work, I decided to call it a night.“Let’s have a drink,” I said, descending the ladder and walking towards the kitchen to collect my keys. As I turned off the kitchen lights and walked out into the back room, I could sense she had something on her mind.“You okay?” I asked.“Yeah,” she said, looking furtively down at the floor, “it’s just …” I could see she was apprehensive and desperate to say something, but not finding the words. Her hand reached out, and I flinched as she touched my cheek, her face inches from mine. “Jenny,” she said, before suddenly, deliberately, leaning in to kiss me.I’d known Emma for years. She’s about ten years older than me, but I’d never thought of her like that. Never. I attract men and women, I always have, and I’m comfortable with that. But here she was, her hands feeling down my neck towards my breasts, as we continued to kiss, our tongues entwined as she pushed deeper. She still tasted sweet, but this time it was different; her lips quivered when she kissed me, and she was nervous, and so was I. I’d had a couple of drunken flings with girls at university and enjoyed it. This felt different. Serious. Strange thoughts went through my head.Apart from her being older than me, she was also married. Her work at the local school made her a pillar of the community, and she very rarely let her guard down. And she was married – that thought again. I tried to picture her on the beach. Her figure. What she looked like in a swimsuit. My mind was blank. She was married. Had she planned to come here tonight or just arrived straight from work? What would her breasts feel like?Married.All these questions intrigued and aroused me at the same time. Her hands cupped my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra and could feel the flat of her hand tease my nipples through my tee shirt. It was all happening so fast, and I just stood there, letting Emma do all the work. I felt her cold hand touch my belly as it moved upward and under my tee, up towards my naked breasts.Her fingers circled my nipple, gliding over the pimples on the surface of my areola. Kissing me hard on the lips, she suddenly stood back and looked at me. She was trying to read my mind while assessing her situation.“I have to go.” Her dilated pupils told me she was turned on. And so was I. Collecting her handbag, she started to walk towards the door, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. And then she was gone. The doorbells chime echoing around the empty store.I wanted more. Her scent, her taste, the texture of her hair. I wanted more. As I lay in bed that night, she was all I could think of. I didn’t have her phone number and the frustration of not being able to send her a text exasperated me. She’d put herself out there, then walked away. Was she testing me to see how I’d react?Two days later, I was again in the shop. Çankaya escort I’d been there all day, painting, and I was tired. Behind me, the door opened, and I heard the unmistakable sound of heels on the floorboards. Before I could turn to see who it was, she held me. Her arms around me, her breath on my neck. She stepped back, allowing me to turn. She was wearing a cream coloured blouse with a blue pattern. Her work lanyard still hung around her neck. This time I would not let her leave.My fingers anxiously felt for the buttons on her blouse. Staring intently as I slid it from her shoulders, revealing her simple white bra, I watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed nervously. I read her face, imploring me to continue. And I did. Looking back, it was wild and awkward. She wore trousers with a difficult clip on the front which I ended up breaking it my haste.Her knickers clung to her trousers as I pulled them down over her hips and she kicked them away. Her breasts were soft, her nipples darker than mine and so incredibly sensitive that she squealed as I pinched them. She knelt as she removed my grey, paint splatted jogging bottoms, leaving me in just my thong and knee-high woollen socks.“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” she said, bending me over my workbench, shocking me with the first spank. “Do you like that?” she asked, “do you like having your fabulous arse spanked? The arse that every fucking man in this town wants. You do know that don’t you?” I was suddenly anxious at her change of personality and unexpected line of questioning.Mack had chatted me up a few weeks earlier in the pub. He’d been fairly persistent before I’d walked away. Was this the jealous wife coming to exact her revenge? She struck me again, but this time her hand remained planted. Sliding the thin fabric of my thong to one side, she teased my anus, before her hand reached under and felt my sex, lightly stroking my clitoris. Her touch was soft and experienced, and I responded quickly. Her tongue licked around my earlobe before delving inside, sending wonderful sensations to my brain.I don’t know if it was her, or the situation, or the days of built-up frustration, but I came. Her hand pinched my nipple as the other stroked me hard. My eyes were shut tight, relishing the moment as my body was overpowered by my nerve senses. Moaning loudly, I bowed my head as my legs buckled underneath me. I turned and grabbed her, my hand urgently reaching down between her legs feeling the soft, wet opening.My god, she was dripping. I could feel her silky fluid as my middle two fingers pushed easily inside, pressing her G-spot. Her moans continually encouraged me, giving me more confidence. I remember looking over her shoulder and seeing old Sam walking his dog. He stopped and peered through the shop window, his hand pressed against the glass, and for one horrible moment I thought the nosey bastard was going to try the door, but thankfully he moved on.Perched on the workbench, Emma’s arms held me tight around my neck as my fingers worked tirelessly. Soon all four fingers of my right hand entered her effortlessly, and I looked to see if I’d caused her any discomfort and she replied silently with a wonderfully broad smile.“Do it,” she said. I was confused. Did she mean to continue, or something else? “Do it,” she repeated, and I leaned in and kissed her. I could taste the salty sweat on her upper lip and the heat between us. “All of it.” She closed her eyes, as I bunched my hand into a fist.“Yes?” I asked, needing confirmation. Pulling me down with her arms, she bit my earlobe.“All of it Jenny, mmmm, do it.” I studied her face watching for her reaction as my fist squelched inside her. I continued gingerly, scared to tear her, but an encouraging hand on my arm and the way her hips rose to meet my fist told me to not to worry.“Okay?” I enquired.“Yes.”“Does it hurt?”“Yes,” she moaned. I was confused. “Yes, and I like it.” My head was spinning. This wasn’t the woman I knew, the headmistress. Clinging to my neck our mouths locked, and her body shook as she sucked on my tongue.“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, “do it, do itttt.” My arm started to cramp as she came. Moaning, her body spasmed with her mouth open in a silent scream. I slowed my assault on her until finally, she came down. I stopped and removed my hand as she sat back and rested, supported by her hands, breathing hard and a pink flush on her neck and chest. Her legs were still open, her pussy glowing with her fluid. I was dying Cebeci escort bayan to put my mouth down there to taste her and to run my tongue over her.She stood down from the bench, and I noticed a red mark on her bottom where she’d been perched on the edge of the workbench. I was alive, desperate for more, but as l saw her check her watch, I realised that if there were to be an encore, it would have to be on another occasion. We dressed in an uncomfortable silence. I found it unbearable, but I had to say something. I’d just had an incredible experience with this woman and couldn’t leave it like this.“Will I see you again? I mean like this?” She smiled and pushed the hair away from my face like a mother would.“Of course,” she said, kissing me, “I’ve waited for this for a long time, and if we’re careful, we can do whatever we want.”And so began the affair. Sometimes at her house when Mack was working, or occasionally at my workshop, but mostly at my flat above the pub. Friday nights became our date night, and as risky as that may sound, only my mother found us out. Early one Saturday morning, as Emma was leaving, she ran into Mum in the hallway. I heard the awkward conversation happening on the other side of the door and waited for the knock. I was not embarrassed in the slightest as my relationship with my Mum is incredibly open. We share virtually everything.“Emma?” she said with a smirk on her face, although her tone was incredulous.“Yep.”“And you’re?”“Yep.” She leaned on the window sill choosing her words carefully.“I’m not judging you,” she began, “but be careful. When Mack finds out, and he will, this is a small town. You’ll be caught in the middle, and he’ll be mad, and she won’t leave him.”I told her that we were just having fun, but deep down I knew I was lying. I craved my nights with Emma. We were perfect together, and she knew exactly how to turn me on both mentally and physically. Sex with her was so different from with my boyfriends, like the way her tongue played around my pussy, unlike most men who only concentrated on my clit, but worked around it, her tongue occasionally darting inside, taking it slow and embracing it. I loved the way she always moaned when my mouth made contact with her sensitive nipples.Some things didn’t work of course, like my idea to re-enact something I’d seen in a lot of porn: two women rubbing their pussies together; tribbing. They act as if they are in ecstasy, but our experience of this was completely different. Apart from putting both parties in a very awkward position, when it’s eventually achieved, the results (apart from Emma getting a cramp) were minimal. It might look good on camera, but not in reality.Age didn’t worry me at all. I was twenty-three when this first started, and she was to soon be thirty-four. I think this played on her mind a little along with the guilt. When we had spent the night together, at some point, she’d want to be punished. She’d want to feel pain. Either by having something inside her or a spanking. I became quite adept at giving her pleasure through pain. No matter how far I went, she’d always want more.Her birthday was held in the old barn at the pub. We’d had the conversation about whether I should attend and decided that it would probably look strange if I weren’t around. Mack was, if anything, even more, bullish than usual. It became apparent to me that he was unnecessarily goading my father. Now hate is a strong word but Mack always rubbed me up the wrong way. He’d tried it on with me a number of times, and I knew it pissed him off that I always rejected him.It was no secret that he played around, and the rumour was he had fathered a few children. But for some strange reason, that night my Dad was the target. I’d seen my Dad throw much bigger men than Mack out of his pub, so I was surprised to see him stand there and take it. It was as if Mack had something over him.As the party finished, Emma gave me a very self-conscious hug, not wanting to look me in the eye. It felt weird, but I knew why. As I climbed the stairs to my small flat above the pub, I felt alone. On occasions like this, being ‘the other woman’ wasn’t fun. Maybe Mum was right when push comes to shove, I’m on the outside.The other feeling though was one I wasn’t expecting; I was falling in love. Apart from a few infatuations and obsessions, this was the first time, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought about her most of the time, and when she was with Mack, it ate me up, and I couldn’t handle it. My phone beeped. It was Emma.“Thank you for a lovely evening. Mack’s just given me my present. See you soon?” I guessed what his present was and didn’t want to reply. It beeped again.“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Again, I didn’t and instead put the phone on my dressing table and had a shower. When I returned, there were two more messages.