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Under Foreign Skies

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Under Foreign Skies

In spite of having to do her housework and make ready for a family weekend, a sleep over, Hannah chose to make time and devote her attention to the box of photographs that she had taken out of the corner cupboard. It was set to one side of the fireplace in the spare bedroom, another like it in the other side of the chimneybreast. The ornate grate, its tiled surround, and the mantelpiece reflected the age of the home that she shared with Pat.

They had lived there since Pat’s retirement from teaching some ten years ago, the house bought some time before and rented out as they travelled the world in search of adventures, the last of such ‘expeditions,’ as he liked to call them, to Kenya.

The box had a simple label, her once neat handwriting to be seen on the faded paper she remembered licking before it was stuck on the fold -up lid. ‘The Bailey’s : Under Foreign Skies.’ The corners were worn, the cream cardboard faded and marked after its travels, but as she drew away the photos that were within she knew that there was only one that she again wished to see.

The dutiful wife, who accompanied her husband everywhere that he chose to go, had become someone else in the fetid heat and glaring sunlight that she had to endure; the rainy season, close to the coast where they had chosen to live in a house with sprawling gardens and shielded by some trees, offering partial relief from conditions that Pat took in his stride.

She had her love of tropical plants to engage her attention, their propagation and sale, the help offered by her housekeeper’s son, Yaro Njeri, invaluable and soon shattering all the rules that she had lived by until then.

‘We lived for the moment, didn’t we…Yaro?’ she murmured and pressing the photograph, of them together, to her lips. The sullen look, the set of his lips, and Yaro’s posture all hinted at his suspicion of being photographed with her, she the mistress of the house and he an employee, a casual labourer.

Those ordered ways of it had been turned over following a storm that had caught them out when they were at the far end of the garden. To seek shelter under the swaying canopies of the trees, in the thunderstorm that soon raged overhead, had been too dangerous to contemplate.

‘Run missus ‘annah!’ he had been heard to laughed out as the tools that he had picked up and gripped in his strong hands clanked as he began to rush away.

‘Wait for me!’ she had cried out in sudden fear as the ferocity of the storm terrified her. She had run after him…had seen him stop to pick up her straw hat that had covered her straw-blonde, sun-bleached hair. Her sleeveless thin cotton blouse clung to her skin as his T-shirt became like a second skin on his impossibly lean and strong body and arms.

Yaro’s ebony skin glistened, his beaded necklace and a wristband a stark and colourful contrast. But the blaze in his eyes as he looked at her as they scurried over the slicked grass was like nothing she had met upon her before.

The young man lusted after her, of that she then had no doubts. What confounded her was the reaction to him and that she so readily succumbed to. Measured companionship as they worked had soon given way to what had at times been a fantasy that belonged in cheap novellas.

Hannah kicked off her gardening shoes, lifted her hands and swept back her sodden hair as she looked at him. Yaro met her gaze, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth and seemingly unsure of what to do in the circumstances that he found himself in.

‘It too dangerous for me to go…’ he blurted out, shamelessly stripping off his sodden T-shirt and wringing it out before her before shaking it out, every movement letting her see his arm and body muscles flex. She reached to just above his shoulders, but Yaro’s bulk dwarfed her, and his movements displayed a vitality of youth; an energy that aroused an aberrant longing for this young man, who they were to each other of no immediate consequence or concern.

‘And I’m not expecting you to do that…’ she assured him, easing the clinging fabric of her blouse from her body, the wind chilling her as it blew flurries of rain along and soaked them. ‘You’d better come inside…’

‘Are you sure, missus?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she sighed and nodded, pushed on the door that led into a washroom and then the kitchen. The rain beat against the windows in a pattering london escorts rhythm, and they felt the sultry heat in the air.

‘I want that…to be with you, missus…stay here with you.’

Hannah pretended to ignore what had been said but it felt as if her heart was in her mouth and a raging sense of longing for the bare-chested young man before her was felt to gnaw at her belly. A basket of washing had yet to be attended to and she held out a towel. ‘Use this…Yaro…dry yourself off.’

He would understand what was being said by the woman who failed in not giving him the eye, sent the wrong signals or just what he wanted to read into them.

‘We dry each other, missus…’ he now said, drawing closer. ‘The rain helps me to see you…to see the woman you are…under your clothes.’

Yaro had moved to stand beside her, the towel still in his hands. It soon fell to the floor. Instead, he pulled on the hem of her sodden blouse that shaped the rounded fullness of her breasts and the swell of her tummy. He met her startled look but saw no threat in her eyes upon him. He did not kiss her, just offered caresses to the swell of her belly as the sodden blouse was lifted over her shoulders and her bra revealed the fulsome swell of her breasts, their nipples already straining against the fabric.

‘You are beautiful….’ He knelt down and tugged away at her trousers, so unflattering and workaday, so practical in concealing her fleshy thighs. Yaro trailed kisses over them even as she shamelessly tugged down her knickers.

‘If you say so,’ she groaned in reply as his touches sent shivers of deviant lust coursing through her body, had the blood humming in her veins. She felt young again and wanted. She sensed the rush of wetness between her thighs and beginning to leak out of her pussy. She groaned, pushed her hips forward to meet these claims, so uninhibited and certain ow, her hands on his head. She felt the prick of the stubble, saw the shiny skin of his scalp and bent to kiss him, hesitantly, and in a departure from all known ways between them. ‘Will you allow me that…Yaro.?’

‘Yes, if you let me do it with you…all of it….missus.’

Absent were any words of endearment, but she nodded through what would have been their unlikely kisses of only a few minutes ago…before the rains came.

He had soon undressed her, felt Hannah shiver as his hands and fingers caressed her body, as he smoothed his fingers over her chilled skin in questing touches. Her clothes lay at their feet, and she met his hungering look, the paleness of her skin in stark contrast to all that was revealed of him to her gaze and touch.

‘We can be together…go together if you want?’ he asked again, his eyes taking in her voluptuous form; the fleshy wonder that her gardening clothes had hinted at but was now exposed to his gaze and touch.

She nervously put her hands to her crotch, slid her slender fingers over the swell of her belly, then the mat of hair that covered her mound. Together their fingers now brushed through her bush before his fingers alone slipped over her wet lips that was her womanhood.

‘Go on…Yaro…go on!’ she groaned in encouragement, dismayed at what she had succumbed to.

Yaro’s fingers of one hand tugged on her pubic hair, caressed her wet folds and entered her body as the other tugged on her erect, large nipples and pulled on them, one breast then the other claimed in his rough-skinned hands.

‘We forget gardening!’ she gasped before she felt his mouth crash onto her lips and his fingering of her began; searched quickly and caressed deeply, one finger in her body as his hand cupped and pressed onto her mound. She pushed forward to brazenly meet these claims, her breaths hitching in her throat, the smell of her sex, and his body odour, unlike anything that she shared with Pat.

‘We do this, missus…’ he said needlessly.

The woman was hot, wanted this to happen between them, her surrender to what he had ached to pursue with her and thought about, soon to be made real. He watched her turn around and then reveal her shapely back that led to wide hips, dimpled ass cheeks with a few age creases and still pronounced hollows in her hips. Her ass cheeks jiggled as she leant forward, slid her hands down the backs of her thighs, was coaxed to do so by the push of his hands to her back and shoulders. She was held against him london escort for an instant.

‘Yes….show me all that you have…’ he said in a deep appreciative voice, deeply accented but his English clear. She looked back at him with hungering soft blue eyes, her blonde hair falling about her face as she looked back at him.

‘Now you undress…completely, Yaro!’ she demanded as she turned and stood before him, a white-skinned full-breasted Venus. She soon gasped at the sight of him, the long arcing sway of his penis with its pink hooded tip as his sodden jeans and briefs lay at his feet.

‘Okay…missus?’

‘Yes, and it is all that I expected,’ she smiled approvingly, her wantonness a turn on for him. She touched his prick, pushed it down and let go. She saw it spring up and slap his belly before arcing out of a dense mat of hair. She slid her fingers over his taut skin, felt his ribs, the shape of his stomach muscles. Her breaths caught in her throat. ‘I…I’ve never been this way…with anyone!’

‘I want you ‘annah..’

‘I know and I want you to be in my hidden place…call it my secret garden…pick different flowers there,’ she giggled, her grip on his skin making him move and do as she wanted from him.

He knelt down and grabbed her butt cheeks, buried his face to her once more, both of them oblivious to the raging storm outside their haven. He pressed his nose between her pink pussy lips, then lapped his tongue over her, darted the tip deep into her.

She gripped his head to suppress his claims as her body shuddered. She began to jerk and push back on his face wildly, her juices gushing over his cheeks and bathing his lips.

‘Bring it to me!’ she cried out, reaching forward and oblivious to his hungering mouth now claiming her breasts as she reached for that penis of his. She did so tightly and demandingly; pushed him back against the edge of the table and knelt down.

‘Woman…missus’ he gasped. ‘You want to do that for me?’

‘A first and only time…yes!’

She felt herself to be in another place. She did not recognise the woman she had become, a woman wanting to be pegged by this generously endowed young man, the son of her housekeeper.

She began licking all over his straining penis and heavy ball sac; sucked hungrily and inexpertly on his long, bloated, penis and gripped it fiercely, seeking to arouse him until she was ready for him and to quench the flare of an unbearable ache of longing, the tightening cramps of desire. His hands tugged on her hair, guided her claims as she sank her watery mouth over him and dragged her lips over his length, her fingers digging into his taut butt cheeks.

‘We jig-jig….missus…we have to…now!’ he gasped and tore her from him. Yaro pulled the wet towels and other clothes and sheets onto the floor and sought to push her down on them.

‘No…wait…the seat cushions!’

The canvas covers were cool to her skin as she lay back on them with her legs spread wide and bent at the knees. There were no secrets about her now and Yaro soon settled between her thighs. He felt her hand shaking as it grabbed his cock and as he leant over her she directed it to her opening, brushed the tip over her slicked lips, tapped it against them as if knocking at a door.

‘Oh that is so good…we do it now,’ he groaned as his penis was forced into her, stretched the walls of her womb until she slowly accepted this intrusion to her moist warm softness.

‘Go slow…but go deep!’ she gasped loudly, averted her face from his breaths and sought-after kisses that he pursued in an effort to silence her gasps of dismay as he began to plug her body, to languish in her depths and the girth of his penis making him feel that the walls of her womb clamped upon him.

‘You take me all…all!’ he gasped as she bucked her hips off the cushions and moved in jerking sideways movements as best as his weight upon her allowed. Their skins soon slid over the other as the efforts of taking each other began to take its toll, she dancing underneath him and he pounding into her on grunts and growls of pleasure and effort.

‘Yaro…oh Yaro!’ she yelped as he brought her legs up to her shoulders, cupped them in the crooks of his elbows and she was slammed down into the cushions, given no reprieve. His lips tugged on her jerking breasts and sucked on those hard nubs that were her nipples. ‘Put it in me…push london escort agency it deep!’

He felt her spit out the words as he looked down into her eyes. Yes, he would drill her, want her slicked haven of lust to grip his penis as if it would be jerked from his body.

‘I do it…for you…and for me!’ he grunted in reply, pounding her body hard and as this English woman gave voice to what she felt and the was doing to her…with her…and it seemed, now, for her. It was as if he had let loose a caged lioness. She was a good fucker, he’d made her so and she wanted to please him as much as he sought to please her, the woman with her face reddening and biting her lips to stifle her abject cries of pleasure and dismay with what she was sharing with him.

‘Do it differently!’ she yelled and rolled onto her side. She reclaimed him, putting one thigh over his leg as he thrusted into her once more but never disengaging. Her buttocks jigged against his hips, pushed fiercely against his groin until he could take her no deeper and pounded in hard thrusts, the tempo set by him alone and as if his remaining in her employment would be put at risk if he did not oblige her.

He panted against her back; gripped her breasts and heard her yelp in pain and wanton pleasure as her senses were assailed by these differing claims on her body.

‘Oh…oh…oh missus!’ he called out. The fire in his belly had transferred to pressure in his penis, the contraction of his muscles holding him back from an explosive release. ‘Do I let go…in you?’

He did not wait for her to answer but pushed her away and held her to him, felt Hannah’s hand hold his shuddering penis before he loosed jetting bolts of his semen over her belly, slicked her breasts and her chin as she looked down and sought to share this defining moment. He held her to him as she caved in to her orgasm, could not stop them as he thrust back into her body while his penis was still hard, and his vigour was sustained.

It again felt as if his cockhead would stretch her beyond enduring, the thrust and easing away of his length making her feel as if he would burst again. She gasped for breaths and twisted away from his claims to her breasts, the hunger of his mouth upon them unlike anything she had experienced before as she lay back and Yaro pushed down on her once more. He had become wild in his flagging lust for her.

‘What have you done to me?’ she cried out as he pushed in and withdrew from her body, flopped down beside her. He had finally come in an uncontrollable rush of hungering lust and admiration for what she brought to the act. The woman in her gardening clothes had become someone else.

She languished under his moderate claims upon her body, brought his lips to her breasts and took one in his wide mouth and sucked on the skin until her nipples were rolled and tugged upon. She rubbed one hand over his shoulders, neck, then up over his closely cropped hair as the other gripped his now flaccid, sticky, penis.

‘You good at jigjig…or I take you there?’ he smiled in admiration. He offered a lingering caress to her back, to the sides of her breast that he could touch as she sat up, raised her knees and hugged them to her body. ‘We find other time…yes?’

‘Maybe, Yaro…maybe…yes.’

She felt loved out and met a kiss of gratitude. The restrained, and often snappy, English woman had become a supplicant at a different source of pleasure.

Hannah studied the photograph for moments longer as memories of other tempestuous times that had been pursued with him came to mind, images of all that she had shared in flashing before her closed eyes as she remembered those reckless but sublimely passionate times.

Her friends in the art club, in the gardening club and those she played Bridge with would never guess what the woman they now saw had succumbed to so many years ago.

The box was put back in its place and the door closed on it.

The memories of what had been shared were not forgotten. The ache in her belly that she again felt, after so many years since those times with Yaro, were again offset by the news that came later and when she had left the country.

‘Gamekeeper Yaro Njeri, and two others in his team, were killed by poachers when they were intercepted in their hunt for ivory by the slain park-rangers….’

She loved Pat and had a settled comfortable life with him. With Yaro she had been transported to another place and had known of unrepeated pleasure and pain under foreign skies. She had known of both order and mayhem.

None of the women that she knew would confess to having been there too.

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