The Clock
The festivities had ended with Young Mr. Grace being presented with what should have been Mr. Grainger's cuckoo clock. The staff finished their coffee and began to disassemble. Captain Peacock helped Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms into the lift.
"May I give you ladies a lift home?" he offered.
"That's very gentlemanly of you, Captain Peacock," Mrs. Slocombe drawled sleepily.
"Yes, thank you. It'll save me bus fare," Miss Brahms stated.
Mrs. Slocombe settled into the front seat of Captain Peacock's Ford beater and Miss Brahms slid into the back seat. Before Captain Peacock could get the car started, Mrs. Slocombe was fast asleep.
Miss Brahms chattered incessantly as he drove.
"Turn here," she instructed and he did so.
Captain Peacock pulled in front of Miss Brahms's semi-detached flat and walked her to the door.
"Thank You, Captain Peacock," she said politely.
He leaned in for a kiss goodnight and was rewarded with a sharp slap.
"Good night, Miss Brahms," he said quietly. With his face smarting, he turned and left.
He slid in and started the car.
"Blimey!" cried Mrs. Slocombe, "I didn't think she'd ever shut up!"
He chuckled, "I thought you were asleep!"
"I was, but she kept rabbiting on and on..." she groused, waving her hand for emphasis.
Mrs. Slocombe lived about 5 miles from Miss Brahms, in the opposite direction.
"This next street, turn right and my flat is at the end of the cul de sac, the last unit on the right end."
He nodded.
Stephen stopped in front of Mrs. Slocombe's flat, "Here we are," he announced.
He stepped round the car and helped her to her feet. He placed his overcoat round her shoulders and she leaned against him as they walked to the front door. Remembering the reaction he got on Miss Brahms's doorstep, he refrained from trying to kiss Mrs. Slocombe.
"Would you care to come in for a night cap, Captain Peacock?" she invited.
Surprised by her invitation, he smiled, "Very well."
She fumbled with her keys and then unlatched the door. She reached in, switched on the lights, and they went inside. He slipped his shoes off and set them by the door.
"Would you like a drink?"
He shook his head, "No, thank you. I believe I've had enough for one evening."
"Tea? I'll put the kettle on. Make yourself at home," she suggested and then disappeared into the kitchen in her stocking feet.
Make myself at home he mused What a terrible thought!
He folded his coat over the arm of the settee. Mrs. Slocombe's home was very modest, much smaller than his house. He looked round; the furnishings were homey and well worn. A red crushed velvet settee. A dark wood sideboard. A framed black and white portrait of a man and woman dressed in wedding attire; the bride didn't look like Mrs. Slocombe, so he assumed the picture was of her parents. A small TV, presumably black and white set, sat on a weathered stand. A bookshelf contained several books and a faded wedding picture- Mrs. Slocombe and her estranged husband. They were a handsome couple; they looked happy. The top shelf proudly held a row of small loving cups- trophies for cat shows and contests. He smiled to himself; that cat was her life, it seemed. There were a few other odds and ends and tkotchkes displayed: a dance contest trophy; a small photo album; badges with faded pictures taken on the boardwalk at Morcambe; a china doll; a crystal cat with ruby eyes. The mantle clock on a shelf ticked loudly. Twelve thirty.
"Have you seen my pussy, Captain Peacock?" Mrs. Slocombe called from the kitchen.
He looked round and shrugged, "No, Mrs. Slocombe, I can't say as I have."
Captain Peacock returned to the settee when he heard her finishing up in the kitchen.
Mrs. Slocombe returned with a tray holding a teapot, two cups with saucers, and a plate of biscuits. She set it on the coffee table and sat down.
Mrs. Slocombe shakily poured the tea.
"Allow me," he proffered, taking the teapot from her unsteady hands.
She smiled.
"Milk?" he asked, offering the pitcher.
"None for me, thank you. When I was a land girl at Tiverton, we had tea and the milk had gone and was curdled. They made us drink it anyway."
He made a face.
She turned to him, smiling, "You know, Captain Peacock, you have very nice eyes."
He looked down, blushing slightly, "Please. Call me Stephen."
"And you may call me Betty, but only after hours," she slurred.
"Of course," he agreed, smiling conspiratorially.
"That was quite a do they gave old Grainger, wasn't it?" she stated.
"Yes, it certainly was," he agreed, "That was quite a surprise there at the end. I thought Mr. Grainger was going to get the cuckoo clock and turns out Young Mr. Grace had kept it for himself. It's good, though, I don't think Mr. Grainger would know what to do with himself all day had he retired."
"There are days when I'd like to tell him what he could do with himself!" she quipped.
Stephen chuckled and slowly sipped his tea and reached for a biscuit. His eyes met hers and he straightened up. He studied her face; her eyes were bright and blazing, her face glowed. Betty shot a longing look, which was not lost on Stephen. Flirtingly, she ran a toe up his trouser leg. He nervously scratched his chin.
Betty moved in closer, "You may kiss me if you'd like."
He nodded, licking his suddenly-dry lips, "Yes, I'd like that."
He set his cup on its saucer, cradled her head in his hands, running his fingers through her plum-colored hair, and nervously covered her lips with his. His moustache tickled her nose and she sneezed. Betty rested one hand on his thigh and snaked the other round his neck. He slid the hem of her dress up and gently stroked her thigh. She looked gorgeous.
"You want we should take this upstairs, Stephen?" she whispered huskily, "You could rip my tight elastic!".
He did a double-take, gaped and wordlessly nodded his head. She stood, took his hands in hers, and led him upstairs. He blindly trudged behind her in the dark. When they reached her bedroom, Betty snapped on the light. Stephen looked round the small bedroom. A vanity with an oval mirror stood at the foot of the four-poster bed. Betty had more make-up, potions, lotions, and bottles than the cosmetics department, he thought. The bed was dressed with a thick, floral patterned duvet and four overstuffed pillows.
Betty turned round, reached up, and loosened his bow-tie. She slid the silk fabric from round his neck; Stephen's breath hitched as she touched him. He began to unbutton his dinner jacket and Betty covered his hands with hers, "Uh-uh," she playfully scolded. His hands settled on her waist and his eyes locked on hers in a smoldering gaze.
She smiled sheepishly as she removed his dinner jacket and draped it over her vanity chair. He shuddered as her fingers deftly worked the buttons of his dress shirt and slid his braces down. His breath became ragged as she slipped her hands inside his shirt and her fingernails gently scored his chest. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, opening and closing his mouth as he kissed her. She slid his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto the chair. Standing bare-chested in his trousers and braces, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms round her tightly, pressing himself insistently against her.
Betty's hands draped lazily on his hips, her fingertips gently brushing his bum. She pressed her lips to his chest and his breath caught in his throat as she kissed his nipples. She inhaled the fragrance of his after-shave lotion.
The dreadfully slow pace was driving him mad and he began to unzip her dress. He slipped the straps over her shoulders and peeled the garment off, allowing it to fall to the floor in a heap. He eyed her up and down and made quick work of the clasps on the front of her black lace bra. Her ample breasts tumbled out and his eyebrows shot up as he gave them a sideways glance. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Captain Peacock quickly hefted them like grapefruit, his hands trembling slightly. He admired their firmness and their pink nipples surrounded by mouth-sized, light tan-colored areolae. Betty's breath became labored as he bent over and took a nipple in his mouth, caressing it with his lips and tongue. She raked her fingernails through his hair and unbuttoned his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. She ogled his paisley silk boxer shorts and the bulge pressing determinedly against its lone button closure.
"Sexy knickers!" she drawled in her smoky voice.
He blinked nervously and a soft smile played on his lips.
Stephen drank in the view of her large globes, flat stomach and shapely hips and bit his lower lip in anticipation. He slipped his fingertips inside the waistband of her slip and snatched it down where it joined her dress in the pile on the floor. His eyes grew wide as he surveyed her head to toe standing there in her stockings and suspenders, plum-colored polish on her toenails. Captain Peacock's eyes remained riveted on the triangle patch of auburn maidenhair and his breath became erratic. Dropping to his knees, he cupped her backside in his hands and pressed heated kisses against her warm, moist flesh. She sucked in her breath sharply and her eyes flew open as she fell back onto her bed, spreading her thighs, welcoming him. She craned her neck to gaze at him as he delivered the most delicious sensations she had ever felt. He rested her thighs on his shoulders and Betty ran her fingers through his hair, gently tracing the edges of his ears, driving him mad. She was exquisite! His tongue explored the shape and contours of her wetness, tasting her. Betty arched her back and let out a low, guttural moan, urging him on. He peeled off her suspender belt and stockings, blindly tossing them somewhere. She whimpered as he made love to her with his mouth, breathlessly calling his name, and grinding against him. He smiled against her moist folds. She could feel her climax welling within her and began bucking. He smiled against her, then pulled back and placed small love bites on the inside of her thighs.
She gasped disappointedly as he stood up and wiped his chin with his fingertips.
"Don't worry, there's more. I must say, that was lovely," he smiled seductively and divested himself of his boxers.
Betty lay there panting and he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her parted thighs. She ran her hands up and down his sides, gently tickling him.
"It's been a long time for me, Stephen, so go easy on me," she pleaded.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lightly nipped her skin. She smelled so wonderful; her skin was so soft and warm. He eased himself inside her, tenderly moving, trying not to cause pain. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her, savoring the experience.
She is so tight…and wet he thought, his head swimming I'm not going to last long.
Her flesh yielded and she winced. She preferred what he was doing before.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, entering her fully, "Am I hurting you? I can stop if you want me to."
He waited.
She shook her head, "It's alright. Carry on," she breathed.
He began to thrust in earnest, grunting, fearing he would reach the finish line before her. The bed creaked rhythmically with his efforts.
Betty wrapped her legs round him, and dug her nails into his back, and arched against him.
Stephen slammed his face into the coverlet and hollered his release, rocking wildly. Panting and glistening with sweat and his heart drumming furiously in his chest, he looked up guiltily, "I'm sorry, Betty," he breathlessly lamented.
"It's alright," she reassured him, smoothing his disheveled hair, "It's been awhile for both of us, obviously."
The aroma of their lovemaking hung heavily in the air as they lay ensconced under the covers.
"I don't want to leave yet," he admitted, drawing her into his arms.
"Then stay," Betty invited. She laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
He turned to her and pressed a warm kiss to her lips. She administered open-mouth kisses on his neck, driving him wild. Grasping her shoulders, he guided her on top, straddling him.
"Make love to me!" he commanded, his voice raspy.
"I don't know how!" she fretted, wide-eyed.
"Don't worry," he soothed, "I'll show you!"
Nervously, she allowed him to grip her hips and direct her movements. He thrusted his hips in rhythm to her actions.
"That's it!" he exclaimed, "Good!"
Betty propped herself with her hands on his chest, fingers splayed, and worked her hips.
He moaned loudly, watching her breasts bounce and sway; he reached up and cupped them delicately. Betty watched him, eyes wide with wonder.
"Ride me!" he growled.
Betty's head began to swim, unsure if it was all the champagne she drank at Mr. Grainger's party. Her face screwed up and she whimpered, breathing deeply.
"That's it…come on!" he coaxed her, "Faster!"
"Naughty boy!" she murmured in a deep sexy voice.
The comment went straight below the belt and inflamed him. His hands pushed and pulled her frantically. Betty gritted her teeth and drove harder, thrashing and bucking, moaning loudly.
Their voices reached a crescendo; Stephen sat up and buried his face in her bosom, wrapping his arms round her, and yowled his release. Betty cradled his head in her arms, threw her head back and let out a groan, grinding madly against him.
They lay panting in each other's arms, giggling.
"What 'appened?" Betty asked, finally catching her breath.
"We came off at the same time, Betty!" he gushed, "That was lovely!"
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her passionately.
They lay back on the pile of pillows, entwined, breath returning to normal.
Stephen molded his body to hers, possessively enveloping her in his arms.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Betty. It was enchanting. I'm sorry, but I really must go, Olivia is going to be cross with me," he apologized.
"It's alright, Stephen, I understand. Just stay a few minutes more. Until I fall asleep," she dreamily whispered, "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Hmm? What?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.
"You know, what you did when we started. That was lovely," she sighed.
"During the war. There was a platoon of American WACs in the tent next to ours. They were very obliging…" he smiled and trailed off, lost in the memory.
"You certainly gave me a night to remember," she murmured dreamily.
"And I as well."
He gently rocked her, sighing contentedly, holding her until her breath slowed and sleep consumed her.
"I will see you Monday morning. Good night, Betty," he whispered.
He softly kissed her cheek before silently slipping out of bed and dressing quickly. He stole down the stairs in his stocking feet, retrieved his coat from the settee, and stepped into his shoes. He turned off the light and quietly left, closing the door behind him.
A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he realized he had just committed adultery, not just once but twice. And with a co-worker. A subordinate. He could probably go for that drink when he got home. Home! He looked at his watch, three o'clock! Either Olivia would already be in bed or she might be waiting up. Stephen's stomach twisted in sick knots.
Pull it together, Peacock! he admonished himself That was worth every bit of flak from Olivia you might withstand!
He chuckled, feeling like the cat that ate the canary.
Close! he joked with himself.
Betty's scent lingered on him and he inhaled deeply.
Yes, he thought worth every bit.
Stephen entered the front door of his house, quietly tip-toeing into the lounge. Olivia sat silently in the dark waiting for him.
Home free! he wordlessly celebrated.
"Stephen Peacock! Where have you been?" Olivia shrieked, a disembodied voice in the dark.
Stephen nearly jumped out of his skin, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, "Good God, woman! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Answer me!" she demanded stiffly, "Where have you been?"
He goggled at his wife, "I've been at the Blue Cinema, if you must know," he lied, trying to look embarrassed at his admission.
"It's three-thirty! You mean to tell me you've been there since Mr. Grainger's party ended?" she looked at him incredulously.
"It was a double feature," he stated matter-of-factly, stifling the urge to chuckle.
"Indeed!" she stormed upstairs, leaving him alone in the lounge.