Francesca – September 1978
Francesca had become accustomed to life without Dylan but she had been unable to replace him. When Dylan had told her that he was moving out she had responded coolly that this was fine. She wished him well and had the locks changed. She had gone back to cruising bars when she was home from an assignment. It had been no problem picking up men but none of them had proved worth a repeat outing.
When, two days after his son had been born, Dylan turned up on her doorstep she took one look at his face and let him in. An angry Dylan in a mean mood was just what she needed. Francesca was dressed much as usual within the confines of her home: in not much. The black silk slip barely covered her backside and Dylan knew of old that there would be nothing else underneath. His cock hardened at his recollections of shagging Francesca. Before his hand could reach for her pussy she had beaten him to it. She sank onto the stairs; legs straddled and began to masturbate so that Dylan could see her open, wet and pulsating with desire.
‘Whore!’ He whispered lustily, undoing his fly with one hand as he whipped her hand away from its activities and placed it firmly around his cock, ‘Pleasure me, bitch.’ Francesca laughed an abandoned feral cry of pleasure. She ran her tongue around her lips suggestively as she slid her fingers expertly around Dylan’s cock and started to slide her hand up and down his shaft, moving her backside up another step she pulled him towards her slipped his rock hard penis inside her waiting vagina. She braced her body against the stairs and laced her legs around his waist bucking her body in violent, needy thrusts until she came in waves and waves of contractions. Dylan, his cock still hard with lust, lifted her light body and carried her up the stairs to the sitting room. Flinging her over the arm of her sofa face first he entered her from behind and thrust hard and fast, grinding himself into her backside until he came with a groan of anguished release.
Dylan and Francesca spent the next three days similarly engaged. On his side the only feeling he had for Rebecca was anger. Rage that she had trapped him into marriage because she wanted a child.
Francesca had a seed of guilt in the back of her mind. She had met briefly with Charles when he had been searching for Dylan. Something about his honesty and straightness had connected with her better self and she had been fascinated by the relationship between this Church of England vicar and Dylan. Nothing seemed more unlikely. She had not been surprised that Dylan had been spreading himself around a bit in her absence. She was surprised though that he had been sufficiently taken by this other women to consider marriage. Again the facts astonished her.
The guilt she felt was, however, transient. She, like Dylan, sought rampant sex as a distraction from the pain of reality.
Francesca – September 1978