Packer’s Revenge Ch. 02

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Life was not always thus for Packer. Eight years earlier, when he was thirty-four, he never would have even fantasized about avenging himself upon an errant lover by seducing her daughter.

Eight years earlier Packer was living like a monk up in New Hampshire. After his divorce at age thirty he fled Boston for the north country, abandoning the life he had known, ensconcing himself alone in a small cottage on a picturesque lake. He strove to purge himself of all the bullshit he ingested working for an ad agency. He worked out on his Soloflex, cross-country skied, ran, bicycled, swam, canoed, hiked in the mountains. He did odd jobs tending bar and freelance photography for the regional newspaper. He worked at writing the fiction his marriage and job had kept him from for too many years.

But he was lonely. He missed a woman’s touch. Oh, there were women around – but Packer was not skilled at seduction. And he was shy around people he didn’t know. So on occasion he drank too much – staring out at the lake – and on occasion he was known to howl at the moon. He masturbated to girlie magazines and hungry fantasies that surprised him with their force and power.

So when Brenda rode into his life he was primed for action. He was also more vulnerable than he could possibly have realized at the time – vulnerable to beauty, to female wiles and desires, to his own thwarted sexuality, to that peculiar human need to be loved and to be permitted to return that love in kind.

Brenda rode into his life late one quiet Monday morning. It was high summer, a close, hazy day of green and cerulean blue. Big fluffy thunderheads floated lazily above, slowly billowing piles of white with pale gray-blue undersides. Packer had been swimming and lay sunning himself on a towel on the deck of the cedar-shake cottage.

He was drifting off behind his sunglasses when he thought he heard footsteps coming down the wooden stairs that led from the lake road above. The footsteps were light, almost tentative, so Packer figured it wasn’t his landlord from across the road. Maybe it was his landlord’s wife, come for a swim and to sun herself. Packer wasn’t sure, but he thought Molly had an interest in him. He didn’t think it a good idea to get involved with a married woman – especially when she was married to your landlord – but he was horny as hell and found Molly attractive. He half smiled at the thought of fucking her silly and then handing her the rent to pass on to her husband.

His cock stirred in his swimsuit.

“Excuse me?”

It was a woman’s voice, but not Molly’s. It was a rich contralto, strong but feminine.

“Excuse me?” The alluring voice washed again against the shell of Packer’s ear.

He rolled over on his belly and looked up at a goddess. A modern American goddess about his own age with a white bicycle helmet pushed up on the back of her head. A goddess with full red lips and copper-colored hair. She wore a tight white T-shirt over full round titties – 36D’s, Packer guessed – and very scanty denim shorts. Long tanned legs like twin staircases to Xanadu, ascending from immaculate socks and sneakers that were almost laughable in their startling virginal whiteness.

Like Packer’s eyes, the goddess’s eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but he knew instinctively that those eyes would be man-traps.

“Hi,” was all he could think to say.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but my bicycle just got a flat.” She waved up toward the road. “Do you mind if I use your phone to call my husband? We’re honeymooning at the inn up at the end of the lake.”

Just my luck, thought Packer. A husband. A honeymoon. The most gorgeous looking woman he would never kiss. His stirring erection retreated with disappointment as he got to his feet and glanced at his own bicycle hanging from hooks beneath the cottage eaves.

“Let’s take a look at that flat,” he smiled shyly, slipping into his sandals. “Maybe we can patch it up and let the lucky guy sleep in a little longer.”

She smiled at that. The kind of smile that could disarm a SWAT team or make an earthquake pause to reconsider. “That’s very kind of you,” she said.

Packer’s cock reversed direction again as he followed the woman up the wooden stairs to the roadside. Her luscious ass filled those faded shorts like the devil taking names. Packer pressed his lips together and shook his head. Just his luck to meet an ass like that while it was on its honeymoon.

Honeymoons.

Fuck me, thought Packer. Please, baby, just once.

He thought he could feel her gaze on his arms and shoulders and back as he lifted her ten-speed and turned to carry it back down to the deck. He flipped the bike over on its handlebars and seat and worked on it there, disappearing into the cottage to get his repair kit and a drink of cold water for his damsel in distress.

She sat on a deck chair, sipping the water while quietly watching him work. Packer liked that she was interested in watching him. His cock snaked hungrily downward along the inner thigh of his swimsuit. Normally bursa escort he would have been embarrassed by this but he reasoned that this babe was a fresh bride and he didn’t have a prayer with her anyway, so what the hell? He knew it wouldn’t get farther than a little naughty exhibitionism.

Packer stole glances at her from behind his sunglasses as he squatted and worked with the punctured inner tube. Her nipples were proud and erect against her white T-shirt. As if sensing his frank admiration, she turned her head sideways and smiled. Packer adjusted his position slightly so that when she looked back she would be able to see up the inner leg of his swimsuit, which was stretched full of cock at this point. Packer had grown so hard he could have screwed a bear trap.

When she looked back his way she turned away again quickly, this time without smiling, so Packer knew he had made his point. She nervously took a gulp of water.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Packer mused softly. “You’re not shy, are you?”

The woman who had suddenly – if only temporarily – become the center of his life turned back to face him again. This time she seemed to stare unwaveringly at what Packer knew was the thick purple head of his engorged shaft, perilously close to popping right out the bottom of his swimsuit.

“No,” she said, her strong full voice suddenly gone somewhat faint and dreamy. “I’m not shy at all. I really like people.”

Packer nodded. “Actually, I’m pretty shy myself.”

“Really?” Still dreamy, but seasoned with a dash of playfulness. “I wouldn’t have thought so at all.” Still staring at his cockhead.

Packer shrugged. “In groups, anyway. I’m at my best one on one.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You seem like a one on one kind of guy.” Again, that dreamy tone with an almost disembodied timbre; but the playfulness had modulated into something else again, some hypnotic quality with a firm but soft supremacy about it.

“Do you live here all alone?” she asked.

Packer nodded. “Yes,” he said with genuine sadness. Was this woman playing him? “All alone.”

“It’s not good to be alone,” she said.

Summoning his courage, Packer stood up and began working the mended inner tube back into the inner groove of the tire. Even someone across the lake couldn’t miss the huge sausage surging along the leg of his swimsuit. Glancing down as he worked, he saw that the glans of his cock was fully exposed. He felt the precum oozing onto his inner thigh.

“I guess that’s why people get married,” he said.

She gave a hurt little laugh that startled him. “I guess,” she said, the dreaminess gone, replaced by something bitter.

Packer straightened, holding the bicycle tire in front of his chest. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she said, suddenly all business as she set the empty glass on the deck and rose to her feet. “Not at all. My husband drank too much last night. Way too much. We had a tiff. That’s why I’m out riding alone this morning. I left him to sleep it off.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes, Packer felt his errant prick begin to reverse itself. He felt a deflating shame for seeking pleasure in a place where he had inadvertently uncovered pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She laughed.

“No,” he insisted. “Really. You must feel disappointed. I feel bad for you. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know.”

“Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “I knew you were a truth teller the minute I laid eyes on you.”

Packer didn’t know what to say to that. They stood staring at each other from behind their sunglasses, the bike tire between them like some symbol in an ancient play, the sunlight glistening off the chrome against Packer’s muscled chest. The goddess’s nipples appeared to grow more erect against the thin white cotton that guarded them, and Packer’s prick, ever game if somewhat bemused, engorged again in admiring imitation.

They each took a tentative step toward one another. He had never seen such full, sensuous red lips. The goddess’s breasts practically touched the spokes of the tire Packer still held in front of his chest. He saw his reflection in the lenses of her sunglasses.

“I’m Brenda,” she said.

“I’m Garett.”

They achieved the impossible and moved even closer without touching.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She tilted her head up toward him. He couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed behind the sunglasses. As he leaned toward her, his mouth seeking hers, he lowered the tire slightly.

Brenda gasped as some of the straight hard spokes pressed against her tits. She pressed forward and Packer pushed back with the tire, feeling the firmness of her straining chest. His aching cock slathered and squirmed furiously at being imprisoned.

As Brenda tilted her head back even farther to receive Packer’s kiss, the helmet slipped from the back of her head and clunked hollowly to the wooden deck. She gave a little exclamation as her hand flew to the top of her coppery escort bursa mane.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly abashed. She turned and scooped up the helmet in one graceful motion, leaving Packer holding the tire.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingers through her hair, her other hand holding the helmet in front of her chest like a shield. “I’m really sorry, Garett. I’m a married woman.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No!” She shook her head vigorously, gesturing helplessly with the helmet. “No, don’t.”

“I—”

“I’ve got to pee.”

He pointed to the cottage door with the tire. “Sure.”

And suddenly she seemed gone from Packer’s life. Gone forever, no doubt. Glumly, he mounted the tire back in its quick release slot. His heart pounding with frustration, with disappointment, with anger at the unfairness of things, he hooked up his hand pump and pumped the tire till it was hard. Then he uprighted the bike and wheeled it over to lean it against the side of the cottage.

But he was still hard, damn it. He was fucking hard and he was certain that something magical had just passed between himself and this married woman. Sure, there was lust – oh there was plenty of lust – but there was something else too. Was he going to just give up, let himself be beaten by gravity and a white Bell helmet?

He stepped inside the cottage. It was like a studio apartment, one big room, except for the bathroom, where Brenda must still have been behind the closed door. Heart still thudding, Packer removed his sunglasses and set them on the sink counter. Then he stripped off his swimsuit so that he was standing there in nothing but his sandals, his stiff cock sticking straight up and out. He knew that he wanted this woman as he had wanted no other. He intended to have her – but only if she would have him.

As his vision adjusted to the big, unlit room, he heard the toilet flush and the bathroom faucet run for a few seconds. The door swung open and Brenda came out. She saw him standing by the table and paused in the bathroom doorway to study him. She was still wearing her sunglasses, the bicycle helmet in one hand.

“I want you,” he said, his voice catching.

“You’re a beautiful man, Garett,” she sighed. Slowly and deliberately she put the helmet on her head and fastened the chin strap.

“I want you if you’ll have me,” he said, his voice a little stronger.

To his surprise, she walked straight up to him and reached out to take his cock gently into her hand. She drew her thumb softly around the mushroom glans.

“I’d like to give you a present for helping me, Garett.”

Her touch was igniting him. He fought not to tremble.

“But,” she continued, “you must give me complete control. I was just married two days ago, and there are certain things I won’t do. Can you understand that?”

Packer nodded miserably as her firm hand stroked up and down his pulsing shaft, smoothly, slowly, insistently.

“I won’t suck you,” she said. “I won’t let you enter me. I just can’t. But I will pleasure you. I want to pleasure you. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” Packer moaned as she reached out with her other hand to palm his heavy balls.

“You must honor my wishes. You must promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

“I promise,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, his cock standing in a field of exquisite pleasure.

“And you mustn’t try to kiss me.”

He reluctantly nodded his assent.

As she smiled up at him, Packer reached out to cup her tits in his hands. She didn’t say anything about touching her tits. He squeezed them gently and felt their heft. They had been augmented to a round, lush firmness.

It was Brenda’s turn to moan, but she shook her head, releasing his cock to reach up and remove his hands from her chest.

“Please,” she said; then, glancing around: “Do you have some oil? Massage oil?”

“There’s some baby oil. In the medicine cabinet.”

She indicated for him to stay put while she went back to the bathroom to fetch the oil. When she returned she pulled out one of the chairs from the wooden table where he ate. She sat down and beckoned for him to come stand in front of her. She licked her lips as she opened the bottle of oil.

“Mm,” she said, pouring the cool oil over the steaming head of his prick. “You have such a magnificent cock. It’s long and so fucking thick.”

Packer couldn’t believe what was happening. Here sat this beautiful woman before him, wearing sunglasses and a bicycle helmet, her large nipples jutting like excited little cocks against her shirt, massaging his cock and balls with oil, cooing and ahhing at him, smiling and wetting her lips with a delicate pink tongue.

“That’s it,” he urged her on. “It feels so good.”

“It feels so fucking good,” she corrected him.

“Yes, it feels so fucking good.”

“You have a prize cock, Garett. It’s such a proud tool. The girls must fight over it.”

“Jerk me, Brenda. Please jerk my fucking cock.”

“Oh, I’m jerking escort bursa it all right. I’m jerking you big hard nasty poker.”

She stroked him for what seemed an eternity: slow, then fast; slower, then faster yet. Packer was in heaven and knew it.

If only he could kiss her.

“You’re beautiful, Brenda.” He loved seeing her long, crooked fingers wrapped around him. His cock glistened within their magic circle. “I’ve never had someone so beautiful touch me.”

“Yeah!” She scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips and pumped him furiously. “You want to come, don’t you, Garett? Don’t you!”

“Yes! I want to spray all over you!”

He felt the build gathering in his balls; she must have felt it too because suddenly she stopped.

“What?” He looked down at her; her eyes were still a mystery behind the dark glasses.

“Garett, do you know what frottage is?”

“You mean coming from rubbing up against something?”

She smiled. “Or someone.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I want you to hump me, Garett.”

With a gentle shove she pushed him back from her chair so she could stand up. He stood watching, his pole solid as steel, as she stripped off her shorts and stepped out of them. Her clean sneakers squeaked as she strode across the slate floor and leaned over the kitchen sink, so she could look out the bright window at the lake while he took his pleasure against her. She stood there in her sneakers and T-shirt and helmet, the tiniest little magenta thong strap riding up the crack of her firm, pear-shaped ass.

“Come hump me, Garett,” she called over her shoulder in that rich contralto voice. “Come glide your big shining cock along my hot ass crack.”

He complied readily. She sighed as he started to hump her crack, his hands on her wide womanly hips.

“God, Brenda, you’re so smooth.”

“Wait,” she commanded.

He paused as she reached back to lift the thong strap.

“Slide underneath it,” she said. “There. Yes, like that!”

She clenched her ass cheeks to enhance his pleasure. She rolled her hips. Packer felt like he was drowning beneath waves of pleasure.

“God, Brenda!”

“Hump me, Garett! Hump me with your big thick cock! I love it!”

She smelled good, she felt good. Packer’s prick worked greedily up and down along her ass crack, snug beneath the magenta thong strap that crossed it like some adamant feminine fetter. His ball sack swung against the cloth-covered vulva he so longed to bare.

“Yes, Garett, yes! Come on me, you sweet man! Come all over my ass!”

Unable to refrain, Packer slid his hands up from her hips, beneath the arms she held out to brace herself against the counter, and cupped her breasts in his hands. He squeezed them and rubbed them together.

“Ohhhh!” moaned Brenda. “Oh, Garett! Rub my aching titties! Yes! Please don’t stop!”

Thus encouraged, Packer pulled her tits back against her chest, which practically caused her to swoon as he pulled her erect so that she leaned her helmeted head back against his chest while he continued to greedily hump her ass with long triumphant strokes.

“Oh, Garett, yes! Tend my titties! Rub them, baby! Feel me good!”

She leaned forward again toward the counter, humping him back with an urgent fury. To his amazement, she didn’t protest when he pulled her T-shirt up above her breasts, freeing them to his questing hands.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she practically screamed as he milked her swollen nips between his thumbs and forefingers. “Jerk my nipples, Garett! Masturbate them! I can feel it in my fucking clit! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Suddenly Packer was roaring, arching backward as he clutched at Brenda’s breasts, his cock spurting all over her smooth gorgeous ass.

“Yes, Garett! Shoot it, baby! Jizz all over my hot ass!”

“Yes, Brenda!” he shouted in unison with her, the world tumbling down all around him. He thought he heard the beating of a thousand wings outside above the lake. “Take my fucking splooge!”

When it was over he practically collapsed against her back, gently stroking her breasts as he recovered his presence of mind.

“God,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her bare back. She was still breathing hard.

“Rub it in,” she said. “Lather my ass with your cum juice.”

Reluctantly, Packer disengaged his cock from beneath her thong strap and went to work. The room smelled of jism. He thought he could smell cunt juice too.

“That’s it, Garett. Rub it into my skin. God, it feels like you shot a gallon all over me.”

Indeed, some had squirted halfway up her bare back. Packer rubbed it all over her cheeks, breathing deeply the aroma of their odd coupling.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. “You’re breathing so hard.”

The bicycle helmet bobbed up and down. “That was so hot,” she said. “So fucking hot. I want … I need to …”

“What?” Packer asked. “What do you need?”

The helmet shook slowly back and forth.

And Packer knew. With an animal groan he seized her by the shoulders and spun her so she stood sideways to him. He pressed his erection – which hadn’t subsided one bit – against her hip. With one hand he continued to massage his semen into her ass; with the other he resumed tending to her breasts, petting and fondling and teasing her nipples.

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