"Alphabetically Yours" Angela

I originally intended to write a whole series from A to Z, but, as so often happens, other ideas surfaced and only "A", "C", "D", "E", "G" plus "Adam Rekindled" were written. But, each story stands alone and I hope you enjoy them.





"Alphabetically Yours" Angela
by Julius
Copyright 2005



One or the other woke Barry, his piss-proud cock or the door-bell. He reached behind him, across the bed, no Gwen. He needed a pee. The bell sounded again.

Naked, he struggled out of bed, fumbled his robe off its hook and headed down the passage. The bathroom door was closed, Gwen must be where he needed to be.

As the bell rang a third time he opened the front door. It was Gwen!

"What ...?" he said, utterly confused. "What're you doing out here?"

"Hi, I'm Angela, I'm from 'Grope-a-Versary', your wife called us."

At this point Gwen/Angela began to sing "Happy Birthday ...," while slowly opening her coat. She wore a pair of three inch heels and pubic curls.

"Jesus Gwen ...," was all he could manage.

"I'm Angela sir," she stuck out her hand and Barry raised his own to shake it, but her hand was gone, gone inside his robe. Unerringly it found and grabbed his now detumescent cock

Barry groaned as she squeezed him. Through gritted teeth he said, "Come inside for heaven's sake."

"Sorry sir, my contract forbids that. I'm required to wear my birthday suit, wish a happy birthday and give a nice surprise, no more, no less."

His cock was thickening. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Well Gwen, I'm surprised."

"I'm Angela," she repeated patiently.

Her hand left his cock and he opened his eyes. She'd produced a small bottle from her coat pocket and was dribbling fluid into her palm. When her hand went back to his cock - bliss! The skin-on-skin grip was perfect now. He found himself thrusting into her small fist.

A distant voice disturbed him and he looked to his right, "Gwen! Someone's coming!"

"Not you, not just yet, surely?" her voice was filled with laughter.

"No! The old guy down the road, with his dog."

"Well, just pretend I'm a Jehovah's witness or something."

She never paused with her firm, slow pumping and really, he didn't want her to stop.

The dog started pulling eagerly at its leash and Barry looked the other way along the street. Another dog, with a woman walking it.

Natural caution warred with what his wife was doing to his cock. It felt so good. She gave prefect hand jobs did Gwen. The tight grip, the long slow stroke, that twist she gave the head. Jesus he wanted to touch her, to hold her but he needed his hands to steady himself.

Barry's body was in overload as his ass thrust to mee ther strokes. His legs trembled uncontrollably. Yet all the while, he strove to stand as if talking politely to a visitor, not easy.

The dog walkers were nearer now, both dogs tugging at leashes, wanting to meet and greet. They met, right opposite Barry and Gwen. The ritual tail wagging and sniffing began. The woman glanced at Barry and their eyes met, she shouted a breezy, "Good morning."

The man made to answer her, saw where she was looking and turned to Barry. He too called a friendly greeting. Barry smiled and nodded in return. Gwen looked at Barry and laughed. Her coat was open, she was bare from throat to crotch; breasts, belly button and bush.

Christ! Poor Barry, two elderly neighbours were watching, while his wife jerked him off on his own doorstep.

She never paused, never stilled her hand. She just kept up the wicked squeezing, the slick-fingered fucking of his erection.

They must know? They must see her movements? Surely, his face mirrored his arousal?

The dogs tangled their leashes and Gwen's hand kept its steady pull and twist and slide. He was breathing hard now, his left hand, white-knuckled on the doorknob, hisright clutching the door frame. Her hand slowed and he sighed as she cupped his balls.

The dog people moved on, their pets parted company. Gwen's hand slid behind his balls, pressing, caressing. He swallowed hard and moaned, "God, Gwen."

"Here's the postman," she announced.

Barry looked. Sure enough, the man was making his way towards them, bag on shoulder.

"Better get on with your delivery then," she told him and her hand moved back up to grab his cock. She began to pump him vigorously, her grip tight. He could actually hear the slick, wet sounds of her hand.

One last appeal, "Gwen, let's go inside and finish this ... please."

"I'm - Angela, - this - is - " her grip slid up and down his cock in time with each word, "your - birthday - and - your - surprise."

The postman was next door but one now. Barry's body was beginning to shake and he knew, with awful certainty, that his climax was on its way.

Gwen's breathing was clearly audible as she worked at his cock. Barry's legs were quaking as he fought towards release.

The postman passed along the sidewalk, completely ignoring them.

Barry sobbed and his body went rigid. Gwen stroked him one last time, his cock pulsed and she whispered, "Yes baby."

He came over her belly, spurt after desperate spurt while she squeezed and milked. He needed to crouch, to thrust, to shout his relief.

His softening cock drooled onto his foot and, half turning, he rested his back against the wall, on the verge of blackout.

"Must be someone's birthday," a voice said.

His eyes flew open. A hand, holding coloured envelopes, was in front of him. He numbly took the cards and the postman was gone. He looked down, his robe was closed. Gwen's coat was open, trickles of his come adorned her stomach and thighs.

She pulled her coat closed, "Happy Birthday sir."

"Er, thanks ... er ... ,"

"Angela," she told him, "Angela."