The following days I spent mostly with my parents. They had no telephone. Even if they had had one, I could not have used it for speaking to Emma. So, I relied on some phone booths - a safe distance from home - to have long, sexy, more and more salaciously detailed talks in which Emma often took the lead.
A less appreciated distraction was that a letter from Erika arrived every second day. I had to answer them. On the one hand, their so openly loving and even slyly sexy tone raised my hope that Erika's 'good girl' defences were crumbling. She seemed to miss me and worry that I might not miss her enough.
She hinted that she would like to join me on my holiday. We could have lots of 'fun' -- the highlight was hers - and she would love to meet my parents. That, however, did not sound like a good girl surrendering, but a preliminary to hook me into marrying her.
If I had not gotten involved with Emma and, therefore, did not want Erika anywhere near, would I have resisted this bait?
In outline, I told Emma of my problem over the phone. It greatly amused her. She could not stop laughing as she said it reminded her of Kate's dilemma when she had to choose between sex that was fun or becoming Hannes' good little wife.
Ending our talk and still full of mischief, Emma said she had good news for me. She would visit my parents and let me know. Then she hung up.
The next afternoon Emma dropped in at my parents at coffee time. She brought a cake from the local Konditorei and over a cup of coffee, she told us that her solicitor had found a buyer for Helmut's building firm. Her worries about seeing that all the obligations and ongoing work after Helmut's death were met and completed would be over. All that remained now was the sale of Helmut's hunt.
Still addressing my parents, putting on a worried look, she added, "With Tom being here and being a forester, I thought of asking him to look at the papers regarding the hunt and its forest."
Giving me a studied shy smile, Emma asked, "Could you come around sometime and have a look, Tom? I can't make head or tail of the value of the wooded parts of Helmut's hunt. It could take you some time, though."
"I could come back with you now if it suits you. I'd be glad to help."
"Oh, thank you, Tom, that would be great!"
Turning to my mother, Emma added:
"If Tom isn't back for dinner, don't wait for him. He'll be still bent over my silly papers. Don't worry, I'll feed him."
When we left together after Emma said her goodbye, we struggled to keep a straight face. Safely in Emma's car, we burst into laughter, Emma until she hiccupped:
"To visit your parents, I put on a decent long frock. But Tom, God, was I hot for you underneath!"
After a hurried look, if anybody was near, she pulled up the loose skirt and flashed a shamelessly bare pussy at me. She murmured, "Aren't we naughty? I wish you could touch and kiss it now, Tom."
But then, without covering up, Emma started the car and drove us, defiantly slow, through the town centre to her villa. All along, I could not take my eyes off her bared thighs and bush as her legs worked the petals of Helmut's Mercedes 300.
As soon as we were in the hallway and the entrance door clicked shut, we turned on each other for a savagely hungry, not-at-all foreplay-like kiss. Neither was there any tentative shyness in Emma's gripping my cock. Not finding me wanting, her hurrying fingers unbuckled my belt, unzipped my trousers, and pushed them with my underpants down past my knees.
I followed suit and her so decent skirt slid simultaneously down to the floor. She stepped out of it, turned and bent over the heavy sideboard.
Wiggling her ass at me and looking over her shoulder, Emma panted, "Fuck me, Tom! Show me how much you want me! Don't make me wait, Tom!... Fuck me!... Take me from behind... fuck me like a slut!"
I had managed to slip out of my shoes. Leaving my pants on the floor I stepped up. Grabbing my rock-hard cock, I let it slide up-and down and spread the crack of Emma's quivering ass. But this time she would have none of such playfully sordid temptation. She reached back and guided my cock's head into her cunt's opening. Not waiting for me to push, she thrust back, spearing her cunt with a triumphant cry onto my steely rod.
As she behaved like a slut and had asked for it, while I again and again rammed in my cock to the hilt, I smacked her quite hard repeatedly on her buttocks. And Emma howled and whimpered, while each gasped, "Yes!... Yes, Tom!" was a lust-charged admission how much getting fucked and punished for being such a sex-crazed slut turned her on.
And I, being also so shamefully aroused by Emma's lewd need to be punished, could not last. I was spared the embarrassment of my premature ejaculation only by Emma's demented shriek as she exploded too.
As I cried out and poured my load into her, Emma's knees buckled, and her fingers clawed the top of the sideboard. And then, as I looked down on her grinding, red-smacked ass, in spasm after spasm, her churning cunt milked me dry.
Now that it had happened and we were left standing in the hallway, I was suddenly shocked by the rawness of what we had done. Both of us were lost for words; Emma took my hand and led me to the bathroom. We undressed. We gently washed each other under the warmth streaming down on us and soon the washing turned into more enticing caresses.
When we eventually kissed, I knew we were good: we had nothing to forgive each other, nothing to be sorry for. The storm of our desire had not turned us into beasts.
Laughing and at ease again, we dried each other. While Emma's hands did not spare my still tender member, I dabbed her red-smacked bum very gently. Then, garbed in our familiar dressing gowns, we adjourned to the living room, where champagne glasses on the table awaited our arrival.
Emma fetched the bottle from the fridge, popped the cork and filled the glasses. After we had toasted each other and the second glass was filled, Emma lounged back on the diwan.
She gleefully confessed:
