Marcia hadn't meant to fuck Gareth. She hadn't planned it or thought about it, or even him really, since Amanda and Kevin's housewarming a month or so ago.
There, they had danced together. There, he had ran his hands down her back and onto her bum and had found she wasn't' wearing any underwear. There he had a hard on and had pressed it suggestively against Marcia. It was also there, at that party, that Marcia had been fucked by Gareth's dad, otherwise she may well have responded to Gareth's blatant suggestion.
Gareth, on the other hand, had thought of little else since the party other than having sex with Marcia. He was obsessed by her, his stepmother Amanda's best friend. He had been since he first met her when he was twenty or so, some four years ago.
She was attractive in a hard, rich bitch sort of way. Angular features, thin lips and a pointy nose stopped her being classically beautiful, but she was glamorous and vivacious, people were impressed by her and remembered her, most men fancied her. Her short, beautifully groomed, dark hair, green eyes and prominent cheekbones made her memorable. She had the confidence which having money of a level where you don't have to give a fuck brings, was outgoing, at times outrageous and she used every single one of her womanly charms continuously. Fairly tall, around five nine, she was slim and as good as flat-chested, just two little puffs of flesh capped by big, dark nipples. She had great legs and an awesome arse. The overriding aspect of Marcia that appealed to men was the strong hint of availability she always promoted. She appeared to be 'up for it' all the time, and it was that which had given Gareth the strong attraction towards her.
That had been ten years ago. Since then, they had been fairly regular lovers as Marcia had also been with Gareth's father, Kevin. Her sense of mischief was stimulated by the fact that she was fucking the father and the son, but thankfully, not, she sometimes smiled, the Holy Ghost as well. However, it would have been even more stimulating if she had been able to get inside Amanda's knickers as well or, even better, Kevin and Amanda's blonde bombshell of a daughter Sammi. Maybe bridges too far she had thought over the years.
It was Kevin who had fostered Marcia's love of not wearing underwear. With tits the size of her, 'basically pimples with raspberries on them' as she had been known to refer to them, she didn't need a bra, although until the housewarming, she always wore panties.
Two events changed that.
Kevin took her into the grounds of the house and fucked her up against the wall of the pool changing room. In so doing, her panties slid to the floor and were ruined. Kevin put them in his pocket and hence, later that evening the extreme thrill for his son from his first marriage. A week or so later in a hotel bedroom he used Marcia's panties to tie her wrists to the bed. In so doing, they were torn. She had to travel home on the tube in her short skirt, with no tights or panties. She found she loved it and got immensely turned on by not wearing them. In the ten years since then, she rarely wore any, irrespective of her attire.
Chapter 2
She was at Amanda's house. Gareth had popped in to collect something. A derivatives trader who lived on his wits and instincts, he was just starting to be successful. In other words, he was earning obscene amounts of money for someone who had no real skills other than the ability to get people to buy what he was selling. In business that was stocks and shares, in his social life to women it was come to bed. It was his quick wits and instincts that made him successful in both settings; at work he was earning over two-hundred thousand a year and socially he was sleeping with far more women of all ages than he could count.
"I'll give you a lift," he said seeing a way to get Marcia to himself. She had lost her driving a licence for a drink offence a few months ago and was preparing to go home by tube.
"I live in Hampstead, Gareth," she said seemingly recalling that he lived in the East End.
"That's alright," he beamed, standing up and taking hold of Marcia's elbow. "Practically on my way ma'am, your carriage awaits."
Marcia looked at him as Amanda was getting her coat. She saw the look of desire and availability
in his eyes that she was familiar with then. It was a look with which she became even more familiar as time and the number of men and women she slept with increased.
Marcia was wearing the same, slightly too short for a mid thirties woman, black, leather skirt she had worn when she and Kevin had met in the hotel, when he had ruined her panties by using them to tie her up, when she had travelled home commando. Yes when Marcia had first found the delights of being naked under her top clothes.
On top, she was wearing a thin, round neck, pink cashmere sweater through which her rather prominent nipples made indentations. This was particularly noticeable when the soft material was stretched, as it was now when Marcia was shrugging into the black puff jacket. Gareth saw the interesting bumps appear; he stared at them. Marcia knew they were on show and she stared at Gareth. Their eyes caught, they held the gaze for a moment, and it was then that they both knew they probably would fuck.
In celebration of his new-found wealth, Gareth had just bought a 911. As the low-slung seat meant that Marcia's legs were stretched almost flat out under the dashboard, her short skirt, inevitably rode up even further. They both saw that, they both looked at the long expanse of tanned flesh, they both glanced at each other; neither said anything and neither did anything, other than look.
They chatted quite easily as the drove slowly through the heavy rush hour traffic. Even though driving from Essex into the East End, they were going against the main flow it was still awfully slow. As they got near to Stratford, Marcia said.
"Why don't you drop me, I can get the tube from here."
"What on a crowded tube wearing that skirt," he quipped back.
"Yes, why not?"
"You ever travel in the rush hour?"
"Only home from the West End on the Northern Line."
"This is the Central Line and it's in bandit country."
Marcia laughed, raising one foot up a little and bending the knee that was away from Gareth.
"I can look after myself."
"I'm sure you can," Gareth said his eyes drooling up and down Marcia's great legs.
Due to her movement, the hem of the leather skirt had risen even further up her thighs. It was excitingly high, dangerously so. 'Almost panty level' Gareth was thinking, as his cock started to grow. The way her left leg was bent and her right was flat meant that the hem dipped down from one leg to the other, forming a little tunnel up the few remaining, covered inches of Marcia's, slightly parted thighs. 'Fuck, from another angle I could look right up it he thought' wondering if the no panties thing was a one off or a permanent habit.
He went on. "It's also city boy territory from Liverpool Street, and you know what they are like don't you?"
Smiling to herself at his less than sophisticated chat lines and rather obvious, but nevertheless welcomingly flattering, ogling of her legs, Marcia looked at him, caught his eye, smiled and said.
"I'm certainly beginning to Gareth."
Marcia had recently become more worried about her advancing age and felt in need of constant reassurance that she was attractive and desirable. Hence, the short skirts, the low cut tops, the no bras and probably the no panties as well. It was seeking this, which almost certainly, or so her psychologist husband thought, made her need the pleasure of constant new conquests. And it was precisely that which made her turn it on with Gareth.
She turned slightly onto her right side, bent both knees a bit, put her elbow on the back of the seat, and supported her head with her hand.
Almost gulping, he asked. "And what have you learned Marcia?"
She smiled as she saw his eyes drift towards her legs. She moved them slightly. That completed his erection, 'Fucking hell,' he thought as he imagined reaching over and pulling the skirt up to see if she was wearing anything under them.
Marcia replied, with a smile, "That some are real cheeky bastards."
'Shit, was that referring to the conversation when I asked if she had forgotten something?' He wondered
He laughed. "But we have good memories, unlike some."
Sounding quite serious, Marcia replied. "I have a very good memory, for most things."
'She is replaying that conversation,' he realised as, indeed, she was.
"But of course you do some things on purpose don't you Marcia?"
