He scratched himself, then sat next to me on the swing. I snuggled against his side, one leg hanging with his, the other on the swing. He told me it b...longed to a friend of his uncle or something. He’d used it before to relax, hunt or fish. I listened to the rumble of his voice, not the words, as he talked. He wrapped an arm around me and started the swing rocking. He paused a moment when I slid my fingers into my pussy and began a leisurely rubbing. I slowly brought myself to a silent orgasm,. I am writing this having just got back home south of Birmingham after a week in the Lake District. A week that thanks to Bill and Margaret has changed my life.My wife, Sue, and me went up to the Lakes as a last ditch effort to save our marriage. We still loved each other but after five years it had all become a bit boring. Our sex life was non-existent and it seemed we only ever talked about bills and shopping and the price of petrol. We had never been that sexually active, which until this. ”“You’re such a nasty little bitch!” She didn’t say that. That would have been weird. I didn’t say it either – although I could have, with complete justification. It was the voice of James McLaughlin, the chief architect at her firm. He was a complete prick in my opinion, who saw himself as the new age Frank Lloyd Wright, and dressed in collarless jackets with purple cravats that matched his overly tight trousers to show off his daring originality. Poncey prick would have been a more. " She sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched. "But, yeah, I could use something to eat. You need to keep your strength up. I don't want to have to be told we can't get together again because you died from terminal sexual exhaustion."He ran his hand across her back before slipping it around to cup her breast. "I'd die happy, but I'd miss out on some of the better things in life." Flattery will get you most anywhere," she said, laughing. She took her wrap from the top of the dresser and tied.