A Dame
Chapter 1

Copyright┬ę 2008 by aloneagain

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - She was a Dame and he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual  


When days are long, there is little time for introspection or for the opportunity to consider what if or what I should have done differently. However, during the long nights of a long harsh winter, an outdoor man finds himself alone, isolated, with little to do other than watch the snow falling and the wind blowing. On those days he thinks, dreams, and remembers. It is his memories that cause the man to wish he had made other choices. Yet when the sun shines and he can see that tomorrow will be a good day, he knows he made the right decisions.

... some memories are as clear as if they were happening now...

Walking down the stone steps of the local country club, he was loosening his necktie, happy to be away from the too-rich, too-polite crowd. He had just finished a long evening with a grateful couple who were pleased that The Gift Shoppe, a small retail store, had handled their daughter's wedding gift selections so professionally. He accepted the invitation when his brother and the other co-owner could not.

As he reached the bottom step, he heard a short scream of distress and turned around as a beautiful woman stumbled and fell into his arms.

"Oomph" was the only sound he made as he stood holding the woman.

"Oh, oh, thank you," she was panting and shaking from her fright.

Rather than let go of the woman, he did what, to him, seemed the natural thing to do. He bent down, slipped his arm under her knees, lifted her, and turned to find a place to sit down.

"Oh my," she exclaimed as her arms naturally went around his neck.

A convenient bench, beside the brick walkway, gave him a place to sit as people gathered, while he watched the woman he held settle onto his lap.

Amid the voiced expressions of concern from the people around them, he chuckled, brushed a few stray strands of hair from her cheek and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she answered, her breathing beginning to return to normal as she assured those around them that she was just fine. She turned to Timothy and smiled, "It's an unusual way to meet a handsome man, but I appreciate you saving me from a nasty fall."

"I'm Timothy Burleson. And you are?"

"Claire Prescott," she answered and held up one slender leg looking at her foot, where one shoe showed the thin straps across her toes had broken loose on one side.

Timothy slid his hand down the calf of her leg and removed the shoe, placing it in her lap. "I'm not sure, but I don't think you should try to repair that shoe."

Claire was nodding as a woman, standing with two men, and another woman, who did not walk away with the others, came over to ask, "Claire, are you alright? Are you coming?"

Claire looked up, speaking to those waiting for her, "You go on to the party, Marie. I'll find someone to take me home."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead. I'm still a little shaky." After dismissing the two couples, Claire turned to the man. "You said you're Timothy Burleson. Would you happen to be Mark's brother?"

"Yes, do you know Mark and Aaron Bates?"

"Very well, or I guess, well enough." Claire laughed lightly. "I'm probably one of their most frequent customers."

"I don't recall seeing you in The Gift Shoppe in the last couple of months."

"Oh that's right. You're helping them while Aaron recovers from his back surgery. Is he doing well?"

"Yes, or as well as can be expected." Timothy held Claire a little tighter when she started to stand. "You'll ruin your stockings if you walk without that shoe, besides, I sort of like you sitting there."

"You're a gentleman, aren't you?" She paused for a moment, "I don't think I can avoid the ruined stocking. I need to find someone to take me home."

"May I?"

"May you what?"

"May I take you home?"

"Oh, well, I suppose so, if you're sure." She looked around for a moment, and then back at Timothy. "What about your date?"

He shook his head, "I have none. What about your own?"

"Oh, I ... I didn't have a date. I was just having dinner with some friends, before going on to ... well, it doesn't matter, now."

"Then, if you'll put your arms around my neck, I'll take you to my truck."

... there are some memories a lonely man enjoys more than others...

The ride to Claire's house did not seem long enough for them to say everything they wanted. Even sitting in her driveway for a while didn't give them enough time. When Timothy placed her on her feet inside her front door, she begged him to come inside for a cup of coffee so she could hear more about the ranch and the independent minded men who worked for him.

He wasn't sure how Claire did it, but she turned her back for only a moment and stripped the individual stockings off each leg before he realized what she was doing. Timothy laughed and said he didn't realize women still wore real stockings, rather than pantyhose. Claire teased that she could have taken them off at the country club, but wouldn't have had the excuse of allowing him to drive her home.

Before he knew what she intended, she had walked up to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Unable to resist her, his arms were around her, deepening the kiss to something that felt so good he did not want it to end, nor did she.

Without an invitation from her, or a suggestion from him, she took his hand and led him away from the living room. Timothy put his arm around her waist as they walked down the dark hall. He stopped her for a moment and slid his hands down her back to cup her bottom, pressing her against his hardness, while his mouth descended to taste her again. She brushed her hands down the front of his suit coat, reaching for his belt buckle. He captured her hands and pulled them up to rest on his chest. With his arms around her, he backed her against the wall, pressing his body against her to hold her still.

He buried his face in her neck as his hands rose up to cup her breasts. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, a catch in his voice as her nipples hardened beneath his palms. What he had thought was just the softness of her breast against him when he picked her up was more than that. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her silk dress moved across her breasts sending delicious anticipation straight to his groin.

Timothy stepped back, brushed Claire's hair behind her ears, kissed her gently, and asked her, "Have I told you how beautiful you are?" He watched her face as he brushed the backs of his fingers down the front of her dress, across the slopes of her breasts, and finally rested his hands at her waist.

Timothy smiled and bent to kiss her, his lips barely touching hers. Claire felt herself tingling a little, the sensation so fleeting it was barely there. It wasn't enough and she wanted more, so much more. She could feel the heat of his hard body pressed lightly against her. She wanted him more than she had thought as he reached up and opened the top button on the silk dress.

Her hands moved inside his jacket brushing across Timothy's chest and up to his shoulders as he opened several more buttons down the front of her dress. She slid his jacket off his shoulders, neither of them giving attention as it fell to the floor behind him. He was just as aroused as she was when she moved her hands back down his chest to feel his nipples. They were hard as pebbles as she brushed her fingers across the fabric of his shirt. He shivered in response and pulled her closer, capturing her hands between their bodies.

Suddenly he was in a hurry. Timothy took her hand and led Claire into the bedroom. He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her between his thighs. Timothy took a deep breath, trying to slow down, as he looked up at her while he slowly ran his hands from her waist, up her body and brushed against the sides of her breasts, pressing the heels of his hands against the fullness.

It had been too long since a man had touched Claire so tenderly and she wanted more. Keeping his gaze fixed on her face, Timothy slowly unbuttoned more of her dress. Claire was almost afraid to breathe, thinking about what it would feel like when he was finally touching her skin. One by one, he undid buttons, enjoying himself, as if he was opening a gift, until he finally pulled the sides of her dress apart and slid his hands along her ribs before cupping each breast gently.

"Merciful heaven," Timothy breathed, "You are beautiful."

He watched as he slowly rubbed his thumbs across her erect nipples. Claire flinched as a soft sound of pleasure escaped her mouth at the sensation. Timothy just smiled, pulled her close then captured a nipple in his lips and suckled gently.

"Oh Tim..." She breathed his name in a deep exhale of her breath, as he began to nibble on the captured bud. Her hands rested on his shoulders as her eyes closed, her head turned from side to side, and she lost herself in the feeling of his hot mouth on her nipple. Tiny shivers of desire shot down her nerve paths straight to her feminine core as she pushed her pelvis toward him, seeking relief from the delicious torment.

His mouth moved to the other breast as a hand moved around to her back, holding her still and helping her press herself to his mouth. Claire felt him opening the few remaining buttons and pulling the dress down her arms as it slid off her shoulders, pooling around her bare feet.

"So soft, so wonderful, and soft," Timothy told Claire and felt her hands moving down his back, holding him against herself.

Timothy rested his cheek against her stomach, while his hands stroked from her calves up the back of her legs to hold her bottom, enjoying the feel of her softness, unwilling to rush something that was growing in its intensity for both of them. He could smell the musk of her arousal, the deep rich aroma of a mature woman.

He pushed her back a step and stood, helping her unbutton and remove his shirt. When she reached for his belt buckle, his hands went up to thread through her hair, watching the heavy thickness fall back to her shoulders, and then doing it again and again, as she lowered the zipper of his pants and pushed them and his boxers down his hips.

He turned her, backed her up, and laid her on the bed while he braced one hand on the bed and leaned over her as his fingers moved up and down the crotch of her panties. His touch was light as he teased her.

"I need..." she paused. Her legs parted and her hips moved with a grace that fascinated him.

"You need what, Claire?" He asked as her hands reached for him, and he avoided her touch.

"I ... I want..." She gasped as his finger brushed over her cloth-covered, swollen clitoris and then moved farther down, teasing her, stroking her, listening to her moan of want.

"What do you want, Claire?"

Instead of an answer, she lifted her hips and slid her panties down, rushing to get them down her legs and kicking them away, while his fingers lightly brushed through the soft curls of her sex.

"Tim, please..."

"Please what, Claire? Please do ... or please don't?"

With only her shoulders remaining on the bed, she lifted her hips as high as she could, a wordless plea to him as he pushed his finger between the lips, across her clitoris, and slid deep into her, withdrew, and slid back inside her.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her body vibrating as she shuddered, and then cried out a wordless sound of pleasure as another finger entered her, sliding in and out.

He twisted his hand and used his thumb, gently rubbing her clit, while his fingers, wet with her juices, continued their exploration. Claire moved back and forth, her hips not yet touching the bed beneath her. Her breathing was fast, almost panting, and her hands were tight, the satin bedspread beneath her, bunched in her fists.

She could feel her orgasm approaching. The muscles of her inner thighs were quivering as the pleasure pushed higher and stronger.

He twisted his fingers inside her, turned his palm upward again, and rubbed the tip of one finger across the rough sensitive spot at the top of her vagina. That's when it happened. She exploded, her body shook, a flood erupted filling his hand, running down his arm and splashing around them. Without stopping to let her relax, he did it again, pulling the rough tip of his finger across the spot inside her and an additional gush of her juice splashed on him, ran down her legs, and hit him as he leaned over her.

For a few moments, she was unaware of anything around her, and then she began to descend from the height of her climax. She realized what she had done. No man, not even her husband, had ever elicited such a strong climax from her. Despite the pleasant humming of her body, she wanted to move away from Timothy. She wanted to hide, escape, or ask his pardon.

She started to turn away, unable to look at him, and she did not want him to look at her; and then she could not look away as he was pushing his hardness into her, groaning with the first feeling of her heat surrounding him. Claire closed her eyes, feeling every inch of him as he entered her. Then he was going deeper, pausing for her tightness to adjust and envelope him, letting her accept him. His balls rested against her, letting her know he was all the way inside her.

Almost afraid to say anything, Claire whispered, "I've never done that before..."

Timothy interrupted her. "Nor have I, but I'd like to do it again." Although there was no need to do so, he whispered, "Next time, I'm going to taste you."

Timothy began to stroke in and out, going slowly, watching her face, as she understood what he had said. Claire lifted her hips to meet him, every movement he made caused another fresh flow of her moisture, as she squirmed and moved beneath him, the sensations were exquisite to him. The silken softness of her heat surrounded him. The allure of her movements enthralled him.

With his arms braced beside her, Timothy enjoyed this woman beneath him. He watched her, his cock felt like it was made for her. They were a perfect fit, his strength and her lithe grace. He stopped for a moment, hoping to make it last just a little longer, a little more intense, more of her rich velvet surrounding him, and more of her soft moan of pleasure. He slowly withdrew until just the head remained in her. She groaned her disappointment and lifted her hips as if she could pull him farther into her depths. Then he pushed back into her and stopped and she smiled her joy.

He felt it building, the hunger, the passion, the animal urge, the need, the burning need to have mastery of this exquisite creature. His breathing was labored. His blood was hot. His balls were tight. His thighs burned and his arms strained as he plunged in and out of her. His cock seemed to grow as their bodies fused. A fine coat of sweat covered his back, and glistened on her breasts.

Claire closed her eyes, feeling her approaching climax, barely aware of Timothy watching her, feeling her clitoris rubbing against him with each thrust. Her head rolled from side to side. She pleaded with him, "Tim ... oh God Tim ... now ... oh now..." and then she groaned, arched her back, and lifted her hips to meet the intensity of his movements.

He thrust harder and deeper, pounded into her, slammed his pelvis against hers, urged by a mindless lust, responding to the urgency of feeling her muscles contracting around him. Her juices splattered his belly, flowed across his cock, ran down his balls, and dripped down his thighs as he threw his head back and groaned loud and long, almost an animalistic growl. His movements no longer an even rhythm, his head jerked forward, back, and then forward again, as his own climax sent liquid heat deep inside her.

And then she was quiet, but not still. She shuddered and trembled with the small after-shocks of her climax. Timothy rested some of his weight on her, panting hard as he tried to regain his breath, brushing her sweat-dampened hair away from her face. He kissed her gently, a soothing kiss for her and gratitude for what she shared with him. After a moment, he rolled to the side, taking her with him, unwilling to let go of her for even a moment, pulling her close to rest within the curl of his body.

However, he could not simply lie with her in his arms. His hands moved across her body, soothing her, calming her, holding her as tight as he dared, feeling the ripple across her ribs, and filling with the fullness of her breasts. His fingers traced the small bumps on her areola and swirled around her nipple, feeling her flesh pucker, her nipple pebble, and then grow harder from his tender touch. His mouth sought the tender skin beneath her ear and his tongue tried to memorize the curl of her ear while he buried his face in her hair and breathed in a fragrance that he could not ever recall experiencing before that moment.

He felt her hand on his hip and sliding down his thigh as she brought his knee closer behind her own. Her fingers brushed across the back of his hand where it rested on her stomach and she separated each of Timothy's fingers with her own. Claire slid her hand between her body and his hand, slowly lifting each individual finger with hers in a ripple of movement that mesmerized him. Her fingernails moved up and down his forearm, sensitizing the skin until she was barely brushing her hand through the rough hair on his arm. He could feel each follicle as she teased him.

She turned inside the circle of his arms and pressed her breasts against him as she slid his thigh between her legs. He could feel her heat on his leg and the wetness of their combined juices as they seeped from her heat. She slid her hand between his body and his arm, wrapping her arm around him to trace up and down his backbone, going slowly as if she were memorizing each bone in his spine. She traced the edge of his shoulder blades, cupped her hand around his shoulder, and traced her finger across his collar bone. Her mouth moved to the hollow at his throat, her tongue licked his neck, and she moaned as if she was enjoying the taste of him, as he had enjoyed the taste of her.

Their other senses were so heightened in the darkness of her bedroom that he did not know if his eyes were open or closed; he was only feeling her hands on him, hearing her soft wordless sounds of pleasure, and sharing his own with her. She said his name with such feeling he knew he would hear her voice in his sleep. Her name became his mantra, a prayer of thanks for something he had never known before this night.

Timothy did not know how Claire did it. He was leaning slightly toward her, reaching around her to hold her to himself. Almost without him realizing she had moved out from under his arm, he found himself on his stomach. A moment later she was sitting on his hips as her hands went up and down his back, pushing toward his neck and pressing down as she pulled the heels of her hands, down toward his waist. He groaned as he felt the pressure she applied to the muscles in his back. She pressed hard, her hands going around in circles, moving slowly as he relaxed.

Claire moved to his side and whispered, "Roll over, darling."

In his relaxed state he did as she asked, while she moved down his body licking across his nipples and then brushing across them with the edge of her teeth until he was writhing from her ministrations. The change from relaxation to stimulation was so gradual he wasn't aware of how much he responded to her. Her mouth moved from side to side across his tender belly until he was trembling from the sensations. He was not aware of when she moved to rest between his knees. Her fingernails scraped through his pubic hair sensitizing the skin beneath and her hot breath blew through the hair until he was shaking.

Without moving her hand to touch him, her tongue licked across his still tender and soft cockhead, she kissed him and ever so slowly sucked him into the soft wetness of her mouth, taking him deeper and deeper, until her chin rested on his scrotum. She did not move her mouth or her tongue. She merely allowed him to rest in the warmth and wetness of her mouth as her hot breath swirled around him. It was a calming, tranquil, glorious feeling. She was worshiping and caressing the object of her sexual gratification as saliva collected and began to run out the side of her mouth and drip down onto his balls, cooling in the night air, soothing him.

While one hand moved up and down his soft inner thigh, the other hand moved under her chin, slid under his tender balls and her fingers moved, slowly lifting and lowering his balls in the same rhythm as he breathed. A moment later, she was changing hands to stroke his other trembling thigh.

With a skill that delighted him, she stimulated him to a surprising hardness that sent chills up his spine. With her swirling tongue and the suction of her cheeks he was lifting his hips. Suddenly she squeezed his balls and he exploded so hard he roared with the ecstasy of the moment as hot ropes of sperm laden cum burst into her mouth.

When he reached for her, to share something of how he felt, Claire put his hands back on his stomach and patted them, as if that was what she wanted. She drained him, and then soothed him, rested on his shoulder and told him to relax. As his relaxation deepened, Timothy was not aware that slowly Claire was inching away from him. Nor was he aware of when he went to sleep.

Moments, minutes, an hour later, Timothy was awake, alert and fearful he had slept too long. However, as the windows did not show light, he relaxed for a moment. Swirling through his mind were thoughts that never, in his whole life, if he combined every woman he had ever known into a one single night of pleasure, nothing would compare to the time he had spent with Claire Prescott. She was curled within reach of his hand, breathing deeply, asleep, still naked, and still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

When Claire next opened her eyes, Timothy was dressed, standing beside the bed, pulling the covers over her. Claire mumbled that he should stay, but he would not. In the morning, her neighbors should not see his truck parked in her driveway. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her, brushed her hair away from her cheek and whispered, "Good night, Claire."

Minutes later, Timothy parked his truck in the driveway where Mark and Mark's lover lived. He sat for a short while, thinking about the last few hours with a woman who he knew was dangerous to his sanity. Every inch of his skin remembered her touch. He still had the taste of her on his tongue. His clothes smelled of her perfume. His hands had a memory of the feel of her skin. It would be a long time, if ever, before he could push the memory of her to the back of his mind.

He unlocked the front door and walked straight to the guest room, undressed, and then to the bathroom where he stood under the shower with the hottest water he could stand. He added some cooler water as he washed himself, but could not rid his skin of the smell of Claire. He turned the shower to cold water for more minutes than he cared to count and her smell remained. He brushed his teeth and still he could taste her.

His desire for her was not going to be an easy thing to forget. Claire was a woman of the city. She was accustomed to comfort, the society of her friends and she had wealth. She could never be content with the life Timothy needed to have to retain his sanity. He was not a man of the city; he was a man of the land, of cattle, and of other men like him who were independent, solitary, and worked hard to retain the way of life few could accept.

Sometime within the past four hours, Timothy Burleson had made the biggest mistake of his life.

After drying off, Timothy pulled on a clean pair of boxer shorts and walked into the kitchen where Mark and Aaron were enjoying a glass of wine. Despite the plastic body cast covering most of the upper half of Aaron's left leg and extending up to just below his nipples, Timothy was determined. He knew the men would not like what he had to say; however, Timothy had a ranch to run and cattle that needed his attention.

"Tomorrow is Monday. I'll work through the end of the week, and you two need to manage after that."

Timothy did not wait for their reaction, nor did he return to the kitchen when they called. He closed the door to the guest room, pulled off his underwear and crawled into the unmade bed, pounded his pillow into a hard tight ball, and willed himself to go to sleep. He would wake in the middle of the night and feel like he should apologize for being so stern with Mark and Aaron, but he would not utter the words to take back his words of leaving them to manage on their own.

Timothy was surprised to wake up, dress for work, and find his brother sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee.

Mark looked up quickly, and then returned his attention to the steaming cup in front of him. He didn't bother to look up when he spoke. "What was with you last night?"

"Mark," Timothy tried to keep his voice in the brother to brother range, rather than the way he would rather have spoken to his severely insecure, almost childish, younger brother. "I have a ranch that demands my attention. You and Aaron will have to manage on your own."

Instead of responding to his brother's remark, Mark spoke in a near lifeless voice, "I have to take Aaron in for some tests today. The doctor is talking about a second surgery."

"Damn, why didn't you say something yesterday?"

"Aaron hadn't decided if he wanted to go through with the surgical risk or continue to tolerate the pain. He thinks the doctors aren't being truthful about the nerve damage he risks with the second surgery."

"Good God." Timothy backed up and leaned against the kitchen counter. He shook his head, stood up, and turned to his brother, "Look, I have to go open the store. Call me when you know something. We'll manage. Somehow, we will manage."

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register