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Two days later, Mrs Hendry arrived for Tim’s next scheduled visit. She was carrying a large plastic bag containing the dance outfit she had borrowed from his deceased wife’s extensive wardrobe.
‘Thank you so much Mr Symonds. My hubby was very appreciative! I’ll just drop these things in the laundry basket, ready for the next wash.’
Tim’s gaze was as usual drawn to her voluptuous figure as she left the hallway. Naturally, his perverted mind was immediately preoccupied by thoughts of dirty washing; by his wife’s dirty panties in the laundry basket.
She returned. ‘No tests for you today, Mr Symonds,’ she giggled, ‘I think I’ll tackle your wife’s bedroom next; let in some fresh air and freshen things up shall we?’
Without waiting for his approval, she again turned on her heel and headed upstairs.
Tim was left on his own, sitting in the drawing room, attempting unsuccessfully, to concentrate on his daily newspaper. It was over an hour later that his carer reappeared.
‘I’ve found some lovely framed photos in one of your wife’s cupboards, Mr Symonds. They must have been taken at her dancing competitions. Here, look.’
She spread out five photos, showing his gorgeous wife, in various dance poses; each with a different, handsome, younger man.
‘She was very attractive, wasn’t she? I Like this one – see the date? she must have been well into her fifties when that was taken. I’ll bet she didn’t have any difficulty finding willing dance partners! Just look at those legs!’
‘Err, yes, she would have been 58 then. I haven’t seen these before.’ replied Tim.
‘These photos should be on show. I’m going to put them up around the house, so you can be reminded of your beautiful wife.’
Tim groaned inwardly. It was almost as if Mrs Hendry relished the idea of bringing him disturbing memories and thoughts of his marriage. Nevertheless, despite his anguish, the undeniably sexy shots of his wife, clinging to virile young men, brought yet another disturbance in his trouser department.
She made a point of trying the pictures in a variety of positions, ensuring that Tim could not avoid these disturbing images. For the time being, he was content to watch her long curvaceous legs as she fussed about the room.
‘Right, back to work! Let’s see what else I can find,’ she said as she left him alone with his troubled, perverted thoughts.
Later, over lunch, Mrs Hendry questioned Tim further about his marriage and his work. She went on to describe some of her other ‘clients’.
‘Some of them would like to have what you might call ‘extras’, Mr Symonds. ‘One or two of them are very persistent, I can tell you; but, what would casino şirketleri my boss say? What would my husband say?’
‘Oh, yes, I see, it must be difficult for you,’ gulped Tim.
Mrs Hendry continued: ‘You see, some of my gentlemen have certain ‘interests’; I think they’re called ‘fetishes’. They like to talk to me about them. Of course, I was a bit reluctant at first.’
‘Well, yes, it is a very personal topic. It must be embarrassing for you.’ said Tim.
‘No, not embarrassing exactly, not when I got used to it. In fact I got quite interested really, and they do seem to appreciate my attention. So, rather than use up the time I have for their cleaning and cooking and shopping, I can add an extra hour or two, mainly just to sit and listen, you understand. Of course I have to charge a bit extra. Cash in hand. £50 per hour. Might you be interested in an extra hour sometimes, Mr Symonds?
‘Ah, well, err, really, I’m not sure, you see, I…’
Mrs Hendry interrupted, ‘No need to make you mind up straight away, Mr Symonds. Why don’t I finish tidying your wife’s room. You can wash the dishes and we’ll have another little chat later.’
With that, Tim was left alone again, conflicted, aroused. He heard the vacuum start into action upstairs and reluctantly went into the kitchen to take care of the dishes, all the while, struggling to keep his mind on the task in hand.
His carer was in his wife’s bedroom, not vacuuming, but looking through the drawers. She smiled to herself as she contemplated the next stage in her ‘plan’. She was well aware of Tim’s predilections, having found, last week, stored under his bed, more than thirty copies of a magazine called ‘Leg Show’. She hadn’t come across this particular publication before, but was left in no doubt about the interests of its readership, once she’d perused a few issues.
Eventually, the vacuuming noise stopped and Tim heard footsteps on the stairs.
Mrs Hendry appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Well, that’s all finished. I suppose I’d better be getting home now; unless there was anything else? Did you think things over, Mr Symonds?’
Poor Tim had thought of nothing else.
‘The trouble is, Mrs Hendry, I haven’t got any cash at home.’
‘I’m sure we can work something out, Mr Symonds. I can be very flexible. I’d need to call my husband though. Let him know I’d be running late. He’s used to it though. I seem to get asked for ‘extra’ care quite a lot these days.’
Tim swallowed hard. He felt so weak.
‘Well, yes. If that’s alright, perhaps we could have an extra hour?’
Mrs Hendry smiled wickedly. ‘You make yourself comfortable in the casino firmaları drawing room, Mr Symonds and I’ll make that call. Oh, and please remember, mum’s the word. It wouldn’t do to let the care company know about our little ‘arrangement’ now would it?’
‘Oh, no. No, I quite understand.’
For the second time, Tim blushed, before scurrying off to sit uneasily, but expectantly, on the large sofa.
After a few moments, his carer joined him; sitting at the other end of the sofa.
‘We still have to observe ‘social distancing’, I’m afraid. Now then, here we are. Together. Isn’t this nice?’
Tm felt enabled to gaze more fully at her legs and narrow, belted waist.
‘Yes, very nice indeed, Mrs Hendry.’
‘I’d like to think that we can behave more as equals in these extra periods. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, of course, whatever you wish.’
‘In these sessions, I like my gentlemen to call me ‘madam’. I think it helps them to stop thinking of me as a servant, you see. Would you like to call me ‘madam’, Mr Symonds?’
‘Oh, well, yes, if that suits you, err, madam.’
Mrs Hendry giggled.
‘and your first name. It’s Timothy, isn’t it? Can I call you Timothy, Mr Symonds?’
‘Yes, that wouldn’t be problem madam.’
‘You remembered, straight away. Such a good boy! Now, do you mind if I ask you a little question, Timothy?’
‘Please, ask away, madam’
She grinned.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I’ve noticed you looking at my legs. Looking quite a lot actually. Are you what we ladies call a ‘leg man’, Mr Symonds?’
Looking somewhat shamefaced, Tim replied, warily.
‘Sorry, I didn’t think I’d been so obvious. All my life. I suppose. Aunties, teachers, neighbours, girlfriends.’
‘And your wife, of course.’
‘Oh, well, yes, my wife, of course.’
‘She did have sexy legs, didn’t she, Timothy? Is it bare legs that you like? Or do you prefer ladies who wear nylons?’
‘Nylons. Definitely nylons.’
‘Yes, a lot of my gentlemen like nylons. I usually wear tights, Timothy. Do you like tights?’
Beginning to feel somewhat flustered, Tim, now staring unabashed at her legs, managed to reply.
‘Yes, oh yes. I like those tights that you’re wearing, madam.’
‘They are nice, aren’t they. Very expensive. A sort of grey colour. So sheer. I always get a lot of men looking at my legs when I wear these tights. I like it when men can’t help staring at my legs. Men like you, Timothy.’
She reached forward and lifted her uniform skirt a little.
‘There we are. You have a nice long look, Timothy.’
She watched him closely and began güvenilir casino to gently caress her nyloned thighs.
Poor Tim was transfixed. To see a woman displaying her legs in such a provocative manner was the stuff of his masturbatory dreams.
‘Why don’t you take your trousers and underpants down, Timothy? Show me just how much you like my lovely legs.’
In a dream-like state, he wordlessly followed her suggestion. Exposing his erect penis.
‘That is so sweet, Timothy. I can see that you really like my legs.’
She crossed them and reached down to adjust her high heels.
‘I expect you’d like to touch them, wouldn’t you? Just a little touch? In normal times I’d let you stroke them. All over. Even up my skirt, if you were a very good boy. But I can’t let you, Timothy; because of the virus. You do understand?’
Tim could only nod his agreement.
‘So, Timmy, why don’t you play with yourself while you stare at my sexy legs’
Tim needed no further encouragement and began to furiously wank his penis.
‘You know, I found another photo of your wife upstairs. She really did have legs to die for, didn’t she. It must have been some kind of publicity shot. She’s dressed in nylons as well. Nylon stockings; and she’s showing her stocking tops too. Would you like to see that photo, Timmy?’
Tim’s mind was in turmoil. She had started calling him ‘Timmy’. She was describing his dead wife in graphic detail while he was giving expression to his perverted lust. How far could he sink?
‘Yes madam, please show me the photo.’
She stood up and fetched her handbag, taking from it, a large black and white photograph. She carefully placed it on the floor, a yard or so in front of feet as she resumed her seat.
‘Come and kneel in front of me, Timmy. Come and see your beautiful wife and her beautiful stockings.’
Tom sank to his knees and stared at the photo.
‘That’s it Timmy. Now, let me see you wank yourself to your sexy wife. I want you to show me how much she turned you on.’
Tim was now engrossed in the photo, her words, his wife, her long sexy legs, her sheer black nylons.
‘Show her, Timmy. Show your wife how she made you feel. I want you to spunk over her photo, Timmy. Do it. Splash her lovely legs with your dirty mess.’
He couldn’t hold back any longer. His cock spasmed and he sent jets of sperm splashing onto his wife’s photo.
‘Good boy, Timothy. Such a good boy. What a lovely way to keep your wife’s memory alive!’ she giggled.
Tom collapsed on the floor in a post-orgasmic daze, whilst Mrs Hendry tidied up.
‘I’ll be on my way then, Mr Symonds. Hope you enjoyed our first extra session. You just lie there and recover. I’ll see you on Monday as usual.’
She blew him a kiss and left our ‘hero’ lying on the floor, degraded, humiliated, but sated. His flaccid penis lying over the now ruined photo of his gorgeous, dead wife.
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