Clearwater 2

Chapter 10: 3 August 9:00 AM -- 9 August 5:00 PM – Clearwater 2

It was Saturday, and nine in the morning. This Saturday and Sunday Patricia was visiting her parents. I was just getting up when I got the message.

Dear Hermann,

Can I visit you today? I will knock on your door at half past nine.

Yours truly, Penelope Clearwater

She left me enough time to shave, shower, and dress. I greeted Miss Clearwater when she arrived and offered her a chair and a cup of tea.

"I shouldn't have bothered you on such short notice, but I thought you might like some company on a Saturday. It does look like a nice day today. Did you have something planned? I hope I'm not interfering with anything, but if you're going somewhere I could help you locate the place. Or if you'd rather be alone, I have things I can do. Have you had breakfast yet? I haven't. I was going to have breakfast with Percy, but that didn't work out. Does this hotel serve breakfast? I suppose it does. It looks like a hotel that would do everything for you. Or do you have some favorite place for breakfast? Maybe you like to eat alone, and I could return later. I don't want to be a bother, but mother said you were very understanding about everything. I was going to spend the day with Percy, but he decided he had to go to the office today. He has so much work to do. He has a really responsible job, and everyone's counting on him. That leaves me free for today. I was going to have breakfast with him, but I was put out when he announced he was going to the Ministry today. He would want to look at the Museums again because they're educational. I wouldn't mind doing something else. Is there anything you would like to see? I should be more understanding about Percy, but we haven't done anything together in a long time. I accused him once of seeing another girl. Have you seen much of London yet? There's an awful lot to see. I hope you don't mind my coming by to see you."

"It was kind of you to think of me, Miss Clearwater," I managed to squeak out.

The positive response stopped her monologue. She became the poised individual one would expect of a Hogwarts ex-prefect.

"Do you have a suggestion for breakfast?" I asked. "I would like to see some new places in London."

Yes, she had suggestions about where to go and what to see ... lots. I tagged along, amused at being a Percy substitute. I was amused enough that I complimented Miss Clearwater on her choices, amused enough that I wracked my brain for good questions that she could answer.

Perhaps I was too good a Percy substitute. By early afternoon, Miss Clearwater was saying, "Oh, Hermann, come look at this," and then taking my hand to pull me someplace. By late afternoon, Miss Clearwater was saying, "Come see this, Hermann," taking my hand, and then holding my hand as she showed me her latest find. By late afternoon, Miss Clearwater was saying I should call her 'Penelope.'

This could get frustrating, if I didn't keep my sense of humor. I was Penelope's teddy bear, something to hold until her Percy arrived. If I made the mistake of taking this seriously, it would be a painful experience.

"If I were with Percy, my family would be expecting me to be home soon," Penelope was saying. "I just sent them a message that Percy had to work, and I was spending the day by myself. I told them I would be home later."

Penelope must be thinking that the Percy substitute was more of a swinger than Percy.

"Do you like dining casually? I hope you're not bored," said Penelope.

"Do you know a spaghetti house?" I replied, thinking that Penelope must be desperately lonely to act in such a manner.

"Oh, that sounds great," said Penelope.

Penelope had spent the day being an excellent tour guide. Relaxing over dinner, she talked about herself. After Penelope left Hogwarts, she had initially worked in the Ministry with her father. She didn't say it explicitly, but I got the impression that Mr. Clearwater was a super file keeper with nearly perfect memory and no imagination, an indispensable cog. Penelope, after mastering the job, found it too boring to stay. Penelope was now keeping the books for several shops on Diagon Alley and in Hogsmeade.

"I suppose you think that's a boring life," she asked me.

"No," I replied. "You're an independent business person, responsible for the well-being of several shops."

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" asked Penelope as the salads arrived.

"I hadn't thought about it," I replied.

Penelope looked disappointed. Did I just miss something?

She complained about the problem of gaining the trust of the shop owners. They were all afraid she would reveal their transactions and their secrets. I told her that there were professionals who did similar work. There were contracts and codes of conduct. It was a respected profession, and my family could provide her with some information. We could write them tomorrow. My mother was the one to ask.

"Your mother does this type of work?"

"Yes."

That made me a trusted person, too trusted for my comfort. I heard about her fights with Percy and her father over not working for the Ministry, over how she was wasting her talent and throwing away her life. Girls tell their teddy bears everything.

The spaghetti restaurant was in a trendy part of town. There was a cinema nearby that showed classic flicks. The feature was 'Dracula,' starring Bela Lugosi ... irresistible. Penelope insisted on sitting in the back row of the theatre, which surprised me since I thought she was nearsighted.

During the scene with the coach ride to the castle, Penelope grabbed my hand when the bats appeared. That was understandable. I didn't understand, though, why she kept a grip with one of her hands even after the scary scene. Or why she intertwined our fingers, especially when she did it in such a relaxed manner. Even so, I had to admit that she had nice, elegant fingers, and it gave the comfortable feeling of a couple sharing a night out. She crossed her legs and placed my hand in her lap where I could feel her softness and her warmth.

"That's unfair, girl!" silently screamed her teddy bear, as her teddy bear got an aching erection.

She clutched my arm and buried her face when Dracula's mistresses appeared. They don't have anything on you, Penelope, I grumbled to myself as she pressed my hand into the three way junction of lap and thighs. As an experiment, I leaned my head over, touched and caressed her head with mine, and then returned my head to its upright position. Retaliation was immediate. She shifted in her seat, laid her head on my shoulder, and managed to press her breast against me.

That was too much. Notify the Geneva Convention. Exchange students are not to be subjected to such agony. My erection was pressing against my trousers hard enough that I would never get the zipper marks out.

She hid her face and pressed against me as the world's horniest bat arrived to sink its fangs into a fair damsel. That scene has to be symbolic. I'm not projecting anything onto the screen, am I? That's only a prelude to the torments Miss Clearwater deserves, my frustration said, as I fought down the impulse to sink a few fangs into Penelope Van Helsing. My frustration went out of control. I hope you're damp. I hope you're soaking wet, you witch. I hope you run home and jump under the covers to find release. No, worse than that. I hope you run home, jump under the covers, but the bat doesn't come for you. You spend your life among staid men afraid of what you'll become if you taste the delights of fangs and surrender, among staid men who cannot distinguish between becoming a complete person and becoming a creature of the night. To prevent that, they will wave the cross of rules and propriety at you. To prevent that, they will drive a stake through your heart, killing the love and affection that makes it all enjoyable.

So there, Penelope Clearwater.

My more reasonable voice was telling me that my predicament was my fault. I had agreed to be a Percy substitute rather than spend the day alone. I had spent the day stroking Penelope's psyche. It was easier than I thought it would be, and it was more fun than I thought it would be. I had suggested the horror flick with its sexual themes. My real problem was Percy envy.

There was one more plaintive wail. She was twenty ... only four years older than me. What was I going to do? Rob the cradle?

I moved my hand from the hothouse of Penelope's lap to around her shoulders, which didn't help. It was more chaste, but more possessive. I liked her shoulders and the feel of her hair. The end result was my admiring more of Penelope. In some ways, I was a really good Percy substitute.

We parted for the evening with Penelope saying she would appear at ten the next morning. That would give us all day to write the letter to my mother.

* * *

It was Sunday morning and nearly noon. I had expected Penelope at ten and was beginning to worry. I had mentally gone through several versions of the letter to my family. I hoped they would want to help. I thought they would be eager to help. I wondered if they minded helping. Perhaps with Penelope, I would find the right way to write the letter.

There was a knocking on the door, and I looked out to see Harold Clearwater and some other bloke. I guessed the other bloke to be Percy Weasley, and I was not wrong. What were they doing here? Was it about Patricia or Penelope or both? It didn't look good. I opened the door, and they burst in.

"What time did you meet Penelope yesterday?" asked Harold Clearwater.

"I didn't look at my watch," I said. "Why are you asking?"

"First she said she was going to be alone," said Harold Clearwater, "and then she said she met you."

I waited. I wasn't going to volunteer any information.

"What did you do with Penny?" said Percy Weasley.

"I'm a visitor," I said, still determined not to say much. "We talked about London and what to see."

"She said she was alone," said Harold Clearwater. "I want to know when you met her and what you did."

"I'm not on a tight timetable right now," I said. "What did Miss Clearwater say?"

"She says she met you, you talked a while, and then you wanted to take her to a restaurant and a cinema," said Percy Weasley.

That's not the way I remembered it, but now I had some idea what Penelope had told her father and boyfriend.

"Okay," I said. "Is there something wrong? Has something happened?"

"Now she wants to be an independent bookkeeper and leave her job at the Ministry," said Harold Clearwater.

"She had a promising career at the Ministry," complained Percy Weasley.

I now realized that I was being blamed for Penelope's career decisions. Penelope had already left the Ministry, but they were blaming me for that, too. I was dealing with reasonable people. That was nice. At least I knew what was bothering them. If I were Mr. Weasley, I would have other worries.

"We talked about a number of things," I said, "but not much about the job at the Ministry. Tell me about the job at the Ministry."

To my relief, that worked. Mr. Clearwater and Mr. Weasley were willing to believe that I had talked Penelope out of her job at the Ministry because of my ignorance about the Ministry. They set about convincing me that the English Ministry of Magic was the best place to work, especially for a talented and hardworking girl like Miss Clearwater. I listened patiently. At least I pretended to listen patiently. Mr. Clearwater and Mr. Weasley finally left, convinced that I now realized that my talking Miss Clearwater out of her job at the Ministry was done out of ignorance.

I would have to write the letter to my mother alone, but first I would have to recover from listening to Mr. Clearwater and Mr. Weasley. Mein Gott, no wonder Penelope had left the Ministry.

* * *

Everything was quiet for a few days as Mr. Clearwater and Mr. Weasley stormed around. Tuesday, Patricia Clearwater came to see me. Trust the older ladies for superior maneuvering. The last few days, however, had taken their toll on Patricia.

Patricia was complaining that I hadn't been taking her anywhere, that I was ashamed of her. Did I think she was an old hag, that she was ugly? Didn't I want to be seen with her?

A rational part of my mind wanted to remind her that she was a married woman, and we had to be careful. An even more rational part of my mind told me that this was not the time for rationality.

Patricia had flung herself across the bed in her despair at being unwanted. I approached cautiously.

"I'm sorry I haven't been taking you places," I said, starting to massage her shoulders.

"You do know that wherever we go, everyone is jealous of me," I told her. I said that in all sincerity.

She moaned contentedly as I worked my hands down her back.

"Let me think of something," I said, continuing the massage. By now, she was stretched out on her stomach on the bed. She was wearing only her knickers, and I was between her legs rubbing her back.

I waited until she was relaxed, forgiving, and looking sensuous before saying, "I know. I know what to do. I'll treat you like a little wifey."

That sounds dull, thought Patricia, making the softest of moans when Hermann placed his hands above her knees with his thumbs on her inner thighs and lightly moved his hands up her legs.

"Everyone will know that you're with me, that we're a couple. A husband isn't going to walk around frustrated. He knows enough to seduce his beautiful wife and have her before going anywhere."

That's smug, thought Patricia, spreading her legs wider as Hermann ran his hands up her thighs again.

"You're so sweet," I said, kissing her and moving her knickers aside.

That's forward, she thought, arching her back to permit easier entry.

"You're such a darling," I said, entering her.

What makes him think I'm ready? she thought, gasping as he entered her slick wetness and mounted her round softness with one effortless push.

"Oh, Patricia, you're wonderful, honey, " I said.

This is too routine, thought Patricia, moaning as he made the routine and rhythmic moves of a hubby having his wife.

You can't just calmly take a woman, thought Patricia, rotating her hips in rhythm with his wonderful, insistent demands.

What makes him think this is going to affect me? thought Patricia, filling the room with the wet sounds of a mounted wifey.

No one's going to respond to restrained sex, thought Patricia, writhing as the restrained strokes teased her.

There nothing exciting about domestic stuff, thought Patricia, giving hubby the pleasures of the uncontrolled thrashing of a devoted wifey.

No one's going to go wild over this, thought Patricia, clutching the bed covers and sobbing with the intensity of her mating with her adoring hubby.

Whatever happened to passion? thought Patricia, feeling wonderful as the last waves crashed through her and she lay on the quilt, breathing hard and enjoying her peace and stillness.

That arrogant bastard, thought Patricia, hoping hubby would treat her to another round of smugly possessive sex.

I held and kissed my flushed and sweaty wifey as she enjoyed the afterglow of mating. I held her and told her that she was sexy, that she was a darling, and that there was no one else like her.

When I pulled out of her, she was disappointed. "Aren't you coming? Don't you want me?" she asked.

I told her that mature women were much sexier than men, and I had to save something for after I had taken her out.

"After you've taken me out?" she queried.

"Yes, that's the plan. You're glowing now because you've just had sex with your loving partner, and when we're out you're going to glow and act like a woman who knows she's going to be seduced when we get back. Everyone will know you're with me, and everyone can see I'm very happy you're with me."

Patricia looked interested.

"You were worried that I didn't want to be seen with you," I said. "Let's cure your worries."

I made a production out of it. I took Patricia into the shower with me, and I covered her with soap. Of course, I had a reaction to that, and Patricia kidded me about virility.

I dug out the black silk lingerie for Patricia that I had bought and then hidden in a paper sack under a pile of shirts. I had checked the size of the clothes she wore last week while she wasn't in them. I told her that I hadn't found time yet to gift wrap her new lingerie.

"That's exactly like a husband," she informed me.

Glad that I was playing the role so well, I choose a standard uniform of my blue blazer, light blue shirt, grey trousers, and tie. We took the mundane route of the lift and then walked through the hotel lobby. Once we were outside I informed Patricia that every eye had followed her through the lobby and had identified her as my mistress. I assured her that I was not kidding.

First, some tea. I suggested that she help me buy a tie, and then I would buy her some lingerie. I told Patricia that I had memorized the brand and size of the black silk lingerie she was now wearing. Would she like white or Ravenclaw blue or bronze? I also suggested that when we returned to my rooms we have sex like an old couple, lying side by side facing each other.

"You mean ho-hum sex?" she asked.

"Yes," I whispered in her ear. "Like I've already fucked you thousands of times, like I'm going to fuck you thousands of more times, and this is one more time I'm having you."

The vision of all that routine passion had its effect on Patricia. The rest of the day she crossed her legs, held my hand, rested her hand on me, and pointed her knees at me like a devoted wifey.

As I was selecting a tie, the clerk approached, looked at Patricia, said, "Are you helping your s...?" looked at Patricia and me again, gave me a solemn nod, and returned to the counter.

I choose a dark blue, rough-textured tie with a pattern of repeated small, bronze thistles. It was severe, but classic. The clerk looked at Patricia and commented on my good taste.

In the lingerie shop, I explained to the sales girl what I wanted while Patricia stood regally by my side.

"Could we see them in white, off-white, blue, and bronze?" I asked.

Patricia held the individual garments to her face to check compatibility with skin color.

"This one?" asked the sales girl.

"Yes," I said placing my hand on Patricia and giving her a small squeeze. "This is what I want."

Patricia radiated mature sexuality.

By the time I paid for the selection, the sales girl was entranced. Obviously I was buying lingerie for my lady. Obviously my lovely lady had a lovely time while I was getting every lovely thing in her lovely lingerie.

Time, once again, for tea and biscuits. Patricia wanted the private table in the corner where we could hold hands. Later, I was the model of propriety as we walked through the hotel lobby and entered the lift. Patricia snogged me all the way to our floor. By the time I had the door locked, Patricia was down to black silk and was hauling me into the bedroom. This was almost too successful. I hadn't yet removed my blazer, and Patricia was guiding me to her silk covered breasts.

Wait. This isn't too successful. Nothing bad can happen. I'll get everything I want, the way I want it. Do it like a hubby, I reminded myself. Calmly take her.

I forgot about my blazer as I made contact with the silk. Yes, there are lovely things in Patricia's lingerie. I was a grateful cat licking a shapely bowl of cream. I licked her neck while I gently pawed both breasts and felt her respond as the silk moved across her nipples.

Every part of Patricia was lovely and alive. I casually kissed and caressed whatever was handy as Patricia frantically worked at getting my blazer, tie, and shirt off. Before Patricia got to my trousers she was on her back and incoherent as I fondled and licked her breasts.

I remembered the shopkeepers, the people in the tea shop, and the guests in the hotel lobby. They had seen Patricia and me together, and they had expectations. They could tell by the way she walked and acted that she would soon be moaning and writhing. I had promises to keep.

With no hurry, I removed her knickers, spread her legs, parted her folds, and scouted the promised land with my tongue. The shopkeepers nodded approval as Patricia moaned and gripped my head as my tongue touched the promised land. The people in the tea shop smiled knowingly as Patricia writhed, arched her back, and groaned as my tongue entered the promised land. The guests in the lobby sighed with relief as Patricia cried out my name and squeezed me with her thighs as my tongue took the promised land. I had delivered the promised Patricia – smiling, flushed, and breathing hard.

I removed the rest of my clothes, and we were lying side by side.

I whispered in her ear, "Having sex with me is part of your life. I've had you a thousand times, and I want to have you again. It's soul-satisfying to have you."

I continued, "I'm going to have sex with you a thousand more times, just with you. You're special to me."

What happened next is merely a routine, domestic scene. He ran his fingers through her hair ... the hair he knew so well ... the hair that let him identify her across a crowd of people. She held him and let him calm her and soothe her. She let him slowly began their intimacy. When she felt comfortable enough to want more, she sighed with contentment, pressed against him, and gave him small, welcoming kisses. He welcomed her in kind, and then nibbled his way down her neck to one of her breasts ... the breast of his athletically built lady ... a breast he constantly claimed was the right size and shape for him. After all, he had chosen to romance her with full knowledge of her figure ... a figure he liked. He had chosen to romance her because she was an intelligent, classy lady ... a lady he wanted for a companion ... a lady to whom he wanted to give pleasure.

His companion held him and moaned as he kissed and caressed her breasts. Exciting sex is supposed to be unrestrained, thought his companion, as she responded to his restrained attention. Wanton desire grew in his lady until she could no longer resist. She took his cock in her loving, gentle fingers and then slid down to take his cock between her warm, moist lips. She liked kissing her lover's beautiful cock, and the feel of it in her hands and mouth inflamed her. She wanted his cock inside her. When he spread her legs and entered her, it was the best thing in the world. His wanting to have her was better than an orgasm. The thought that his cock was only for her and they would do this over and over again made it twice as sweet. He was inside her making the insistent moves that had his companion making her distinctive sounds of coupling. It really isn't that exciting to be taken in a calm, unhurried, self-assured manner, she told herself, as his calm, self-assured moves stripped away her rationality. She could only feel her need to have more of him.

The thought that he was her loving hubby bored into her mind. He knows what I'm like, and he accepts me, she thought. I can't do anything wrong for him. I can have him any way I want to, and he'll like it.

She rolled on top of him, straddled him, and moved for him the way she had always wanted to move. Her hair hung down over a face shaped by her passion. Her body twisted with the urgent demands of her unbearable need. Her hair tossed and her face glowed with desire as she performed her wild romp on her sweetheart. She let herself grunt and moan with lust as she thrust herself on her darling's cock. Her moves became wild enough that he had to hold her to keep inside her. She pummeled him with the uncontrollable demands of her coupling. She cried out his name as he gave her the sex she wanted. Her vagina fired the signal to her brain, and she cried out incoherently as the mind-blinding message erased her thoughts. She collapsed on her lover. Her thankful spasms of gratitude milked him dry as he gushed inside her.

Ah, yes, at home with Patricia.

I held Patricia as she gradually recovered. I had expected no less from my intelligent and classy lady ... my lovely and worthwhile companion.

It was a soul-satisfying experience. Patricia was special.