Peter had a dilemma. He had rather fallen in love, or was it lust, and didn't know what to do about it! Peter chided himself for being an old fool. He ought to know better at his age. After all, he was thirty-five, for pity's sake, not some lovelorn teenager "young, dumb and full of cum”, as his American friend and former brother-in-law Bart would have succinctly put it.
Bart had been a steadfast friend, particularly over the last difficult couple of years, which would have been unbearable without his staunch presence. He was always the first to step forward and offer help when needed. They had first met in the local pub in the small Lincolnshire village where Peter was born and had spent the greater part of his life.
Bart was a young airman at the nearby airforce base and was lost and homesick for his Connecticut home's green hills and rolling meadows.
They hit it off immediately and became firm friends. Peter had invited Bart to the family home, a farmhouse just outside the village. Peter's father, John, was a farmer, as had been his father and his father before him in an unbroken line that stretched back to the seventeenth century and probably before. When his father decided it was time to retire, Peter would continue the tradition, but he would be the last as he had no children.
Bart met Tulip, Peter's sister, at Peter's house, and they immediately fell for each other. The romance had blossomed into love, and the two had married six months after first meeting. Bart had left the Air Force and settled in the UK, initially at the farm where he worked as a farm labourer and later in Lincoln, where he had moved with Tulip. They had two children, and Bart had done rather well and owned and ran one of the largest employment agencies in the area. Unfortunately, the marriage had fallen apart several years ago due to Bart playing around. Bart couldn't keep his pecker in his pants.
And what a pecker he had, Peter thought. It was at least nine inches in length and thick, too. He had seen it closely in action many times and was always impressed. His own six inches was a fine enough specimen but looked tiny compared to Bart's monster. It was Bart and his dirty little secret that many times in the past few years since Bart had split up with Tulip, they had teamed up for a threesome with a girl or woman whom Bart provided. He didn't know where Bart sourced them, but he had always found attractive girls willing and enthusiastic to be fucked every which way by a couple of horny men.
Peter had enormously enjoyed these sessions, which Bart organised in the luxury flat Bart had bought after his marriage break up. But circumstances had changed, and it had been over two years since the last time they had partied together. He sighed as he thought of how long it had been since he last had sex. Too long.
'Peter, are you there,'
He heard his name called weakly as if the caller had used up all their available energy in speaking these few words and had exhausted themselves in the effort. He walked into the downstairs dining room, converted into a bedroom for his wife, Poppy. She had been paralysed in a riding accident two years before and was bed-bound.
Peter tenderly helped his wife to drink water and then wiped her mouth. He hated seeing Poppy like this. She had been such an energetic, dynamic person who was universally loved and respected by all within her orbit. Now, she was a pale shadow of that person, and Peter knew that she longed for death to release her from this nightmare. Peter loved his wife and still thought of her as the most beautiful woman he had ever met, even though her face was now gaunt and careworn, tinted with yellow, the result of a permanently damaged liver.
Poppy now needed constant care, and her dedicated team of Sally and Marcia came twice a day to tend to her. Between their visits, a care worker visited and spent a few hours helping Poppy feed herself, keeping her clean, and tending to the bed sores from which Poppy inevitably suffered.
The other carers attending Poppy were one in the morning and another in the late afternoon, both provided by Bart's Agency at minimal cost to the family. The carers sent by the agency were usually women or girls employed on an ad hoc basis and receiving minimum wages. They were typically young and foreign, coming and going like dew on a hot summer morning. Some were pretty good, but most were hopeless, and Peter had to watch them while they were in the house.
Thus, Peter was surprised when Eve had turned up one morning a few days before. The agency had rang to inform Peter of her imminent arrival, so Peter was expecting her. What surprised him was the age of the lady. She looked to be in her fifties or early sixties. Her somewhat lived-in face suggested a hard life, although her body looked in good shape for a woman her age. She had somewhat startlingly wavy, blonde hair down to her shoulders. He thought it looked like a wig, but he was sure it was not. She cared for it, and the colour was probably out of a bottle.
When she spoke, he was immediately captivated by its sexy huskiness and timbre, which betrayed a past or maybe current smoking habit. Her accent was hard to place. At first, he thought she was Polish, but when he asked her, she laughed and said close. She was from Moldova, that tiny country sandwiched between its much larger neighbours, Ukraine to the north and Romania to the south. Most people had never heard of the country, or at least until February 2022, when the Russian invasion of Ukraine had shone the spotlight of World Media attention on the region. Even so, its capital, Chisinau, was probably the least known or visited in Europe.
Eve said she had been a doctor in Moldova for many years, but the money she got for working long hours in a hospital was inadequate. Eve found she could earn better money working abroad, initially in Germany and later in the UK. She had left her husband and family in Moldova but visited home at every opportunity.
After their brief chat, Eve went about her duties. Peter was impressed by the gentle efficiency in her dealings with Poppy, who could be difficult, particularly with new carers. Still, she appeared happy with Eve and allowed her to give her the daily bed bath without a murmur.
Over the next few days, Peter found that his thoughts increasingly turned to Eve and daydreamed about what he would do with her if given the chance. It was unusual for him as he had no previous history of a particular attraction to older women. So when Bart turned up unexpectedly, he told his friend about his strange interest in the Moldovan woman.
'Eve, she's one of my girls,' he said and laughed.
'I mean, she works for my agency. Why do you want to fuck her? I guess we can arrange that. Maybe she would like me to join in too, and we can party like we used to. It's been too long, and you'll be forgetting what the thing between your legs is for apart from pissing.'
Peter was amazed. He had often wondered whether the girls he found for their threesomes worked for his agency and now thought he had the answer.
'Do you think that she will agree?'
'Yeah, I think she will. Why not? When I promise her some of my famous mega-cock and some extra hours, I'm sure that she go for it.'
In most men, Peter would have thought them boastful idiots, but he had seen Bart in action and how women seemed to be attracted to him and like to be near him. Despite all of the pain and anguish he had put her through, his sister Tulip still loved him to bits and never had a bad word to say about him or tolerated others who did. He had to admit that he was envious.
The following day, the agency rang to say that a new carer would be coming that morning. He asked what had happened to Eve, and she told him Eve had other duties and had been reassigned. The girl who came was grossly overweight and had bad skin. It was the work of Bart, the fixer.
Several days passed, and there was no word from Bart. And finally, just as he had concluded that she had rejected Bart's offer, he received a message. The carer to come that afternoon was to stay an extra couple of hours and could Peter go to his former brother-in-law's apartment to deal with some urgent business.
As Peter drove the short distance to Lincoln, his excitement rose the nearer he got to his destination. His cock responded by getting so hard that it was uncomfortable, and several times, he had to adjust his trousers. Could Bart have convinced Eva to join them in a threesome? It seemed unlikely, and Peter prepared himself for the slight disappointment he would feel if he were to find a different woman waiting at Bart's flat.
