#clive swift

"More Christmas cards? Are they genuine or more of those you've written to yourself?"

Chapter One: A Scandalous Interlude in Suburbia

In the meticulously curated living room of the Bucket residence, where Hyacinth’s prized Royal Doulton china gleamed under the glow of her “executive-style” chandelier, an unexpected tension simmered. Richard Bucket, his thinning gray hair combed neatly to the side, sat stiffly on the floral settee, his stocky frame clad in a sensible cardigan and tie. Across from him, Emmet Hawksworth, the local operatic society’s director, lounged with a forced nonchalance, his lean build and expressive blue eyes betraying a restless energy. Hyacinth had flitted off to terrorize the neighbors with her latest “candlelight supper” invitation, leaving the two men alone in a rare moment of quiet.

Richard fidgeted, his deep-set eyes darting toward the window.

“She’ll be back soon, you know,” he muttered, his voice carrying the weary cadence of a man long accustomed to Hyacinth’s whims.

“Always checking if the neighbors are keeping up with her standards.”

Emmet’s lips curled into a sly smile, his neatly combed hair catching the light.

“Relax, Richard. You’re wound tighter than a violin string.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ever thought of… loosening up a bit?”

Richard’s mustache twitched, a flush creeping up his fair complexion.

“Loosening up? With Hyacinth around? You must be joking.” But his eyes lingered on Emmet’s defined jawline, a flicker of curiosity betraying his usual resignation.

Emmet rose, crossing the room with a musician’s grace, and knelt before Richard.

“She’s not here now, is she?” he said, his tone teasing but edged with intent. Before Richard could protest, Emmet’s hand found his knee, sliding upward with deliberate slowness.

“Please, Hyacinth might come in. We might get caught,” Richard stammered, his voice cracking as his body betrayed him, a familiar stirring in his trousers.

“Don’t worry,” Emmet murmured, spitting into his palm with a casual confidence that made Richard’s breath hitch. Emmet’s hand wrapped around Richard’s 6.5-inch uncut cock, coaxing it free from his sensible trousers. The light brown shaft, crowned with a smooth pink head, throbbed under Emmet’s touch. Richard’s eyes widened, his balding scalp prickling with sweat.

“God, man, what are you doing?” he whispered, but his hips shifted forward, betraying his words.

Emmet’s lips closed around Richard’s cock, warm and wet, his tongue swirling with a skill that made Richard’s head tip back against the settee.

“Hyacinth would never do this,” Richard gasped, his voice a mix of awe and guilt. The sensation was electric—Emmet’s mouth, slick and relentless, alternated with the firm grip of his spit-slicked hand. Richard’s medium-large balls tightened in their sagging sack, his body humming with a vigor he hadn’t felt since his youth.

Emmet pulled back, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as he tugged Richard’s trousers down, leaving him in nothing but black socks and garters.

“Look at you,” Emmet said, admiring the light gray chest hair dusting Richard’s stocky frame. “Quite the picture.”

He stood, guiding Richard to his feet, then gently but firmly pushed him to his knees. Richard’s heart pounded as he faced Emmet’s 7.5-inch uncut cock, its rounded head glistening.

“Give it a try,” Emmet urged, his voice soft but commanding.

Richard hesitated, old memories—of fleeting, forbidden thoughts from his younger years—surging to the surface. Then, with a trembling breath, he took Emmet’s cock into his mouth, his lips stretching around the unfamiliar weight. He sucked tentatively at first, then with growing fervor, his tongue tracing the shaft as Emmet’s hand rested on his balding head.

“Have you sucked cock before?” Emmet asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Richard shook his head as best he could, his mouth full, his cheeks burning with a mix of shame and exhilaration. Emmet’s strength surprised him as he pulled Richard to his feet, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was all heat and urgency. Richard tried to resist, his mind screaming that this was wrong, but Emmet’s tongue coaxed his into a dance that left him dizzy.

“Bloody hell,” Richard muttered against Emmet’s lips, lost in the passion.

Emmet broke the kiss, his breath hot against Richard’s ear.

“I’m going to make love to you as though you were a woman,” he whispered. “I’m going to fuck you like you fuck Hyacinth.”

Before Richard could process the words, Emmet maneuvered him over the arm of the couch, bending him forward. Richard’s mind reeled—revolted, yet inexplicably pliant, his cock throbbing with anticipation.

Emmet’s lips found Richard’s virgin asshole, his tongue lapping with slow, deliberate strokes. Richard bucked, a strangled moan escaping him as pleasure coursed through his body.

“Oh, God, Emmet,” he gasped, his cock jerking uncontrollably as Emmet’s tongue breached his tight ring, sending waves of ecstasy through him. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of vulnerability and bliss that made Richard’s knees weak.

Then came the press of Emmet’s cock, its slick head nudging against Richard’s spit-lubed hole.

“It’ll hurt too much,” Richard whispered, but his body betrayed him, pushing back against the intrusion.

Emmet eased in, the stretch burning as Richard gasped, tears pricking his eyes. The pain mingled with a strange, primal pleasure, his body yielding as Emmet’s cock filled him.

“Bloody hell,” Richard grunted, his voice hoarse as Emmet began to thrust, each movement harder, deeper, than the last.

Emmet fucked him with a rhythm that was both relentless and precise, his hands gripping Richard’s hairy shoulders. Richard moaned, his body rocking with each thrust, his old asshole stretching impossibly to accommodate Emmet’s length.

“You’re taking it like a champ,” Emmet growled, his voice thick with lust. Richard’s own cock, untouched, pulsed with need, his balls tightening as pleasure built.

When Emmet slammed in deep, his cock pulsing as he came, Richard’s body shuddered, his own climax ripping through him. Cum shot from his cock, splattering the couch, his body trembling as waves of release crashed over him. Emmet pulled him upright, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss, Richard returning it with a passion he’d never shown Hyacinth.

“Richard!” Hyacinth’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and scandalized from the doorway.

Richard froze, his heart lurching as Emmet, with a gleeful smirk, began dressing.

“Sorry, Richard,” Emmet said, his tone anything but apologetic as he slipped out the door.

Richard scrambled to pull up his shorts, his face burning as Hyacinth’s tirade began.

“The lady of the house does not expect such behavior in her executive-style home!” she shrieked.

But as her voice droned on, Richard’s mind lingered on the forbidden thrill, his body still humming with the memory of Emmet’s touch.