Jaszby Cowlishaw had made a great success in America but he was still haunted by things that happened to him in Lockley, a small town in Derbyshire, England. The problem was, as a schoolboy, Jaszby tended to fall hopelessly in love at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, he fell for the meanest most spiteful girls in the school. There was one girl in particular who thought it great sport to toy with his affections and then make it into a big joke.
His last name being Cowlishaw didn’t help the situation. She often referred to him as Moo Moo and to make matters worse he suffered from acne, sported thick horn-rimmed glasses and wore his cousin’s cast off clothing. Fortunately, his cousin was a boy.
In moments of nostalgic meanderings, he’d see her married to some hard drinking, chain smoking bum; some guy that fucked her without any genuine feeling of love or respect.
“Perhaps,” he mumbled to himself, “Perhaps she regrets not marrying someone like me, someone who would have treated her right.”
In spite of so many years having past, in his mind, her face of was as vivid as ever. He’d loved the girl more than anything in the world but she treated him like a piece of shit.
In the end, his therapist suggested that he should go to England, confront her and that maybe he would find some closure.
“You can’t go around carrying baggage like this all your life,” he said.
Jaszby contacted a private detective and within days he was flying into Manchester airport wondering if he was doing the right thing. The gumshoe he’d chosen was a disheveled, chain-smoking, Bogart doppelganger, but he had produced results and located the woman in question.
Theresa Brown, nee Lindley, was widowed after her husband, an avid rock climber, had been scraped off the rocks at nearby Matlock Bath. That’s where she now ran a little tea shop and bakery. He walked out of Bernie’s office with a little dossier in his hand, trembling at the thought of meeting her again.
Jaszby began by going to the picturesque little town of Matlock Bath and it only took him ten minutes to find the tea shop in question. He stood outside for a while trying to figure out how to exact revenge against the girl who’d made him cry in front of the whole class.
“Maybe I’ll be an obnoxious customer,” he thought, “I’ll teach her how it feels to be humiliated in front of a lot of other people,” but when he walked in the shop there wasn’t a single customer. It was a rundown establishment, with a few cakes on some improvised shelving, and behind the counter stood a rather sad looking Theresa.
He sat down at a table by the window and to his amazement the girl who had taunted him unmercifully at school, came straight over and blurted out, “You’re Laurence Cowlishaw – ain’t you? I thought you’d gone to America.”
His jaw dropped a mile and he stammered incoherently, but whatever he said was lost in the enthusiastic garble of Theresa. She said she never forgot a face, and then insisted he had some coffee and cake in the house. Sitting across from him she rolled those big blue eyes just like she used to do at school.
However, she didn’t seem to be the confident manipulative little bitch she was back then. In fact, there were tears in her eyes as she started to tell him what a failure she was.
“I’ve spent all my husband’s insurance money on this horrible shop and now I’m going broke,” she sniffled, then after blowing her nose rather loudly on her apron, she continued, “I can’t bake worth a shit,” she said, “You’ll see what I mean when you taste that cake. But I can’t close because I have a long lease and the owner wants two thousand pounds to cancel it.”
She started to cry, even suggested she might become a nun, and Jaszby, instead of seeking revenge, found himself reaching for his checkbook so that he could bail her out.
“Why would you do something like that?” she asked.
“We’re old school chums aren’t we?” he replied, having to swallow his pride somewhat.
“Yes – but – ” She looked at him with those beautiful big blue eyes again, “I might never be able to repay you.”
“Don’t let’s worry about that – let’s just say it’s an old friend helping out an old friend.”
When she took the check from him there were tears of joy in her eyes. But suddenly she came to life, ran over to the door, locked it and pulled the blinds on the window.
“Lawrence,” she said, “When my husband died I swore I would never allow any other man to fuck me but I’m going to break that pledge for you.”
Before he could reply she slipped off her dress and was standing there in her panties and bra, and two seconds later she wiggled out of those. He remembered her as being a good looking girl at school but he never imagined her body parts would develop so nicely.
Soon her perky tits were pressed against his chest and her lips crushed against his. Before long he was stripped down and had her leaning up against the cake shelves as he plowed it into her ass.
Prune Danish and Bran Muffins were scattered all over the floor as he forcefully rammed his cock into her. With his arms extended around her so that he could hang onto her soft warm tits, he continued to thrust it in and out as she was moaned and groaned out loud.
Theresa was longing for him to drop it a notch and slide into her hot wet crack. When he did so, she screamed and continued to scream as he increased his pace and the perspiration from his brow dripped onto her naked back.
When his balls felt as if they were going to boil and drop off he shot his load. Theresa shoved her ass hard against his groin as if to get as much of his dick and goo into her pink orchid as was humanly possible. Whatever residue was left she sucked out with her full ruby lips, digging her nails into his ass so she could force it deep into her mouth.
Noting his cock was still erect, and capable of another round, she brushed all the cakes and plates off of the counter with a sweep of her arm and lay on it with her legs dangling over the end and her cunt open for business. As he pounded her pussy he could see her tits swaying from side to side and this made him frantic to cum for the second time.
His powerful thrusts began to move the counter over the tiled floor, and a shelf, that she attempted to hold onto, fell off the wall with a clatter. The whole place was looking like a war zone as he continued to plow it into her.
Theresa was in a state of complete ecstasy, her eyes were closed, her breath restricted to short gasps and she felt as though there was an electric current running through her entire nervous system. When his goo streamed into her love tunnel she clamped her hands onto her tits and arched her back. He slammed it into her a few times for good measure and then fell back into a chair.
“What would you say if I asked you to marry me Theresa?” he inquired, as he tried to regain his breath.
“Marry you? Are you kidding me?”
She abruptly sat up on the end of the counter, looking quite indignant.
“Nobody could replace my Arthur, nobody, and certainly not you.”
“Don’t tell me you married that thug Arthur Brown, the guy who stuffed my head in the toilet after he’d just had a crap in it.”
“Well at least he was a real man –he wasn’t a spotty, four-eyed wimp like you were,” she said defensively.
“No I guess he wasn’t,” replied Jaszby putting on his clothes, “You’re quite right.”
Zipping up his flies as he walked out into the street he quickly got on his cell phone to his secretary in the States, intending to cancel the check, but then he had second thoughts and told her to send Theresa some flowers.
“I bet Arthur wouldn’t have done that,” he mused.