Sharing My Landlady's Bed - Sex Stories

Sharing My Landlady's Bed

Sharing My Landlady's Bed

This story concerns the sexual relationship that develops between Robin, a young accountant, and Penelope, the sixty-something owner of a lodging house.

It contains descriptions of anal penetration and rimming, so please pass by if that's not your thing.

Comments welcome as always.

Sylviafan

It all started with the annual trip to Manchester to audit our biggest client, but the events described here would never have happened if my bosses hadn't been such disgusting skinflints. So thanks, guys, you did me a favour!

I'm Robin, a twenty-three-year-old accountant working for a medium-sized practice in Bristol in the south-west of England. It's not a bad firm to work for; the office is pretty vibrant with plenty of staff around my age and a good smattering of attractive ladies in their twenties and thirties. And there's the annual beano to Manchester.

Our outfit mainly services small companies and singleton practitioners but we've got one client who's a Public Limited Company, so it's a big deal for us and we put a big team onto their annual audit, which takes place in the first two or three weeks in January.

Last year I made the team for the first time. I'm not chartered yet, that's a couple of years away, but I'm qualified to do audit work and besides, the company always sends a couple of partners to oversee the junior staff.

Because it's a hundred and seventy odd miles from Bristol to Manchester, the audit team are ...

... accommodated in hotels during the week, with the option of driving home at weekends. Partners get a swanky boutique hotel and the rest of us get a room in a decent chain hotel like a Hilton or Marriott. This year, it turned out, the company secretary had found out that if the junior staff were accommodated in Bed and Breakfast lodging houses, the company could save quite a lot of money.

Well that was all very well, we're all accountants and appreciate a good cost saving when we see one, but part of the fun of going away was the camaraderie in the hotel bar in the evenings. Many a good drinking session took place last January and to cap it all, I spent a night with Lucy, our corporation-tax advisor.

This year we were scattered about the city wherever there was a free room. I was allocated a room at theHollyhocks Guest House, a three-bedroomed terraced house in Old Trafford run by a Mrs Penelope Gregson. It looked dire when I looked on Google; there were certainly no hollyhocks to be seen. The only crumb of comfort was that it was only half a mile from Manchester United's ground, so I might get to see a mid-week game.

I arrived there about six o'clock in the evening of the first day of our audit. It was dark and I'd missed my way a couple of times even with sat nav, so I was tired and irritable and not looking forward to spending the first of far too many nights in a crappy B&B. At least dinner had been thrown in (if that's the right expression) so I wouldn't have to go out ...