The Great Escape Chapter 12, Part 2 of 10

The Great Escape
Chapter 12, Part 2 of 10

Now Danielle leaned over into his lap. She put her soft lips around the head of his cock and, with a fluttering tongue, began to lick. He hardened further, and she swayed her head as she swirled her tongue around, making pleasant, sloppy noises.

Turning her head to one side, she licked with a sawing motion up the shaft, from base to tip and back down.

"Oh, God! That's beautiful, Darling."

Pleasantly distracted, Roger managed to drive surprisingly well, though the road was a dead straight line, and the car had emergency steering and brakes.

It was harder to concentrate when she eased his balls out of his trousers and began to lick them, her hand gripping his shaft more firmly and slowly wanking.

She licked upward from the bottom of his cock, her fingers pressing around the base of the shaft until she got to the tip. She licked around and around it, until he groaned: "Oh God!

That's beautiful!"

Now she made dipping motions with her head, capturing his cock-head in her mouth and sucking gently before releasing and tonguing around it again.

It was driving him crazy. His cock was full size and straining, the head bright red and hot.

She swallowed down more of his dick, sucking gently, teasing him, half an inch more each time until she had a mouth full. Now she was bobbing her head, adding pressure to her sucking, gently cupping his balls.

He groaned loudly, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

She slowed, making him last, using her hand, sucking only the head, her saliva glistening sweetly in rivulets down his pole.

He wanted to hold or stroke her hair but couldn't take his hands off the wheel. Concentrating was increasingly complex, and he dangerously closed his eyes several times.

Her fingers tightened at the bottom of his shaft. Her head bobbing, she raised his tension wickedly, pulling with more pressure, then flicking with her tongue.

He groaned as she sucked, getting more vocal as he neared his peak.

"Oh, God! That's beautiful. Just like that!" he exclaimed.

She bobbed and sucked.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!"

She swallowed more of his cock down, even getting it into her throat a little. She felt his cock begin to twitch. He was almost there.

"That's wonderful!" he said, groaning.

She turned her head more, so her tongue rubbed on the sensitive top of his cock-head.

"God, Darling! It's perfect!"

She bobbed faster and swiveled her tongue side-to-side as she swallowed him down, pulling up with a firm suction. He couldn't last a minute longer. She felt the orgasm starting in the swelling and heat of his cock.

"Oh God!" he cried out.

She sucked down firmly once more.

"Oh God!"

She braced herself, his cock deep in her mouth, her tongue along his pole. She wanked the base of his shaft. It was now!

"Oh my God! My God! ... AUTODRIVE!"

She almost choked from trying to laugh and swallow his cum at the same time. He spurted long deep surges into her throat, but she managed not to spill any, and she finished him off nicely, sucking to the final spasm and licking up the drips with relish.

She sat up, one hand on his cock, wanking away the final moments of tension while he breathed heavily. A small drip of semen ran down her chin. She collected it up with a delicate fingertip.

"Tell me, Roger," she mused. "Are you going to yell 'auto drive' every time you orgasm?"

"Ha, ha. What you were doing distracted me from driving. I almost steered us off the road."

"I thought you said driving is safe."

"It would have been if you hadn't been slutting me up at the same time."

"Slutting you up? Is that good English?"

"It's not even good American English, but it's apt."

"I don't know if it's apt, but think how it would sound: 'Do you, Roger Harcourt, take this woman to be your lawfully married slut?'"

He didn't laugh. Did she know, he wondered?

"I'm joking," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was thinking of something else. I must say a few things to you and want to get them right."

"What things?"

"Can I tell you later?"

"Of course you can, Darling. I've some news for you as well. We can both wait."

They were silent for the rest of the drive to Woolsthorpe Manor, which Roger left to Aston to accomplish, while Danielle sat back in her seat, enjoying the ride, smiling with self-satisfaction, and chewing a stick of mint gum.

At Woolsthorpe Manor

When they parked and set off for the entrance, Roger said:

"I'm shocked you've never been to Woolsthorpe Manor, Danielle, the childhood home of Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest scientist there has ever been, a fellow of the very college where you now teach physics."

"Yes, my education has been a miserable failure. Thank heaven you're here to put it right."

"Indeed. I'll start your instruction immediately."

He gave her the brief facts of Isaac Newton's life, adding:

"In 1655, when he was twenty-two, Cambridge University shut down due to the plague.

After two years of effort, Newton came home and invented the laws of optics, mechanics, and gravitation, as well as calculus, having previously discovered the binomial theorem.

"Gosh, Roger, that's wonderful memorizing. How much of it do you understand?"

"Not a thing," he happily admitted. "Though I've picked up some science from listening to you."

"Like what?"

"Well, I know the sun goes around the earth, and the moon goes around the sun. Beyond that, however, I'm clueless."

"Idiot!"

"Charming idiot?"

"No, just idiot." But she graced him with one of her happiest smiles.

At this moment, a fluffy pink lady with a big red jolly face, a long flowery dress, and sensible shoes came bustling out of the old stone farmhouse. She'd spied them out of the reception window. Fussing busily, she carried communicators hanging on lanyards over her wrists and a small stack of thin clipboards with crayons.

"How many little angels?"

"I beg your pardon?" Roger replied.

"Children? How many children have you got?"

"None," he said, not following her line of inquiry.

"Oh, what a relief! We're supposed to think young people are delightful, especially as most of our visitors are at school parties. Still, they can be such nuisances! ... These clipboards are for them, to keep them happy and stop them disturbing other visitors and breaking things."

"I'm Gladys," she said through self-introduction, "It's my job to sell you tickets. Two, is it? It's perfect. I'll bring you some change. You'll have to tell me if I'm talking too much. I have a habit of running away with myself. It's nice to have normal visitors, not mannerless schoolchildren or fusty antiquarians."

"Well, one out of two isn't bad," Danielle consoled her. "Do you show us the house, or do we go around alone?"

"You go around on your own. There are holographic guides in all the rooms. Feel free to talk to them; they're too inhuman for my taste. You can use one of these devices instead. Press here, and a nice man will tell you about each exhibit. ... When you're done, sit in the garden, and I'll bring you over some tea and cakes. I bake them myself."

"Thank you, Gladys. We look forward to tea."

"Very good. Come this way: I'll show you where the exhibition starts."

Though old cottages can be quaint, Woolsthorpe was not a beautiful house. The countryside around, dissected into uneven fields by grey stone walls or low hedges and adorned with sheep, had a featureless beauty of its own, especially in the sunshine. Still, the house's main attraction was its age and association with one of the greatest minds in history.

The exhibition was light on Newton's science, assuming only physicists on pilgrimage would care to learn any mathematical details, but it was impressively thorough on the man himself. It outlined Newton's alchemical experiments, studies in Biblical chronology, work at the Royal Mint, and mock-ups of his optics experiments and reflecting telescope.

Knowing the science herself, Roger provided the historical background and the holograms, dressed anciently and adopting inaccurate 'country' accents, providing the social context. By the end, Danielle felt genuinely immersed in Newton's life. It was a relief to walk out into the garden's fresh air and sit at a bench near the fabled apple tree or its great-great-granddaughter.

Gladys brought a tea tray, cakes, elegant china, and napkins decorated with pink flowers. She sat down next to Danielle. Gladys, a woman who craved company, made the most of her few acceptable visitors.

"Well, what do you think of my gentleman?"

It took them a few seconds to realize she meant Isaac Newton.

"He's an inspiration to us all, the nonpareil of geniuses."

Danielle thought Roger was laying it on a bit thick, but she agreed with his judgment.

"He is, isn't he?" Gladys gushed, "Though he was not in every respect an admirable character - all those priority disputes and the like, and he never married - yet no one touches him for brilliance, not even now."

"Indeed," Roger agreed. "Danielle, here, has the privilege of teaching physics at Trinity College. Ouch!"

His exclamation was because Danielle pressed her heel into his instep.

"Oh," Gladys said, "so you understand all that mathematical stuff?"

"Yes."

"But you are such an elegant young lady!"

"Ahem!"

"You don't seem like a mathematician, not cold or intellectual at all."

Danielle could only stare as the fluffy old dear rattled on. Not all she said was nonsense, however.

"I always think Sir Isaac's failing was because he wasn't much of a people person," she said.

"All that physics. It's just things. And the people who come and study him. Historians. All just dead things."

"Ah, yes. Roger, here, is an expert on the Commonwealth and Restoration periods."

Danielle smiled her 'I got you back' smile, but Gladys's smile unexpectedly widened. She beamed benevolently at the pair.

"Ah, then you're perfect for each other... I just so adore when a courting couple comes to visit."

Reading too many romantic novels overwhelmed Danielle's mind, but she was amused. She tried using the mad woman to tease Roger.

"What gave us away?"

"Well, you sit so close together, and he held all the doors open for you."

"Roger is neurotically polite, and he's got no sense of personal space."

"Also, the way you look at each other," Gladys pursued her idea as if Danielle hadn't spoken,

"It's so romantic, so human. I go on and on, I'm afraid. You'll have to stop me, but I think there's too little romance in the world, too little genuine feeling."

"I was saying exactly that to Roger on the way here, wasn't I, Darling?"

"Were you, Dear? Sorry, I don't remember you talking much at all."

"Romance is dead, I told him, Gladys, romance is dead."

"Oh, I hope not, my dear," Gladys gushed, whispering that Roger couldn't fail to hear. "He seems a fine young man. I'm sure he's waiting for the right moment to pop the question."

"Gosh! Do you think so?"

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised," she whispered. "Though young men seem to lack a certain gumption nowadays, I'm sure your young man has more 'go' in him than most."

"Oh yes, he does. He's quite useful."

The two women chattered conspiratorially until another visitor arrived, forcing Gladys to rush off and fuss over him.

When it was sure she wasn't returning, Danielle said:

"She's a CCD short of a telescope, but I like her. ... You're very quiet. What are you thinking about?"

"You, of course."

"Liar!"

"All right, Restoration politics."

"Is that the thing you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No, not exactly, but you said you've got something to say. Why don't you go first?"


To be continued