The girl riding Mrs Scott began to make quick intakes of breath, to jerk her body
spasmodically up and down. Then she stiffened, raising her jaw and stretching
her neck muscles, holding absolutely still for a few seconds before collapsing,
moaning, onto the body of the woman beneath her. Mrs Scott had sensed in
her own vagina a faint fluttering. She had almost approached one of her own
precise little orgasms and for a moment she considered rolling Connie on her
back, climbing on top of her and, belly to belly, continuing the delicious rocking
motion which had earlier brought such gasps of excitement from the girl.
Connie began feverishly to kiss Mrs Scott on the throat, on the chin, more dry
kisses on her mouth. Then, gripping the older woman's shoulders, she pushed
herself up, bouncing into a sitting position astride Mrs Scott's chubby waist.
She leaned back and pushed her long dark hair back from her face, then
swayed forward, sitting erect again. She licked her dry lips.
"My God," she said hoarsely, then began to lower herself down to stretch
onto Mrs Scott's body again.
"No," Mrs Scott said. "Listen to me, listen to me…." gripping Connie by her
slender shoulders.
Connie sat back, straddling the older woman thighs, her dark wet pubic hair
in startling contrast to the lighter, grey-stranded bush beneath her.
"Remember what I told you," Mrs Scott said.
Connie looked a little troubled, but nodded dumbly in obedience.
"You love…" Mrs Scott prompted.
"I love…" Connie struggled,".Yes, I said it, I love you," she said.
Mrs Scott shook her head.
"I love only women," Connie said. "Yes, I love only women."
"Yes, " Mrs Scott said. "What are you?"
"You know. I'm a girl who adores women," Connie said. "Can we …?"
She placed a hand on Mrs Scott's left breast.
"No, this was only to prove it to you." Mrs Scott said, and Connie's face
fell in disappointment and she childishly pouted her lips. With her pale
face, slender nose and abundant dark hair, Connie was indeed beautiful
and Mrs Scott was very satisfied with her night's work so far. She was
actually enjoying this and was surprised by the very pleasant
engorgement of her clitoris. Considering their inexperience, she thought
she and the girl had performed admirably.
When Connie had called two hours earlier she had left her red sports car
at the end of the driveway under the streetlight. There was light drizzle
of rain falling and the dark top of the car was up.
"Hi, I'm Oliver's Mom, won't you come in," Mrs Scott said graciously,
thinking that her
son had really picked a beauty this time.
Connie was tall and slim, wearing a black suit with narrow trousers over
high-heeled boots. Her skin was very pale and she had a sweetly tilted
nose and a pretty mouth, tilted down at the corners, which illuminated her
face with an unexpected radiance when she smiled.
"Oliver will be down shortly" Mrs scott said. " Connie, isn't that right?
Will you have coffee - a drink? Please call me Cathy, by the way."
"Thank you, uh, Cathy, " Connie said. "Perhaps just an orange juice."
The comfortable living-room was in shadow, with just a small table lamp
glowing through a red shade in the corner.
"I'm hoping to study medicine," the girl said. "Oliver tells me you are
a doctor,"
"Oh no, that was a long time ago," Mrs Scott smiled. "I gave it up soon
after I got married."
Connie appeared the sort of girl who would be more likely to flick
impatiently through a magazine that to enter into conversation with an
older woman such as Mrs Scott, but she submitted willingly enough to
questions about herself. She admitted to having dated rather freely.
"But Oliver is different," Connie said, and Mrs Scott believed she meant
it. Love was a nicer word, a better long term prospect. But infatuation,
though much derided and short-lasting, was the only truly exhilarating
feeling in this sad world, Mrs Scott thought. And this girl was on edge.
She was desperately conscious of being in Oliver's house and that she
was now talking to his mother. She was "in love." She had obviously
not noticed anything wrong with her drink, which she had almost finished.
Connie would not have known how she found herself with Mrs Scott at
the window that looked out over the lawn. The rain had been falling all
day, after a long dry spell and the old, silver-grey timbers of the house
were soaking moisture up like a ship long in dry dock, grateful but
grumbling slightly in protest as they became swollen again with damp.
The pretext had been to show Connie the sea, which was about a
hundred yards away, the beach lying just beyond the end of the lawn,
which was marked by a hedge of shrubby veronica and patches of
tasmarisk and sea-thrift. There was a faint dull roar from the breakers,
which were just luminous enough to see in the gloom, but Mrs Scott
drew Connie's attention to the raindrops as they beat against the
windowpane and ran in sparkling rivulets down the glass.
"So beautiful, don't you think?" she said.
Mrs Scott rested her hand gently on Connie's shoulder and
together they watched as the tiny beads of rain gathered on the
glass to collect, tremble on the pane, then finally, overcoming
whatever tension held them there, stream downwards. Connie's
breathing rate had dropped and her eyes were now closed under
their long lashes.. Shadows and points of light were projected
on her pale skin by the streetlights outside. Mrs Scott, her hand
on the fragile shoulder bones, could feel the warmth rising from the
girl's body, yet when she touched Connie's forehead it was cool
and dry. Mrs Scott felt a moment's regret for what she was
about to do to Connie but, so far as Oliver was concerned, she
was without scruple.
She began to speak slowly and insistently into the sleeping girl's ear.
Then, when she felt Connie was ready, she brought her into the next
room and sat her down on the day bed and told her to remain asleep
but to open her eyes. She began to question Connie about more
personal matters and quickly confirmed that she was promiscuous
and then learned that she had had an abortion when she was nineteen.
Connie had thought she had no sexual interest in other women but now,
under Mrs Scott's tutelage, she would know different. When Mrs Scott
kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her simple day-dress Connie
stared in astonishment at the fleshy naked body standing over her. It
wasn't a perfect body, though there was an attractive symmetry to the
fleshy thighs and the soft gourd of the belly, and the older woman's
breasts were quite cheekily pert for a woman of fifty- five.
"Would you like to make love to me?" Mrs Scott asked.
Without only a whimper Connie fell on her knees and buried her face
between the older woman's thighs. Mrs Scott raised her up and helped
her to remove her clothes. She stared down at her conquered foe, naked
and waiting for her. The girl's body was sweet and clean, with a
luxuriant dark bush, narrow waist and small but perfect breasts.
Satisfied, Mrs Scott sighed and climbed on top of the girl.
"I can show you a simple technique," the red-haired woman had said,
before it all started. The women's' group was not quite what Cathy
Scott had expected when she took up the invitation from a friend to
whom she had gone in desperation. In spite of the sober colonial-style
furnishings, the large overheated room smelled of patchouli and joss
sticks and probably marijuana. The red-haired woman had been giving
a talk on herbal medicine although, as she jokingly confided to Mrs Scott
later "I'm more at the witchcraft end of things." The woman had predatory
green eyes and raddled skin with incipient wattles beginning to mar the
lines of her strong jaw. Her hair, which was rather a strange color, was,
she confided, tinted with herbal dyes. She was probably ten years older
than Mrs Scott who, at forty two then, was frantic at having discovered
her husband had been having an affair for over a year. Technique?
Did she mean a sexual technique? It turned out that, in spite of her
rather raffish appearance, this was the red-haired woman's own house.
Cathy Scott didn't quite trust her, but was intrigued enough to stay behind
after the others had left.
Because the woman used a carriage clock with a brass pendulum to
induce a trance after persuading her guest to take a teaspoon of a white
powder in her drink, Mrs Scott could tell she had been out for three
periods of ten minutes each and one of over half an hour. It was about
one o'clock in the morning when the red-haired woman rang a cab for her.
At the door she handed Mrs Scott a large jar of brown glass with a screw
top which she had put in a paper sack and surprised Mrs Scott by kissing
her on the lips. Straightening her skirt in the cab, Mrs Scott was puzzled
when she noticed the run on the left thigh of her nylons, which she had
stopped, with a dab of nail-varnish. She had noticed the run putting on
her stockings that morning, but it had been on the stocking on her right
leg! She was even more astonished to hear on the cab radio that it
was Friday morning, considering that she had met the red-haired woman
on Wednesday night.
She was terrified that Oliver would be frightened and that her husband
might have called the police. But he was, of course, out and a
surprisingly calm Oliver said:
"A lady rang and said you were spending the day with her. She
seemed nice."
When Mrs Scott opened her purse she found her own pale blue panties
freshly laundered and packed in a plastic bag. Intrigued, she went
upstairs and lifted her dress. She was wearing a tiny pair of new
white panties with a large heart drawn in crimson lipstick on the crotch.
She felt vaguely sick at first. She would have to examine her vagina
daily for signs of discharge or herpes for several weeks to come. Then
she sat down on her bed, bit her lip and smiled. She was embarrassed
and more than a little curious as to how the red-haired woman had used her,
but all in all, she thought she had had good value. If it worked!
The following day she began the induction techniques on her erring
husband.
The house was very quiet after the noise of the sports car had died into
the night. It had been embarrassing at the end, with the girl weeping and
begging, kneeling before her and hugging Mrs Scott's ankles. For a
moment she had felt a perverse pleasure that a girl of twenty-two should
kneel in abasement before a greying woman of fifty-five with a thickening
waist and an embarrassingly large ass. Cathy Scott had instructed
Connie in her soft, insistent voice that she would remember nothing of
tonight but her new-found desires when she came out of the trance. Then
the girl's instructress had opened her thighs and permitted Connie to crawl
gratefully between them. Slavering helplessly over the older woman's
still dark and luxuriant bush, she was allowed show what a good student
she was by eating Mrs Scott out. Again Mrs Scott was brought almost to
the brink, but she knew now that she could wait. She gently lifted the girl's
head and led her to the downstairs bathroom to shower before going home.
At the door she kissed her gently on the lips.
The stairs creaked and the house seemed to groan softly in the wind as Mrs
Scott made her way up the second flight of stairs to the turret room. Her
husband had proved a disappointment. His silly little affair ought to have
been enough to warn her that his powers were waning, even if, in her
inexperience, she hadn't noticed before. Although brought successfully to
heel, he had never brought her near ecstasy. At least he hadn't died like
the husband of a friend, after being removed by paramedics from another
woman's bed. He had quietly suffered a heart attack in his study, a glass
of scotch in his hand, while Mrs Scott masturbated in the turret room above
and the wind blew forlornly outside.
The room was board panelled with a timber floor and rag rugs and a bow
window overlooking the Sound. . There was a brass sextant together
with a brass and leather telescope on a shelf. On the moonlit windowsill
there was an exquisite model of a whaler that had taken Oliver nearly three
years to make, and a Bermuda rig schooner half-completed on the table.
He would never need to work, and this was how he occupied most of his
time. The house had belonged to a retired sea captain and Mrs Scott
often thought she could still smell the ghost of his navy-cut tobacco in
the timbers. The old imagined captain was a special love of hers and
sometimes Oliver played that role for her. She herself had been
Madame Bovary or Connie Chatterley for him, or other anonymous,
desperate women as the mood took her. But the role of Mommy was
probably her best, the one that still excited Oliver most.
Oliver was sitting in the wicker chair as she had left him, staring blankly
at the raindrops on the window. The moon had come out now and the
drops of water on the window were projected on his face. He was so
beautiful that she thought she felt her womb move within her as she
removed the rough army blanket that covered him and turned to spread
it on the bed. When she turned back he was standing and his erection
was like a bleached bone in the moonlight. Mrs Scott led him to the bed
and when he lay down she tucked the blankets tenderly around him and
kissed him on the lips.
Mrs Scott rested her heavy knee on the bed and dropped her robe from
her shoulders, allowing it to slide with a faint hiss to the floor. She
climbed over Oliver, feeling the hairy male kiss of the blankets on her
ample buttocks as she heaved over him, then lowered the soft pudding
of her belly on to his and sheathed his erection until she was securely
in the saddle and fully united with him. The wind shook the house again
and its vital timbers shivered as clouds scudded across the moon. The
sea was a faint dreamy roar. Normally she either rolled to the inside of
the bed, taking him on top of her or Oliver reversed their positions and
enjoyed her quickly, leaving more leisured lovemaking until she had
managed to arouse him again later. Tonight, however, she would not
be denied. He knew her in this mood and after a couple of fruitless
attempts to unseat the heavy woman pressing down on him he submitted.
Lifting herself, but with her breasts still caressing his body she gripped
the bed-rail. The bed began to creak as her movements became more
rhythmic and waves of pleasure mounted in her. She enjoyed the sound
of the wind, the warm roughness of the blankets on her skin and the silky
friction she was generating against the walls of her vagina and the electric
touch of his skin all along the length of her body. The bed-head banged
against the wall. She was acutely aware of their complete privacy in the
huge house, of her utter possession of him. She began to pant like an
animal, grinding against his hips. Oliver tried to match her, but remained
pinned, virtually helpless under the weight of his mistress. He began
to moan loudly in capitulation as Mrs Scott's breath shortened. The
bed-head beat regularly against the timbers of the wall and she began to
gasp, then gave an exultant shriek, which reverberated down the well of
the house as she rode him triumphantly to climax.