Sex in the Sky

” As always, here’s my disclaimer! This story is *gasp* NOT fantasy based! Yes, it’s true! No vampires and wereleopards or angels and demons in this story! For those of you who are familiar with my fantastical work, please, give this one a fighting chance! Hopefully you’ll enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. This is a full fledged story, romance and love with a tiny bit of pain play tossed in. If you are looking for a piece in quick porn, please move on to a story more suited. If you’re looking for a well thought out piece of fiction - step into my office!

Enjoy!”

*

“Be mine”

The green heart shape candy made a rather satisfying crunch when crushed between Zach’s teeth.

“My love”

Zach gave a little snort, and then popped the pink candy into his mouth, following it with another resounding crunch.

“Soul Mate”

“Yea right.” He growled out, tossing the white heart across the room angrily.

See, it hadn’t been long since Zach had thought all of those things had applied to a certain some one. A certain some one, who was unable to keep his dick in his pants while Zach went away to college.

Yea, Peachy. At least that’s what Zach thought when he’d come home for Christmas break only to find his high-school sweetheart shacked up with the red-headed Chess Club President.

Zach had to admit, the boy didn’t look like any Chess Club President any more.

But that was beside the point!

Eric had been Zach’s, and Zach’s alone. They’d discovered their sexuality together, they’d made love together for the first time, they’d love each other, and they’d been inseparable, unbreakable!

Or so he’d though.

It had been a hard break for Zach to accept, but he’d had the good fortune to be able to return to his dorm room, and his room mate Adrian who had been rather supportive of the whole thing.

Adrian wasn’t gay, he dated woman, hell he flirted with anything that showed a bit of cleavage, but when it came to Zach and his sexuality, the guy just couldn’t be more open and understanding. He’d done everything but go beat the hell out of Eric, and had Zach allowed it, he’s certain the other young man would have given Eric a run for his money. But it hadn’t been worth Zach’s time. Adrian was so supportive, he’d even made efforts to get him out and about, and even trying to set him up with a gay friend of his or two, though Zach generally refused.

Both he and Zach had made it into school on sports scholarships, and while Adrian was larger then most guys, he couldn’t compare to Zach in size. They were often teased by other team mates about Adrian being the bitch of their relationship. Both boys took the playful banter in stride.

What made it hard, for Zach at least, was that while Adrian was just trying to be the good friend his nature demanded, Zach’s feelings were beginning to get a jumbled around. While he knew logically he hadn’t a chance with his best friend, his heart was wishing for things he couldn’t control. It was difficult, but Zach kept his feelings to himself, and just smiled at the banter of their teammates, gracefully denied the dates Adrian set up, and pretended that Adrian was as sexless as he possibly could.

“Hey, Zach,” Adrian’s voice was deep and rich, and there was always the sound of a smile lurking here and there. It made Zach’s heart trip. He tried to ignore it. “Quit throwing them damn candies at my bed before I beat you.” Adrian grumbled, closing the front door with his big toe, as both his hands were full. Placing the two coffee cups down on the table, he gave Zach a stern look. “It’s been over four months, Zach. I know it’s hard, but you gotta get over this. Because I don’t think I can sleep in a candy infested bed any more.” His tone was admonishing and playful, but he seemed to be a little worried.

Zach glared at his friend, then after a moment he sighed. If only Adrian was gay, then all would be right with the world. If Zack was being honest with himself he might admit his mooning over his ex was really a distraction from the unattainable love currently in his life. “Eh, fuck it.” He grumbled, then picked up his coffee and sort of melted as he took his first sip. “Thanks for the coffee, Adrian.” He murmured his thanks as his friend drop his athletic form into the chair opposite him.

“Welcome,” he said, picking up one of the candies so Zach could see it. “U R Nice.” He read aloud, and Zach’s scowl deepened. He threw the little heart at Zach’s chest, and picked up another one. “U R # 1″ he read out again, “Jeezus, these things get worse every year. Where did you even find these things? Valentine’s isn’t for two months.” Then tossed that one at Zach’s chest too, picking up the next candy.

“A month and a half and a Specialty shop.” Zach mumbled. He hated the candies, but he found himself morbidly fascinated with them. Zach just couldn’t give them up.

“Aha, your obsession strikes again.” Adrian replied. “EZ 2 Love” he read allowed, batting his eyelashes playfully at his depressed friend. That was about all Zack could take, and finally he cracked a smile and shook his head, kicking Adrian under the table.

“Ass.”

“You love it.”

“Hrmph.”

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Zach paused at the door to his shared room, staring at the envelope tapped to his door with the name “Zach” scrawled out in bold letters. He juggled his books, moved his arm and ripped the envelope off the door before pushing it open and dropping all his books on the table.

“Whatcha got?” Adrian asked from his place on his bed, seeing that Zach hadn’t put down the letter with the rest of his daily learning equipment.

“I dunno some letter or something.” Pulling out a chair, Zach sat down and turned the envelope in his hands before ripping it open. Inside, was a carefully hand written letter.

“Zach,

I’ve been watching you for months now, and have been considering how I should approach you, how I should let you know I care. I find myself watching you at odd moments, I’m present at all your games, and I can never keep my eyes from you. I know, this might sound strange, but I’m heart pounding, blood racing, tremble when you’re close, in love with you.

Love, S.A”.

Zach stared at the letter in his hands, then read it over and over and over again for about five minutes, until a very confused Adrian got up off his bed with a groan and snatched the letter out of Zach’s hands. “What the fuck does it say? You look like some one shot your puppy!” he growled out, turning the paper so he could read it. “Whoa, fuck.” Was all he said, clearing his throat.

“Uh huh.” Zach mumbled, “Who the hell could it be?”

“Um, apparently S.A. Do you think it’s a woman?” he asked suddenly, “Oh gods, I’m gonna laugh my ass off if it’s a woman.” Adrian’s mirth was contagious, but still, Zach didn’t know how to react.

“I bet your right, I bet you it is a woman, but I can hope it’s a boy, can’t I?” Adrian chuckled at the wistfulness of his friend’s words, and then dropped the letter back down to the table.

“Hey, you can hope anything you want bud. It’s a nice letter; maybe they’ll send you more. I know if I was in you’re shoes I’d be looking everywhere at our next game.”

“Yea, I will be.” “I’ll be looking, but it will be at you. “Zach carefully folded up his letter, trying to shove that thought out of his mind, then pulled a small box out from in his bedside table, his “special box.” Setting the letter inside with his other valuables he closed the lid with a quiet sigh, and then turned to his studies while Adrian watched him covertly, a smile tugging at his lips.

@@@@@@@@

It went like this for the next few weeks, every day; a new letter would show up, folded, with words of how much the person apparently cared for Zach.

“Zach,

I saw you at practice today and my heart beat so hard I was sure you could hear it over the sounds of the game. Sometimes when you look my direction, I imagine that you are looking at me, thinking of me, but I know that it’s just a fantasy. I hope my letters haven’t made you uncomfortable, but I just cant keep my feelings in any longer, I love you, I wish I had the courage to tell you who I was, but I’m afraid you wont care about me like I care about you. It’s that fear that keeps me away, that fear that has my stomach all tied up in knots.

So I’ll content myself to writing you these little notes. I love you, Zach, I dream of you.

Love, S.A.”

“Fuck, another one.” Zach flopped down on the couch beside Adrian, handing the note over to his friend without looking at him. Burying his hand into Adrian’s popcorn he began to munch as his friend read the letter over with a low whistle.

“Dreaming of you, oh man this person is head over heals for you.” Adrian muttered, “What’re you gonna do, bud?”

“Well what can I do?” Zach sighed, “It’s not like I can ring em up on the phone and ask him out for dinner. That’s assuming he’s a man. I mean, shit, what if it really is a woman?” Zach said, and then rubbed his eyes with a low groan. “Worst thing is, I’m beginning to feel a little… I don’t know, I kinda want to meet this person now. The poetry in the letter yesterday, honestly it melted my heart, I want to know this person one way or another.” “Since I can’t have you”, Zach finished silently

Adrian chuckled, arching an eyebrow as he handed back the letter, “You’re totally into him! I mean, in all honesty it probably IS a man, you’re not exactly in the closet, I’m guessing it’s not a woman. Of course, if it is a woman maybe that’s why she’s afraid that you won’t want her if she comes out directly.”

Zach made another soft groan, his head falling back against the couch with a mumble, “You’re not helping matters, Adri!” he snapped, “I feel like I’m going nuts, half in love with this person, and what if I find I can’t stand to physically touch them? Jeezus this is awful.” Zach turned his head, looking at his friend for a moment, if only the mystery writer could be half the man his roommate and best friend was, but that was far too much to ask for.

“Quit mooning over me, gonna make my heart go all aflutter.” He said coyly, eyelashes batting in that playful way of his.

Zach tried to hide a blush.

“Eh, fuck you, bitch. You’re not half as perfect as you think.” He teased.

“You know you want this perfect ass of mine.”

“You wish.” Zach reached out to grab a lock of Adrian’s curly blond hair, giving it a tug. “You’re just itching to have my man-meat, I can just tell by that hungry look in your eyes.”

“Oh ICK! You’re going to make me sick before my date tonight!” Adrian groaned, giving a tremble and making an exaggerated look of horror.

“Oh, wounded, my heart! My aching wounded heart!” Zach covered his left breast with both hands, making calf-eyes at his friend, then bust up laughing with a small shake to his head. “Go get ready for your date, who’s this one?” he asked with a grin.

“Saaandy.” Adrian drew her name out with a little grin, “Hot little number with all that beautiful red hair. Yeesh, I’ve been trying to get at her for months, finally caved to my devilish charm like all females do.” Adrian blew on his fingernails then buffed them on his shirt, smirking.

“Well, have fun.” Zach grabbed a pillow and lay down on his half of the couch, eyes locked on the movie, his mind however on his strange mystery lover and Adrian. He fantasized that they were one in the same, but reality was far too unkind to him for that.

“Will do!” Adrian said as he made his way towards the bathroom to get himself all prettied up. He was worse then a queen, of that Zach was absolutely certain.

@@@@@@@@@

Zach woke to Adrian gripping his shoulder, “Bud, wake up.” He slurred, and when Zach’s head came up he got a whiff of his friend’s tequila laden breath. “Zach I have to tell you something.” He could barely speak.

Sitting up in bed, Zach rubbed his eyes sleepily and gave a good natured grumble, “What? Need condoms? Christ man, its two o’clock in the morning.”

Adrian looked confused as Zach fumbled in his bedside table for the condoms he kept there. “No,” he slurred, one hand coming out to bat away Zach’s arm, then felt its way up to his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “I don’t needa condom. She went home hours ‘go.” He mumbled.

“Man, Adri, you better keep your breath away from open flames.” Zach wheezed, his eyes watering at the burning scent of liquor.

“I know who it is.” Adrian muttered beneath his breath, giving a low groan, “I know who S.A is, Zach…” he stammered, “Ya wan’ me ta tell you?”

Zach froze, squinting at his friend, his insanely drunk friend who was near tumbling from the edge of his bed because he couldn’t sit up straight. Adrian’s hand still clung to Zach’s shoulder, and it moved to the back of his neck, gripping his nape as he leaned in to press his mouth in a drunken kiss that rocked Zach’s world on top of its head. He couldn’t believe Adrian was kissing him, and after a moment he moaned and slid his hand up to those perfect blonde curls, clutching his hair in a loose fistful. The kiss went on for a moment, then Zach force himself to break it.

“Adri?” he asked, a little breathless and more then a little stunned. His friend gave him a roguish lopsided grin, then his eyes rolled back into his skull and he pitched forward, passing out cold in Zach’s lap.

Zach didn’t move, not for a long drawn out moment. He could hear Adrian’s breathing loud in the dark silence of the room, his heart pounding in his chest, and his cock twitching beneath the sheets, but he still couldn’t believe this was real. Carefully, he pulled Adrian more fully into the bed with him, drawing the covers up and watching his peacefully sleeping face for a long, long time until finally sleep crawled its way through his skull to drag him down into sweet beautiful oblivion.

@@@@@@@@

When Adrian woke, the first thing he noticed was a pounding in his skull so awful he groaned. The second thing he noticed was the warm body beside him in bed, and the thought that he might have slept with that woman Sandy caused him to groan anew. The body beside him shifted some, and Adrian couldn’t force himself to open his eyes to see the woman he had undoubtedly fucked into a senseless stupor the night before. Christ his eyes hurt, his head hurt, his stomach hurt, oh hell, everything hurt.

“Mmm… Good morning, sleepyhead.” The sound of the voice that greeted his ears was sleep-roughened and husky, and it somehow made him even sicker then the idea that Sandy had been in bed with him. Adrian’s eyes opened with an almost audible snap, and when his eyes confirmed what his ears had heard, he felt the blood drain from his face and wondered what he’d done.

“Did we, I mean, what the, um… why…? Why am I in your bed?!” He choked out, his stomach knotting and heaving slightly. “Oh gods… why am I in your bed?” he realized after a moment that his eyes had closed again and his hands were covering his face, so he slowly pulled his hands down and peeked over them at Zach, then wished he hadn’t.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage of your tequila soaked brain.” Zach snapped, tossing the sheets and covers off of him and getting to his feet without another word. Adrian stared after him, mouth agape. The look in his friend’s eyes had been horrified, it had turned from sexy sleepy to humiliated in a blink of an eye, and Adrian wished he could have taken back his words but he couldn’t.

Getting out of bed he realized he was still totally and completely dressed, which only made him feel worse. He should have thought before speaking, but he hadn’t, and now he didn’t know what to do. He walked to the bathroom door and knocked softly, “Zach?” he called out. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“Doesn’t matter,” came the voice from behind the door, and when it opened again a fully dressed and put together Zach stepped out, his wavy black hair neatly combed, and he pushed past his friend. “I have to get to class.” He said, not meeting Adrian’s eyes, then walked out without another word, leaving Adrian confused and uncertain and absolutely distraught.

He couldn’t remember what happened the night before, he couldn’t remember to save his life, he remembered going out to dinner, drinking wine with Sandy and then taking her to a club and getting shit faced. That’s how he could stand to sleep with women. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was gay, his father was a minister and that would ruin his family, absolutely ruin them. He had to keep up a good front. He absolutely had to stay in the closet even if that meant he’d never be happy.

But he was in love with Zach. Heartbreakingly in love with the man who was so open about who he was in every single last aspect of his life. Adrian had been in love with him for months, but hadn’t wanted to infringe on the sacred first-love relationship he and Eric had had. However, when that ended, he could only take so much of his dearest friend moping about, and soon he found himself unable to stop writing the notes, the letters. He’ll admit freely that at first the secret admirer letters were just a way of making Zach feel better. Zach needed to feel good about himself, really he did, but if he was being honest with himself Adrian knew that was just an excuse to get his true feelings out.

Sighing, Adrian rubbed a hand over his face, then rubbed at his aching temples with a soft groan. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t be in love with a man. He needed to keep up his good name. Turning, he picked up the phone, punching in the numbers to Sandy’s room. It rang three times, then she picked up.

“Hello?” Came her soft voice.

“Hey Sandy, it’s me Adrian. I was wondering if you’d like to go out dancing tonight. There’s a sweet little club downtown that is having a Salsa night, and I’d like nothing better then to take such a lovely lady with me.”

“Sure! That sounds great, Adrian! What time you gonna pick me up?” she asked, sounding happy and pleased. Adrian’s stomach roiled.

“I’ll be there at six, take you to dinner and then get to the club early so we can enjoy ourselves.” He told her.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you tonight.” She said, and he could hear her slightly breathless voice. Adrian would bet money she was blushing.

Saying their goodbyes, he hung up the phone and groaned inwardly once more before going to take a shower and ready himself for the day.

@@@@@@@@@@

Zach experienced a moment of de-ja-vou as he fought his way out of unconsciousness as a result of some one shaking him. He opened his eyes and groaned, seeing Adrian leaning over him smelling like liquor and sex this time. Great. Just fucking great. “What do you want, Adri?” Zack groaned, then tried to roll over. Adrian wouldn’t let him go, though.

“I love you.” He slurred his words, “I’m S.A. I can’t hide it any more, I need you.” He stammered out, one hand cupping Zach’s cheek as he gazed down into his beloved face. Zach nearly gagged from the smell of sex and woman all over his fingers, and one hand came up to push his arm away. “I love you. Tell me you love me.” Adrian looked so out of it, and clearly he didn’t remember the previous evening’s admittance, which would explain his reaction upon waking.

Zach threw the covers off of him and got to his feet, dragging Adrian up with him without a single word. “Where are we going? Please tell me you love me, I love you so much.” Tears streamed down Adrian’s face, and Zach wanted to smack him for being an angsty drunk, but he didn’t, instead he drew him towards the bathroom, pushed him into the shower and turned on the cold water.

A shout tore free of Adrian’s throat, but it had the desired effect as his eyes almost immediately cleared from the shock. “What the fuck was that for!?” he screamed up at Zach, who stood with arms folded over his bare broad chest gazing down at him. “I tell you I fucking love you and you throw me in a cold shower?”

They nodded.

“Pardon?”

“Yes, we understand,” they croaked.

“Oh yes, and by the way, Mary and Joan asked me to tell you that they don’t want to go out with you again, ever. Got it?”

The Fosters just nodded and I walked off.

——————

Over the next few days I pondered my predicament. I had a moral dilemma, the girls were mine for the taking whenever I chose but also was Mollie. I enjoyed sex with Mollie, especially the pleasure it gave her. My conscience was pricking me, who should I choose? If I stopped sex with Mollie I would be letting her down. Equally I didn’t want to lose the girls.

Sadly events meant that I didn’t have to decide for some time.

Arthur took a turn for the worst. He was suffering terrible pain from his belly and was bed ridden. The doctor wasn’t too happy with his condition and Arthur was taken into hospital for assessment.

The news was the worst possible. Poor Arthur had extensive and inoperable prostrate cancer. In those days there was no real treatment other than keep him well dosed with morphine and wait for the inevitable conclusion. Mollie and the girls had to travel to Cambridge every day to visit Arthur leaving me to keep the farm running. I had never worked so hard in my life.

Not only did I have to cope with the thousand and one jobs, I was also on a steep learning curve trying to get to grips with running a farm. Fortunately for me Arthur had many friends in the village who were happy to give me advice and occasional help with large jobs.

Over the next few months I managed to keep the farm operating while Arthur weakened. One day in February Mollie asked me to go to the hospital with her. I was horrified to see Arthur. He looked like a skeleton, not the man I had got to know.

“Ah, Jimmy lad, good to see you.”

His voice was weak but still had to gentle tone we knew and loved.

“It’s not looking good for me,” he whispered.

“You’ll be fine,” I told him, putting my hand on his in reassurance.

“Rubbish, boy, I have only days left. Now listen, Mollie tells me that you’re doing well with keeping the farm going and I thank you for that.”

I wanted to argue that no thanks were necessary but Arthur’s strength wasn’t up to it.

“Will you promise me that you’ll look after my girls when I’m gone?”

“Do you really think you need to ask?” I replied.

“No lad, I suppose not.”

Arthur died two days later. Mollie and the girls were desolate. I felt almost as bad, Arthur had been as close to a father as was possible. I threw myself into my work, leaving the girls to grieve.

———-

Things changed big time after Arthur’s funeral. Joan and Mary announced that were planning to quit work and take up full time roles on the farm. Mary, the more numerate of the two, took on the role as accountant. Joan took on the lighter work such as dealing with the cows and the vegetable patch. Mollie took the role of dealing with our suppliers and customers.

I set about my farm work with a fury. Not only did it help me cope with Arthur’s loss, it also gave me a sense of satisfaction to be working for our benefit. I would leave the house before six in the morning and return after nine in the evening – hardly seeing much of the family. The winter and spring passed and it was soon early summer. The weather was hot and sunny.

Late one Saturday evening I was locking up my tools when I saw Mollie standing in the doorway.

“I need a word with you,” she said in a distinctly unfriendly tone. “What do you think you’re up to?”

I was confused, what the hell was she going on about.

“Sorry, what do you mean?”

“You have my two girls crazy in love with you but all you’re doing is working. You haven’t gone out with them for months.”

“But there’s so much to do!”

“Rubbish!” Mollie spat back, “the farm has never looked better. For some reason you’re avoiding us. Now what is it?”

I gave in.

“After mum and dad and the kids, I found it hard to cope with Arthur going. I found it helpful to do what I enjoy best – hard work. It helps me get things in perspective.” I explained.

Mollie’s expression softened.

“I might have guessed, you soft fool. Joan and Mary thought you had gone off them.”

“No, not at all… but…” I protested.

“Ah, but…” Mollie looked at me suddenly realising something. “You have a slight loyalty problem, perhaps?”

“Sorry?” I played it dumb.

“You’re worried about sleeping with me and getting friendly with the girls. You don’t want to upset any of us. Am I right?”

I nodded.

“Well don’t worry. The girls don’t know what we’ve been up to and I’m not about to tell them. Equally, if you happen to get friendly with them, I’m not going to be upset. I would simply be grateful if from time to time, when I get sad and lonely, if you could, er…, give me some comfort.”

“You’ve got a deal,” I smiled.

“Good. Now tomorrow you is Sunday, and that is a day of rest. That means you don’t work. OK?”

“Yes boss,” I sighed.

“Fine. The girls have plans for the three of you so you had better do what you’re told.”

————

In spite of Mollie’s instructions, there were some basic tasks to do the following day. Cows need milking, stock needs moving to new pasture, all that sort of thing. It was late morning by the time I had finished. I returned to the house to wash and change.

The girls were in the kitchen wearing bright, flower patterned dresses.

“About time,” Joan growled, “we thought were going to have to drag you in from the fields.”

“So what are we going to do?” I asked as the girls led the way towards the river.

“Relax and enjoy some time together,” came the cryptic reply.

I soon realised that we were heading onto the new piece of land. I had spent two weeks on the land ploughing and it now looked tidy and was ready for sowing in the autumn. To my surprise the pavilion looked tidy and had been repainted. I looked at the girls in surprise.

“What do you think we’ve been doing while you’re too busy to be with us?” Mary said.

“We love the location and thought it would make a quiet retreat during the summer.”

I had to agree. The pavilion stood near the river on the fringe of a copse. The bank was shaded by a huge weeping willow and the opposite bank shrouded in bushes and trees. The area was completely screened from unwanted eyes.

The inside of the pavilion had been completely cleaned and tidied. Curtains hung at the windows and the room had been fitted with a couch and table and chairs. The table was set with a table cloth and food.

In the second room was a double bed!

I looked at the girls in surprise. They looked at me in pity.

“Sit down, have a drink and we’ll explain it in words you might understand.” Joan told me.

I sat and Mary poured three glasses of still cider from a stone jug. I drank, the cider was strong and full of flavour.

“Do you remember on the night of the harvest dance that we made you a promise?,” Mary asked.

I nodded, how could I forget?

“What happened?” Joan asked.

“You er… let me put my hands on your… er…”

“The word you’re looking for is cunts,” Joan impatiently interrupted.

“er… cunts,” I blushed – even then there were certain things I found difficult to say. “and you told me you were mine whenever you wanted you.”

“Hooray, the boy does have a memory,” Mary chipped in. “And how long ago was that?”

“Around ten months?” I guessed.

“Right again, and still we’re waiting. I reckoned that if we waited much longer that our cunts would heal up and we’d die virgins.”

“You’re here today to prevent that,” Joan told me.

“And what does Mollie think we’re doing?” I asked.

“Oh she knows, it was her idea.” Mary announced.

My jaw fell open.

“Her idea?”

During all those nights that you worked late, we would talk. She knew how frustrated and unhappy we were getting and told us what to do.”

“Unhappy?”

“You can sometime be so thick,” Joan told me. “We happen to like you, a lot. That means we want to spend time with you. Have hugs, kisses and a little heavy petting from time to time. From today onwards that will change.”

“What about if I get you pregnant? I don’t have any johnies.”

“We are not having rubber boots shoved inside us,” Joan snapped. “Anyway, we’re due in a couple of days so we’re pretty safe.”

“Due?”

“Periods, monthly bleeding, don’t you know anything?”

“It wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t safe,” Mary said with a slight smile.

“True,” Joan agreed, “but lets eat first, I’m starving.

There was one big advantage to living in the country. While the folk living in the cities were having to deal with food rationing, we were well supplied. Lunch comprised of cold rabbit pie, potato salad, home produced bread, butter and cheese and lots of wonderful cider. We dined well and with the help of the cider we were in a mellow, comfortable mood.

“OK, Jimmy, let’s get you into the bedroom,” Mary finally announced.

“And you do exactly what we tell you,” Joan grinned.

Who was I to argue and we went into the next room.

I was immediately grabbed by two passionate girls. They hugged me, taking it in turns to give me deep, wet kisses. Slowly they stripped me while not pausing from kissing me. Soon I was naked and enjoying the feeling of two soft, warm hands stroking my tackle. The touch of one girl would have been fine, two was fantastic.

“OK, lay on the bed.”

I lay down and immediately Mary jumped onto my chest. She sat on me, her knees on my shoulders, her crotch just a couple of inches from my chin. Joan sat on my legs. I was captive.

Mary pulled her dress over her head and slipped off her bra. I had a fabulous view up her body. The crotch of her panties was just in front of me. There was a large damp patch – Mary was very excited. I also could smell her excitement. It wasn’t as strong as Mollie’s but she did have an exciting aroma. I bent my head forward and kissed her crotch.

Mary shivered.

“Oh God, Jimmy that is nice!”

“Pull your panties to one side and I’ll do better,” I told her.

For the first time I got a close up look at her cunt. Her lips were puffy and red and a white juice dribbled from between them. I clamped my mouth over her cunt, pushing my tongue deep into her. Mary wriggled and pushed against me. She slowly fucked my mouth, matching my sucking with her thrusts.

I was concentrating on giving Mary a good time but in the background I could feel Joan rubbing my cock. She paused and slipped off the bed only to return in a moment. The touch of her warm rear on my thighs told me she was nude. She gripped my cock again and I felt it’s head pressed against a warm, hairy place – her cunt. I felt her ease me inside her and press down. There was a moment’s resistance and I was suddenly buried in a hot, wet place. Joan gave a gasp and then pressed down, taking all of me inside her.

“Oh gosh, that’s good,” she hissed. “This is better than I expected, Mary.”

Mary didn’t reply, she was too busy working herself to her orgasm. Her clit had hardened and was thrusting between my lips. Joan began sliding herself up and down my cock, send shivers of delight through me.

“Oh, I’m coming!” Mary suddenly gasped.

My mouth was suddenly flooded with juice which was jetting from her cunt.

“Shit, she’s peeing in my mouth!” I thought as I swallowed frantically, except it didn’t taste like pee. It had a subtle sweet taste, rather nice actually. Mary gave a final gasp and slid off my face.

“Were you trying to drown me?” I asked.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you, she gasped, her face bright red and sweating. “We always squirt stuff when we come. It’s not pee. Did you swallow it?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “I didn’t have a lot of choice – swallow or drown.”

Joan had leant forward and her gorgeous tits were squashed against me. She kissed me deeply, tasting her sister’s juices. I felt a wonderful pressure begin to build up inside me. My cock grew bigger as my climax began to build. Joan immediately noticed.

“Oh god, I feel tight,” she hissed in my ear. “I’m coming.”

So was I. With a flood of unbelievable pleasure I filled her with jet after jet of my juice. With a loud squeal, Joan joined me. I felt a flood of her juice flood between my legs and over my belly. She collapsed on me, her racing heart thudding against my chest.

“God, that was amazing,” she told Mary, “It beats wanking every time.”

The girls nestled either side of me, their sweaty bodies pressing against me. Take my word for it, there’s nothing better than two pairs of large, damp tits pressing against your chest!

We lay for a while bathed in a warm après-shag glow – until Mary gave a giggle.

“Something warm is dribbling down my bum! I wonder what it is.”

“Do you want a towel?” he sister asked.

“No! It feels lovely. You should try it,” Mary retorted.

“I think I will,” Joan mused and slid down my body, taking my cock in her mouth.

She sucked avidly at the mixture of spunk and Mary’s juices that coated me, giving me a huge boner. She stopped sucking and quickly straddled me.

“Bloody hell, Mary, your juices taste pretty strong! Nice though,” she said as she eased my cock into her dripping cunt. “OK, big boy, let’s see what a fuck feels like.”

She pushed down hard and my cock ploughed through her hymen and deep into her. She sat down hard and rested, recovering from the slight discomfort.

“Excellent, it fits perfectly,” she grinned.

“Not bad, is it?” Mary grinned back.

Joan bent forward so that her tits brushed against my chest and we began to fuck. Having already come I was able to hold out longer and I lay enjoying Joan becoming slowly aroused. Her breath began to speed up, little by little and she began muttering under her breath.

“Fuck… oh yes… I love it…” she hissed.

Mary had been gently stroking Joan’s arse with her hand until Joan suddenly gave a gasp.

“Shit! What have you pushed into my bum?” she asked Mary.

“Just a couple of fingers,” Mary replied innocently, “I wondered if you’d like it.”

“Like it? It’s bloody marvellous,” Joan sighed.

In response Mary pushed her fingers deeply in to Joan’s butt hole and began gently rubbing the front wall against my cock. Believe me, it was a most amazing feeling!

We were both getting pretty steamed up and be began long, fast strokes.

“Uhhh… fuck, here it comes,” Joan gasped.

It certainly was coming! My cock had swollen and I began spurting hard into Joan’s cunt. The throbbing of my cock and the flood of warm juice was enough to tip Joan over the edge. She came with a loud scream and a flood of juice.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Joan groaned as she slumped across me.

When I thought of all that happened and what I now had, I had to agree.

——————

One Sunday in Septtember, we were settling down to dinner when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door to see a huge bloke in khaki uniform.

“Hello Jimmy you old bastard,” came an unmistakable booming voice.

“Charlie” what are you doing here,” I shouted as recognition hit me.

“I’ve just got demobbed and thought I’d look you up. Meet the missus.” Charlie turned to reveal a small, slim brunette stood behind him.

“Jimmy, this is Shirley, my wife of 24 hours.”

Shirley smiled and blushed.

“Come in,” I told them.

It was fortunate that Mollie always cooked too much food. There was plenty for all of us. The conversation was lively with Charlie’s endless jokes and funny stories, coupled with plenty of cider, making everyone laugh. Shirley sat quietly eating simply smiling from time to time.

Once all the dishes were washed we settled down to chat. I had noticed that Charlie was limping and I asked him what it was all about.

“Oh, I copped a bullet,” he replied modestly. “It was enough for me to be discharged.”

“Charlie’s being modest,” Shirley suddenly interjected. “Tell them about this,” she told Charlie, pointing at a thin reddish purple medal ribbon on his chest.

“I know what that is,” Joan announced.

“Well go on then,” Mary retorted.

“It’s the Victoria Cross, isn’t it?”

Of once in his life Charlie blushed. He nodded.

I was impressed. “Bloody hell Charlie, are you a hero? Spill the beans.”

In spite of his larger than life size and personality Charlie had always been modest. Only after a lot of persuasion did the story emerge.

Charlie had attacked a machine gun nest single handed saving half a dozen soldiers who had been pinned down. In doing so he had copped three bullets in his leg.

“Well aren’t you the sly one!” I told him. “Just like you to show off.”

Charlie grinned, enjoying the banter of good friends.

“So what is a hero going to do with his life now?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Charlie replied, suddenly subdued. “Get a job in a factory, I guess.”

“Ever thought about being a farmer?” Mollie asked. “It’s not a bad life, ask Jimmy.”

“Early starts, long days, hard work in all weather? That’s not a life for a girl’s blouse like Charlie,” I joked.

“Sounds a nice idea,” Shirley chipped in. “It would be nice to raise a family in the country.”

Charlie nodded. “You might just be right about that. What do you think, Jimmy?”

In all fairness, I loved the life. I had finally found peace in the country and it could just work for Charlie. “Could just be a runner,” I conceded. “Why don’t you stay a few days and check things out?”

Charlie and Shirley stayed. Indeed they never returned to the city. There was a small, 100 acre farm in the village which had come up for sale. The owner, old man Jones, had died and his son didn’t want to carry on the family business. Charlie picked it up for a song and took to the life like a duck to water.

————————-

As I approach my 70th birthday I look back on those days with a great deal of fondness although so much water has passed under the bridge. Joan, Mary and myself have all retired from day to day running of the company leaving the work to the children. I say company because the farm adapted over the 50 years since I arrived in the village. The increase in imported produce forced us to adapt and change tack. We now operate a highly successful importation and distribution company.

I have continued to sleep with my two girls over all those years. Mary and I had two beautiful daughters who, with their husbands, run our family concern. Joan never managed to fall pregnant, something which caused us all great sadness although she treated Mary’s girls as though they were her own. We have five grandchildren all of whom have chosen not to follow in the business. They all have university educations and are all starting out on their careers. Mollie is now in her late 80’s and is as lovely and as loving as ever although she no longer needs my personal comfort.

I often think of how things might have been. I would dearly have loved mum and dad see how I have turned out. I regret so bitterly that I never saw my sisters grow to maturity, perhaps marry and experience happiness.

But that’s life. So much sadness but also so much love and happiness. When I think how the village and my adoptive family accepted me, an incomer, and gave me new life, I know that my cup truly runneth over.

On the last day before Mr Johnson was due back from his holiday, the weather had broken and there was rain. Johnnie got wet during the paper rounds and Mrs Johnson dried his hair on a towel in the side-kitchen when he got back. During the day Johnnie felt an awkwardness and turned to find Mrs Johnson gazing at him. He wondered with trepidation if she had noticed his embarrassing erection tucked up into the waist band of his underpants.

No, he was sure she hadn’t, but these involuntay erections were a decided nuisance. She smiled sadly at him and turned away to occupy herself with adjusting the sweet jars or the library books.

When he returned to the shop for the evening he was offered a glass of sherry. It seemed to Johnnie that Mrs Johnson had already had a glass. Apart from that, the ritual was the same as before. Cocoa, biscuit, nine-o-clock news and up the stairs to bed. There was a distant roll of thunder as Johnnie got into bed and curled up onto his side with his back to the middle of the bed breathing steadily.

He could hear Mrs Johnson in the bathroom singing ‘Fight the Good Fight’ in a toneless contralto voice. Johnnie recalled that she had been humming hymns to herself during the quiet moments in the shop since the afternoon opening. Eventually, he heard the bathroom door open and close and Mrs Johnson came into the bedroom. The bed gave as she climbed into it. The light went out and almost straight away, Mrs Johnson’s deep breathing signalled sleep.

As he was drifting off to sleep, Johnnie suddenly became alert again. He felt Mrs Johnson’s hand flop over his thigh, the fingers resting on his erection. He froze with acute embarrassment. He was paralysed with shock and terrified in case she would awake to find him in a state of arousal.

He held his breath and strained his senses. He could hear his heart knocking at his ribs so loud that he was sure the thumping might wake her. She woke at the sound of a cat’s tread she had said, but her deep breathing continued steady and regular which reassured him a little. He began his regular breathing once more as he tried to weigh up the situation.

Just a minute! Her fingers gently curled round his shaft. Was it deliberate or just a natural reflex movement of her hand? He desperately wished that the stiffness would go down or that he dare quietly remove her fingers which had now curled themselves completely around him. But, on the contrary, his erection was responding to the attention it was getting with involuntary tremors.

Johnnie panicked. He had no idea about what he could safely do to get himself out of her grasp without the fear of her waking to find him in such an acutely embarrassing position. And the consequences of that happening were too terrible to imagine! He could only hope that Mrs Johnson would roll away from him in her sleep.

After what seemed an age she took an extra deep breath and rolled onto her left thigh, pulling Johnnie over with her, on to his back. He lay there pretending to be asleep, trying to think what he could do, breathing regularly in case she woke up. Mrs Johnson was now definitely fondling him, slowly easing Johnnie onto his left side. His mind was confused and he was totally bewildered by all this.

He was even more so when he felt her transfer his erection to her left hand, drawing him towards her. Before he realised what was happening she pushed her bottom towards his lap. What on earth….? He was in a state of hypnotic confusion. A fleeting sensation of his cock rubbing against rough hair and he suddenly felt himself encased in a slippery, sponge-like warmth.

Throughout all of this, Mrs Johnson’s breathing had never faltered. She pushed herself gently and slowly on and off Johnnie’s lap. He could hardly comprehend what was happening and was powerless to know how to stop her. Then reality hit him like a sledgehammer.

She was fucking him!

Oh my God! He was actually being fucked by Mrs Johnson! It was unbelievable! She was fucking him in her sleep! His mind couldn’t begin to guess what would happen now if she suddenly woke to find herself impaled on an eighteen year old lad. His mind was in a panic but he managed to maintain the same rhythm of breathing and pretend sleep in case the worst happened. Mrs Johnson’s right arm curled itself around the small of his back and pulled him closer to her buttocks in rhythm with her pushes.

Then the very worst possible thing imaginable started to happen. He couldn’t stop it. It was inevitable! He was unable to prevent the muscles jerk in his groin as, to his profound horror, he climaxed into her with a series of subdued lunges.

He lay there in a state of utter disgrace whilst she continued her shameful rocking movement. My God! he thought I’ve spunked into Mrs Johnson. He was wondering how to come to terms with this indignity when he became conscious of Mrs Johnson’s breathing getting quicker and more laboured.

She pushed against him with firmer, quicker thrusts, her fingers rubbing between her thighs. She pushed hard into him until he felt a tightening of her muscles. Her whole body started to twitch, juddering against him as she made a curious whinnying noise. Johnnie was terrified. His brain was racing. Perhaps she was having a fit. What should he do?

But her shaking body subsided fairly quickly and she let out a long drawn-out sigh as she relaxed again to sink into the soft mattress. Johnnie rolled away from her gratefully onto his right side as he felt her pull her nightgown down and between her thighs. He couldn’t really believe what had happened but thanked God it was over. He sighed with deep relief.

He still could hardly believe what had happened. Ladies didn’t do that sort of thing; ever! Perhaps she’d had a nightmare. That would account for the spasms and curious whinnying noise. But, however it had happened, it was certain that he’d been fucked. Perhaps raped was the better word, since he had taken no active part in it and gained no pleasure from the experience.

On the contrary, he had found the whole episode an embarrassing and unpleasant one. He tried to remember the sensation of being gripped inside a woman’s fanny but couldn’t. Events had moved too quickly with him in too much of a panic to concentrate on the sensation. It was amazing to him that he’d had his first fuck and couldn’t remember it!

Then the thought of having to face her in the morning filled him with terrible apprehension. What would he say? Would she remember? Would she know? He decided to pretend nothing had happened, acting as normally as he could. What else could he do? With a deeply troubled mind he fell asleep.

He didn’t hear the alarm the next morning. He woke from a deep sleep with his shoulder being shaken by a smiling Mrs Johnson A mug of tea stood on the bedside table.

‘There’s your tea Johnnie. It’s half past.’

Mrs Johnson was smiling! Not a sad smile but a kindly smile. That was unusual. Then the events of the night suddenly came back to him with alarm as she was walking out of the bedroom. He felt himself. Everything was as it should be. His usual stiffness.

He sat up and sipped the hot tea wondering how he dare face Mrs Johnson in the cold light of day. Would she accuse him of tampering with her? But she had just smiled at him, so everything must be alright between them. That was a good, reassuring start. He decided the only thing to do was to start the day and go through with it as soon as possible.

When he finally reached the side-kitchen, Mrs Johnson was in the shop, at the other side of the curtain, sorting through the piles of morning papers as usual.

‘Sleep well?’ she called out casually.

Johnnie blushed to the roots of his hair and was glad he didn’t have to face her when answering. ‘Thank you, yes’ he called back. ‘I slept like a log’ she added, concentrating on the papers. Johnnie sighed a mental sigh of relief. She hadn’t woken up after all. She was quite unaware of what had taken place. But there he was wrong. Mrs Johnson had been fully aware of everything that had happened because that’s how she had arranged for it to happen, though she never believed it would be anything other than one of her many fantasies. It was literally a dream come true.

But after the act, she was plagued with intense feelings of remorse at having deflowered this young man, involving him, unknowingly, in a compact with the Devil. She was consoled by the fact that he had remained asleep throughout, seemingly unaware of what she’d done to him. His voice sounded normal enough the next morning.

If only she had been able to do it with Johnnie openly, caressing his body and playing with his genitals. But no! That wouldn’t have been possible.

After the difficult and painful birth of her son she and Mr Johnson had decided not to have any more children. Both believed that intercourse enjoyed for its’ own sake was a temptation of the Devil, to be resisted. Besides, it was too risky. She was a fairly simple soul, never seriously questioning her religious upbringing. So for the last twelve years, aided and abetted by Mr Johnson, she had been denied the fulfilment and enjoyment of intercourse.

There were times, of course, when her frustration became hard to resist, with the fantasies of her younger years returning to plague her, none more so than when she was taking a bath. At these times she had been taught that singing a hymn would help to dispel the frustration in the burning hell between her legs.

Emily had been a lonely girl without friends or play-mates. She made her own amusements. Emily discovered almost by chance, the little bud tucked under a fold of flesh at the top of her crack. She was already nineteen years of age. It gave her a great deal of pleasure to rub it between her fingers. It was during one of these occasions, with her attention absorbed by playing with herself, that Emily had been caught in the act by her distressed mother, who was a God-fearing Christian. She had gasped and turned quickly away.

After much thought, she went round to the vicarage of St Stephen’s to her vicar for advice. He was a middle-aged man, stern in his appearance with dark, unruly wiry hair surrounding a bald patch and gold-rimmed spectacles which magnified his eyes so that they filled each lens with an owl-like hypnotic stare. A tuft of hair poked out of the top of his dog-collar and his black surplus was heavily stained.

His waistcoat, similarly soiled, sported a heavy watch chain across his substantial paunch. He had a habit of taking the watch from his pocket, glancing at it and putting it back again. He did this whilst listening to Emily’s mother. Not that he wanted to know the time, but it gave him something to look at to distract him from staring at women’s busts. He was a batchelor and had an old, half-blind widow keep house for him in the vicarage.

It was an embarrassing interview for Emily’s mother but the vicar managed to put her at her ease. His manner was not as fierce as his looks suggested and he could be understanding and sympathetic. This was one of those occasions.

‘Try not to worry Mrs Adams. We all have to grow up and face the temptations of the Devil. If you would like me to, I will instruct Emily in the temptations of the flesh. She is still young and curious about her body. But the devil can work on this innocent inquisitiveness. She needs to be shown the dangers that lurk in giving in to these temptations.’

So it was that each Wednesday after work, until he was moved to another parish some months later, Emily called to see the vicar. She was nervous and a little scared by the vicar, and of his stern, unbending beliefs which he taught her with a solemn, deep theatrical voice. She would meet him in the vestry of the church where he would draw a chair up and sit close to her.

She was fascinated by the hairs bushing from each nostril and the thick growth on the backs of his hands. He asked her if she knew about how babies were made. She didn’t, having been brought up in an atmosphere where sex was stifled; not even mentioned. She remained silent with downcast eyes. He explained to her how women and men developed differently, how the union of their bodies would result in a baby growing in the mother’s womb until it was ready to be born.

On her next visit, he told her that sex was an instrument of the Devil and that it was the Devil who gave men and women the sensations of bodily pleasure when it’s private parts were stimulated. It was only natural that she should be curious about parts of her body but to caress herself for pleasure was an offense to God, an unclean thing, to be denied. Sex could only be indulged when holy wedlock permitted it for the joy of begetting children. The vicar warned her that the wrath of God’s dreadful punishment would be heaped on her if she continued with the unholy, unclean act of self abuse.

At subsequent meetings he instructed her in the devious ways of the devil and his fiends; he showed her pictures in old volumes depicting the torment of damned souls being confined to hell’s fire by the demons.

‘Some of those condemned souls were those who had taken liberties with their own bodies for the satisfaction of the flesh’ he explained.

Emily was frightened. They had horns sprouting from the head, mouse-like faces, hairy human torsos but the haunches and legs of a goat, with cloven hooves. She went pale, terrified at the prospect. He made her repeat the ten commandments explaining the meaning of each to her. Her dreams began to be plagued by the appearance of the demons she had seen in the pictures, who would prod her with their forked sticks and taunt her for having abused her body for pleasure.

At a later lesson he warned her that a woman’s virginity was to be highly prized and to lose it outside marriage was a terrible disgrace to herself and to her family. He cautioned her against fornication, teaching her about the wickedness of Eve. The responsibility for sin, he said, rested with the daughters of Eve. He explained how the devil, through women, ever since Eve’s downfall in the Garden of Eden, had plagued and tempted men through the lure of the flesh. Emily, who was now sufficiently relaxed in the vicar’s company to converse with him, told him that she could not properly understand this, knowing nothing of men.

Sworn to secrecy, with the threat of immediate retribution if she even thought of divulging the secret, he quietly raised his cassock. There, beneath it, she saw a column of pink flesh rearing up proudly from out of his parted shirt tails. He explained to her that it was man’s lust, raised up at the Devil’s command, saying how the Devil would not let it rest until Eve had lured it into her body, the soft entrance between her legs, to drain it dry.

He never touched Emily’s body, who, in her innocence, was never in doubt that the vicar was anything other than an agent of the Lord, sent to help her resist the Devil, to show her the way he operated, helping her and encouraging her to reject sin. But she was dumb-stuck at the unimaginable thought of so large a thing piercing her slender crack.

It was after a few weeks, when Emily had become accustomed to seeing it, that the vicar encouraged her to touch the Devil’s instrument, promising it could not harm her. He told her that it was important for her to be aware how it worked, spitting out its vile, evil juices which entered into Eve, piercing her egg which would grow into a baby. It was explained that the Virgin Mary conceived Jesus without the aid of man’s juice entering into her. That is why it was a miracle.

He taught her how to pump it up and down with her hand until it discharged its contents. He explained that the grip of the woman’s vagina on the shaft had the same effect. Her absolute concentration on the spectacle of his grunting ejaculation seemed to slow down the action as the small opening in the swollen head of the shaft parted, the thick juice gushing out of it in several spurts.

She was very frightened, yet strangely mesmerised by this awesome occurrence, no matter how familiar it became to her as she pumped it up and down. The vicar would spurt his juices into his palm, whilst little Emily’s eyes were closed in prayer - though her eyes were never quite tightly shut, so that she could watch with wonder the gushing devil. The vicar explained to Emily that his grunts were caused by the effort of trying to prevent the devil from having his will.

Each session ended with a prayer of help and strength for the innocent, asking forgiveness of the Lord for having given in to the desire of the flesh. Emily was taught to seek the Lord’s forgiveness through prayer whenever she felt tempted to succumb to the temptations of the flesh.

‘Sing a hymn or psalm’ the vicar told her, or offer up a prayer asking for strength to fight the Devil.

The trouble with all this instruction was that it made Emily rather more curious about sex than she had ever been before, which was merely a mild curiosity about the parts of her own body. Now she had developed an even greater curiosity about the parts of a man’s body.

Emily had been brought up a good christian and was profoundly affected by this instruction and the threat of eternal damnation. So she managed to push any sinful thoughts into the darkest recesses of her mind, and lock them away. She couldn’t, however, dispel them from her dreams, where the Devil with his demons would enter her mind, taunting her with their protruding stiff shafts.

Her dream of the demons became more frequent and, eventually, was to become part of her day-time fantasies as well. In spite of all the instruction from the vicar, the temptation of the flesh was usually too great resulting, from time to time, particularly when lying in bed in the dark, in the shadowy forces of evil creeping from the remote crevices of her imagination to plague her with appalling fantasies and lurid visions.

The devil would materialise from the mists of her imagination, bursting through of a wall of hell-fire flames in a cloud of sulphurous fumes, with leering face - sometimes the face of the vicar, sometimes other men she knew but always wearing large spectacles - with horns and pointed ears. From the waist down, the devil had the hairy body of a goat with cloven hooves, an enormous, glistening protrusion rearing up from his loins almost to his chin, spouting continuous gushes of white slime, streaked with green, in huge sprays which splattered over Emily’s young innocent breasts.

He would approach her and torment her with its girth, oozing green sludge down its gnarled trunk, with occasional eruptions of steaming jets of thick liquid. She would try to protect herself by covering her tender crack with her hands and squeezing her thighs tightly together with tightly shut eyes. But in her fantasy, no matter how tightly they were shut, the Devil parted her thighs and entered her without effort, penetrating her slowly, with glee and mockery, stretching the lips of her soft vulva so that it almost ripped apart.

Emily’s fingers would work at her private little button, almost unconciously, as she intoned psalms to herself, watching fascinated as the Devil’s enormous shank sank into her damp vulva which stretched and stretched until it embraced the ugly monster. She got so carried away with her own fantasy that she would feel her whole body being infused with liquid fire as waves of his loathsome discharge surged through her every vein, almost choking her.

Emily’s body seemed to become inflated, filled with his sticky gunge until, the pressure becoming almost painful, she burst in a delirium of glittering kaleidoscopic spray as the devil gushed his boiling starch deep into her. Her body convulsed, shaking a with nerve-tingling intensity. Only a vigorous rub between her thighs to bring about her climatic wail could dispel the nightmare. The intense emotion and the repulsive images slowly ebbed away leaving her exhausted, only to be replaced with a feeling of disgust and self-loathing.

As she grew older, the other demons accompanying the devil in her fantasies would each taunt her with their large distended penises, some pumping it into their palm with jeering laughter until profuse streams of their filthy fluid splashed all over her. Several of them would penetrate her, one after the other, until she climaxed with a great cry of despair, collapsing into the mattress still singing hymns. She became obsessed by these awesome fantasies. She was unable to rid herself of the spurting and gushing images, her body filling until she brought herself to a whimpering release.

Whilst a young woman, other usually older men would pester her to go out with them, but she always denied them her company. When Mr Johnson came on the scene she was already in her late twenties and expected to remain a spinster and a virgin. He was neither handsome nor elegant. But he was attentive, charming and courteous. He slowly gained her confidence and, when he asked her mother for Emily’s hand in marriage she was delighted.

He had never made any attempt to molest her nor asked her to touch him. Their kisses were amorous rather than passionate. Still, he was the only chance she had of marriage. On the honeymoon night he treated her gently and with much consideration and, although she could not entirely shake off the feeling that her husband’s prodding at her entrance was the devil seeking entrace to her tunnel of hell, for some years the devil within her was gradually subdued.

She became pregnant within the first year but had a very troublesome time and the birth was late. She had to be induced and suffered a long, exhausting and painful delivery which frightened her a good deal. After she had recovered, Mr Johnson promised that he wouldn’t ask her to bear him another child, though he would have liked a daughter. But he wouldn’t have her go through the whole painful experience again.

So their sex life never re-started. Mrs Johnson was relieved, and for a few months all was well, but then she began with her old fantasies again and, about once a month the persistent demands of her secret torment became too much for her to resist. She found the possibilities for enjoyment in a simple wax candle and, through her wholesalers, was able to get hold of extra large commercial candles.

During the war years they were in constant demand. She would lay in her Friday bath before going to bed and slowly manipulate herself to a climax and relief whist singing a joyous hymn. Once in bed her appetite was so strong that she would repeat the self abuse until an even greater orgasm was reached. Her usual hymn to combat the Devil within her at these times, and to avoid any enjoyment of the climax - usually timed if she could to coincide with the last line of the last verse - was ‘Forward Christian Soldiers’ though she sometimes sang ‘Fight the good fight with all thy might.’

When Mr Johnson became an Air Raid Warden she would take advantage of his nights on duty. Now in her early forties, her feelings of frustration had become stronger and more frequent. She found that the lusty hymn singing didn’t always obliterate her fantasies of the very Devil himself, and she feared that he was beginning to win the battle for her body. She would pray even more sincerely on the those evenings before going to sleep.

But her day-time fantasies persisted and she would find herself staring at the trousers of the men who came into the shop for tell-tale bulges, imagining their hard protrusions bursting out of the flies spouting its evil starch in huge jets in front of her eyes.

She couldn’t be precise about when she had first fancied young Johnnie, but it some time ago. She had watched him mature into manhood. There was something about his innocence and fresh skin that attracted the devil in her. She had seen the distinct bulge in his trousers on more than one occasion. Of course, she was ashamed of allowing herself such thoughts and would, when the shop was empty, quietly hum a hymn tune to bring her back in the fold.

When it was arranged that Johnnie should help out in the shop whilst Mr Johnson was away she found herself humming hymns to herself more and more frequently, particularly during her own holiday the week before. She was glad she’d had the foresight to pack her candle.

When they waved Mr Johnson and Graham off in the taxi, she was strangely excited with anticipation though she knew that she would not go through with her fantasy. The idea that Johnnie should sleep with her had been a wild fantasy at the back of Mr Johnson’s mind for a few days but she surprised herself at the apparent relaxed way she made the suggestion to Johnnie and his easy acceptance of it.

She certainly didn’t feel relaxed about it. On the contrary, her heart was thumping. Johnnie seemed to trust her argument, however, and suspected nothing. On the first night she dare do nothing. Light out, breathe deeply and rhythmically and pretend sleep as soon as possible. But she could feel the warmth of the young male body next to her and she fell asleep with a tormented mind.

She usually woke up a few seconds before the alarm went off. On the first morning Johnnie was laying against her, asleep, and she could feel his innocent erection pressing against her thigh. She lifted the bedclothes cautiously. Peering down, she could just see in the dimness of the early morning light the stiff straight shape protruding from his pyjamas. A sudden attack of shyness and shame made her get out of the bed and turn off the alarm before it actually rang.

She donned her dressing gown and went into the bathroom and then downstairs to make a pot of tea. She poured two mugsful and took one upstairs to Johnnie. Each night she pretended to fall asleep quickly but remained conscious for some time. The next morning, and each morning following, she surreptitiously felt his stiffness and, by the time Friday morning came, she had dared to gently place her palm against the sleeping erection and stroke it without disturbing the sleeping youth.

It had been many years since she had touched a penis and desire burned within her. She turned on her small bedside lamp but sat between it and Johnnie, shading his face from the soft light. He made no stir. She risked lifting the bedclothes and bared his stiffness to her eyes. She gazed as long as she dare at Johnnie’s perfectly straight, rigid rod before covering him and getting out of bed. She hummed ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ to herself impatiently as she washed and dressed.

Her mind was in turmoil all day. She looked at Johnnie quietly from time to time when he wasn’t taking notice. Did she imagine it, or had young Johnnie got an erection inside his trousers? She couldn’t be sure, but desperately wanted to pull this young man to her and run her hands over him and tear off his trousers. On more than one occasion Johnnie had caught her gazing at him and she had to smile thinly and turn away to fiddle with the sweet jars or library books.

She kept miscounting the ration coupons and hymns were buzzing around in her mind for most of the day. When the evening came she determined to make a last chance attempt with Johnnie. Her caution was overcome by her compelling lust. She poured herself a glass of sherry to give her confidence. Her thoughts were only those that satisfied her personal hell. She had a second glass of sherry and, when Johnnie arrived, offered him one as well.

After the usual bed-time preliminaries, she heard his steady breathing and waited for a few minutes to make sure he was fully asleep. Then she ever so lightly brushed her fingers against him and was pleased to find him already stiff. She thought she felt him tense briefly but his rhythmic breathing continued. She touched him again more firmly and fondled his stiffness.

It had been so long since she had properly held a penis! She grasped him and slowly drew him on to his back hoping he would not wake. Her own breathing continued steadily to feign sleep. Turning on to her left thigh she pulled up her nightdress, reached through her thighs with her left hand and placed the erection against her thighs. One push and she impaled the young man’s sweet devil into her restless hell.

Oh why is sinning so heavenly? she moaned to herself as she pushed herself up and down. It wasn’t long before she felt Johnnie’s subdued jerks announcing the spurting of his vital juices into her belly. All too soon, she began to lose her own control. Her body went into an involuntary orgasmic shudder. She tried to stifle her cry of anguish with didn’t entirely succeed. As she subsided, Johnnie rolled away and she felt the young semen oozing out of her, trickling between her legs.

She was relieved that he was not consciously aware of what she’d done. Mrs Johnson pulled her nightgown between her thighs to avoid soiling the sheets and was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep remorse. Tears welled up into her eyes and she cried out in silent prayer for forgiveness and understanding, fervently going through ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ in her mind. She had been so long without a man that the temptation of having a strange one at her side had been too much for her. The devil had won her over yet again.

The following morning she got out of bed as soon as the alarm clicked, determined to behave as normally as possible. She took him his mug of tea and shook him lightly. He opened his eyes and she gave him a reassuring smile before going into the bathroom to dress. From Johnnie’s behaviour he gave no hint that he was aware of what had happened and, if he did was saying nothing about it.

She began to feel easier as the day wore on, but the feeling of guilt stayed with her all the time. She gave Johnnie his week’s wage at lunch-time and added five shillings for the extra jobs he’d done. The unfortunate expression was out before she realised what she was saying. She turned away to hide the flush in her cheeks. So she missed seeing Johnnie’s face turn crimson.

Her husband and Graham returned that afternoon to much relief all round and routine returned to normal. With intense relief, Mrs Johnson started her period that same evening. But it was ten days after Mr Johnson had come back from his holiday that Mr Johnson decided on a rare treat; they would go to the local cinema.

Graham’s excitement was hardly containable and, when the time came, he ran ahead down the passage, ahead of his parents who were busy locking up the house, straight into the path of a lorry. The driver had no chance at all of avoiding the boy. The driver ran for the doctor whose surgery was close by whilst Mr Johnson hurried back into the house to telephone for the ambulance. Graham was not killed but had seriously head injuries.

Mr and Mrs Johnson each privately believed that this was their own individual punishment for their waywardness with young Johnnie. They grieved bitterly but neither was able to tell the other of their dreadful iniquity. They prayed hard every night for Graham’s recovery and those prayers were eventually answered. He finally pulled through but was left with a nasty scar down his right cheek, though with no other permanent damage.

Neither of his parents would ever forget the selfishness and weakness that had brought down the wrath of God on their family. It was to be a very long time before Mrs Johnson hummed hymns to herself again.