Still Wet From Her

"Quick, run while you can!" said Stella. "It'll be something awful."

I laughed. "I'm happy to sit through whatever she wants to inflict on us," I said. "But I don't want to intrude any more than I have done already."

"Nonsense." Helen was dismissive. "But I'm afraid if you're a cinema purist, we eat quite noisy popcorn and Stella often shouts at the screen when somebody does something she doesn't agree with."

I hesitated. I did really want to stay -- I liked them both, very much -- but I really didn't want to overstay my welcome.

Stella saw me trying to make up my mind. "How about if David stays, but he chooses the film? Then there's a half decent chance it won't be totally awful."

"All right," said Helen. "It'll be nice for somebody else to be on the receiving end of Stella's grumbling for once."

I looked at them both. The still-beautiful mother and her slightly coltish, awkward but oh-so-lovely daughter. Both at that moment shared a slightly mischievous look.

"God... the pressure," I said. "I really have to choose?"

"It's even worse than you think," said Stella. "You can't just go onto Netflix or Amazon and choose what you want. The internet is so bad here it glitches all the time. You have to choose something from our DVD collection."

Helen disappeared into the kitchen to get the popcorn and Stella led me to their living room where one wall was almost entirely taken up by a bookcase filled with DVDs. It was an eclectic selection, with horror films, romantic comedies, thrillers and even some smutty 70s sex comedies mixed in together.

"You can get boxes of them for hardly anything at car boot sales," said Stella. "So it's quite a weird collection. We've probably only watched about a quarter of them."

I scanned the shelves looking for something that I hoped wouldn't earn the scorn of a teenage girl and also be an acceptable choice for her mother. I was surprisingly anxious about getting it right.

I pointed to a title. "You watched that one yet?"

Stella wrinkled her nose. "No, don't think so. It's quite old though, isn't it?"

"1950s. But... it's more fun than you think. And quite exciting."

She looked doubtful, but shrugged. "Can't be worse than what Mum would choose."

When Helen came in she approved of my choice, so we settled down to watch Rear Window, with James Stewart and Grace Kelly. Stella took the big armchair to my right, which just left the sofa. I settled myself at the far end and tried to look as if a night in with two lovely females was perfectly normal for me.

"You'll never get to the popcorn from down there," said Helen, coming into the room with a large bowlful. "Move into the middle. I don't bite."

"Mum! Don't be embarrassing! Honestly a couple of glasses of wine and she gets all... flirty. So gross!"

Helen wagged a finger at her. "Don't embarrass our guest. He looks uncomfortable enough as it is."

Stella smirked at me and I smiled weakly back. I was relieved when we started the film and we could focus on that.

As Helen had warned me, Stella did keep a commentary going, though Helen wasn't averse herself to chipping in. Both of them cooed when Grace changed into her nightgown. Both of them simpered at the lusty enthusiasm of the two young newly-weds. And both of them seemed more than a little distracted by the age gap between the two leads.

I thought that was a little strange at the time. I don't now.

When the scene came when Grace Kelly had to search the suspected murderer's apartment, with James Stewart helplessly watching from the apartment opposite, the tension was too much for Stella. She scurried over and inserted herself between us on the sofa, her thigh pushed agreeably against mine as she squeaked and hid behind a cushion on her mother's lap. Helen patted her hair and smiled over at me. Then, very lightly, she reached over and stroked my face for a second, before returning her attention to the film.

I stared at the television, but although it's a tense and brilliant final ten minutes, all I could think about was Stella's leg against mine and the fading sensation of her mother's fingers on my cheek.

**

The following week I went over and helped them out again with their deliveries -- their service only ran on Fridays and Saturdays, which Helen said were the days when most people had had enough of their own cooking and fancied treating themselves. Helen and Stella worked well as a team, with a lot of good-natured bickering and laughing that made them seem more like sisters than mother and daughter. I did the Friday deliveries on my own, as Stella was needed in the kitchen to help prepare the meals for Saturday. I enjoyed the feeling of being part of the team, of doing something worthwhile in its own modest way, and of course I liked them both.

On Saturday Stella joined me again for the delivery run. She'd put on some denim shorts that fitted her very snugly and I found myself struggling not to steal glances at her legs as we drove along. You're twenty years older than her, I scolded myself.

When we got to Mr Miller's house she glanced at me and grimaced.

"Don't worry," I said. "He's just an unpleasant old man. Be back in two minutes."

I got his order out of the back of the car and walked over to the front door. It opened before I arrived and that unpleasant face peered out at me from the darkness of the hallway.

"You again," he said.

"Me again," I agreed cheerfully, putting the food down on the ground a few feet in front of the house. I turned and began walking away.

"Do you come in their mouths? Do they swallow it all down like greedy bitches? I bet they fucking do!"

I stopped, retracted my steps and stared at him. Then I lifted my food and ground my heel down into the cardboard box which held his food, crushing the lid down and squashing it almost flat.

"Do your own cooking from now on," I said.

Back in the car Stella looked at me.

"Did you... did you just squash his food with your foot?"

"Yup," I said, and started to turn the car around. "Any objections?"

Stella grinned.

"None at all," she said. "I hope it chokes him."

But as I drove away, feeling rather virtuous and noble and manly having protected my women, I did have a mental flash of Helen and Stella kneeling in front of me, mouths open and eager.

**

The following Saturday I was again asked to choose the film. I played it safe again and thought I'd go for a Hitchcock classic. I couldn't decide between Vertigo and Psycho. Then I remembered how pleasantly scared Stella had been by the finale. Of the two, Psycho was the much scarier film, and I'm ashamed to admit that's what decided me.

I went for my usual end of the sofa but this time Stella went for where Helen had sat the week before. I thought I saw a brief exchange of glances as Helen came into the room, but perhaps it was my imagination.

"You move into the middle, David," she said. "Stella's such a noisy fidget it distracts me."

I shuffled awkwardly along and Helen settled herself onto the other side of me. I pressed "Play" on the remote and we started watching.

"God, even the credits are scary," muttered Stella. "This is going to be awful."

When Marion Crane was stabbed in the shower, Stella shrieked loudly and buried her head in my chest. Instinctively I put my arm around her and hugged her. Then I glanced awkwardly at Helen, who just smiled. Then she leaned her head in and rested it against my shoulder. I thought about putting my other arm around her too, but thought that might be pushing my luck.

I expected Stella to recover her poise and to somewhat shame-facedly withdraw after a few minutes, but instead she nestled in and watched the rest of the film from the safety of our embrace. Though when we reached the final scenes, with Vera Miles creeping through the spooky house, I think she had her eyes shut the whole time.

Even with everything that followed, I think that will always be one of my favourite memories of that time. Helen on one side, Stella on the other, and me between them feeling very happy and content -- and, I admit it, more than a little lustful - even as the world outside seemed to be descending into bewildered chaos.

**

I was finding the other days of the week rather empty without their company, but I didn't want to impose on them too much. I have never suffered from the delusion, apparently common to many, that my company is such a delicious treat that it's impossible to have too much of it. Possibly I also reasoned that my rationing my visits I would enjoy them more, but if so I was kidding myself. I missed them.

So when the phone rang on Wednesday evening and it was Stella, I was initially pleasantly surprised. Then I heard the fear in her voice.

"It's Mr Miller...he's come here! And he won't leave!"

"What? Why?"

"We wouldn't take his order... and he was rude to Mum and she hung up on him.... And now he's driven over here and he's outside, shouting... terrible things! I wanted to call the police but Mum says no... can you come over?"

"On my way," I said. "Don't let him in, Stella. Keep him outside."

I hung up and sprinted to the car. Normally it takes me fifteen minutes to get to their house. I think I did it in half that time. Lucky for me there were no cars coming the other way on those narrow country roads, otherwise one of us would have ended up in a ditch.

I screeched to a halt and jumped out of the car. Miller had been peering in through one of their windows but he turned as he heard me approach.

"Why don't you fuck off," he said. "You're so fucking greedy. You don't need both of them. Why don't you let me have one of them? I'll take the youngster, I bet she's got a lovely..."

That was the time it took me to reach him.

I have never been much of a fighter. A few scraps in the playground, that would start with wildly thrown punches and then descended into angry wrestling. But I have played quite a lot of football, and for a while I was the penalty taker for my school team. My foot connected hard with his groin -- to my disgust I could feel he was hard beneath his trousers -- and his face went white. Then he slumped to his knees, gasping for breath.

"If you ever come within a mile of this place again, I'll fucking cut them off with fucking garden shears, you disgusting pig," I hissed at him. "You nod if you understand, all right?"

Somehow, gasping, he nodded.

I dragged him to his feet and man-handled him over to his car. "Get in and fuck off," I said. "Now!"

It must have been agony for him to even move, but somehow he got in, started the car and reversed away. I watched him go, suddenly feeling rather shaky myself. I'd been pumped up on adrenaline and now that it was beginning to fade I felt surprisingly light-headed.

"Are you all right David?" Helen had emerged from the house, her pale face full of concern.

"Sure," I said. "I just need to sit down for a minute."

She held out her hand to me. "Come here."

She led me into the house and I collapsed onto the sofa. Stella came over and put her arms around me. She'd been crying.

"Thank you," she said. "We were really scared."

"He's unpleasant but probably harmless," I said. "You'd have been fine." Truth be told I didn't feel terribly manly at having dispatched a sixty-something-year-old man with a kick in the privates. If he'd been my age, or younger, probably the women would have been scraping me off the driveway around now.

Helen came in with a cup of tea and for a few minutes we sat quietly.

"Can you stay here tonight?" Stella's lovely blue eyes were beseeching.

"We can't ask David to do that." But Helen didn't sound her usual confident self.

"I don't mind sleeping on the sofa, if you'd like," I said. I didn't much fancy the drive home. I still felt strangely nauseous. The rush of threatened violence, the brief execution of it, the slight sense of self-loathing for having reacted so viciously. I realised I felt very proprietorial towards these two, and Miller's incursion into my territory, my group, my pack... had triggered something deep and primal in me. I wasn't sure I liked it, but it was unmistakably there.

**

They found me some blankets and a spare pillow and after a quiet supper together -- none of us were very hungry -- we said our goodnights and I bedded down on their sofa. It was barely long enough for me and a little lumpy but I fell asleep almost immediately.

I was awoken by the sound of somebody coming into their kitchen. The light went on and I could see Stella standing in the doorway, her body outlined by the light. She was wearing something short and sheer and, with the light behind her, almost completely transparent. Her body was ripe and young and lovely.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I needed to get a drink."

I nodded dumbly and continued to gaze at her. She didn't move. I think she knew exactly what I was seeing. Perhaps it was a thank you of some kind. Then, after a few more seconds, she disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the sound of the tap running. Then she was briefly in the doorway again, silhouetted sideways this time. I could see the curve of her young breasts and even, I thought, the outline of a nipple. I didn't think I had ever been harder in my life, my cock felt so swollen it was on the edge of bursting.

"Sleep well David." Was that a tease?

The light clicked off, and I heard the sound of her footsteps retreating slowly up the stairs.

I lay awake for a long time after that. I was desperate to give myself some release, but the etiquette of masturbating in a stranger's house is complex and fraught with risk, so I simply tried to think of other things. For several seconds over the course of the next hour, I think I succeeded.

And then, somehow, miraculously, I fell asleep.

**

I awoke to the smell of coffee and light streaming in through the window. Helen was sitting beside me in the armchair, watching me with a strange expression in her eyes.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"Good morning," I said.

She didn't answer. She just kept on looking at me. Slightly self-consciously I ran a hand over my chin and grimaced.

"I need a shave," I said. "And possibly a spare toothbrush, if you have one."

She nodded.

"Come upstairs," she said, and held out her hand, as if I was a six-year-old child, rather than a man in his forties.

I took it, and I followed her up the stairs. I hadn't been up there before. But my eyes were glued to Helen's backside, which swayed and twitched invitingly as we ascended.

"The shower in my room's the best," she said, and we turned left at the top of the stairs into a small but comfortable room with a double-bed and a small en-suite bathroom at the far end.

"There's a towel in there, and some razors and a new toothbrush," she said. "The water's hot, but it runs out after about five minutes, so don't take too long. And use the big white robe -- I'll wash your clothes for you."

The shower was vigorous and almost unbearably hot, which was just what I needed. Five minutes was just long enough to get the worst of the stubble from my face. Then, still steaming, I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I felt wonderful now, full of life and vitality. The mood of the conqueror, I mocked myself.

When I opened the door and stepped out Helen was lying in her bed, the covers over her, just covering the tops of her breasts. She was naked beneath the covers, I knew.

"I sent Stella for a walk," she said. "She knows what I have in mind, but I don't care."

My throat had suddenly gone dry. "And... what did you have in mind?"

She slowly drew the covers back. Her breasts were full and heavy and with startlingly red nipples. Even as I watched they seemed to pucker and rise as the cooler air reached them. Between her legs was a small, neatly trimmed patch of brown hair.

"I thought I'd get you to fuck me," she said softly. "I'd really like that David."

I gazed at her body for a long, long moment, drinking it in greedily. Sometimes the anticipation of sex can be almost as intoxicating as the act itself. Knowing that in a few moments or minutes I would be inside this gorgeous woman was a wonderful thought.

I slipped off the robe, and her eyes dropped to my groin.

"Oh, it's been so long," she murmured. "So lovely... I'd forgotten."

A moment later I was in bed beside her, kissing her hungrily. Her arms went around me and she pulled me on top of her.

"Quickly," she said. "Oh please... quickly!"

She reached down and I gasped as her hand encircled me.

"So hard," she whispered. "Fuck me with this now, please, god, fuck me."

It was my turn to reach down and to explore a little more with my fingers. She was soaking wet, and I found this hugely exciting. With my ex-wife foreplay had been a long, drawn-out and occasionally frustrating prelude to the act itself. She found it difficult to become aroused, or perhaps it was simply a failing in me. But Helen was more than ready.

So I slipped into her, feeling strangely guilty that I should be inside her so early and quickly, literally just a few seconds after joining her in bed. She jolted and gasped and her arms went around my back.

"Oh yes," she said. "Oh fuck yes. Now fuck me, David."

I kissed her deeply again and began that familiar rocking movement, sliding myself back out of her until I was almost three-quarters withdrawn, then pushing back down and feeling that delicious welcoming embrace around me.

"Yes," she said. "Harder!"

I moved a little more quickly inside her, back and forth, my mouth still seeking hers at every opportunity. Her beautiful full breasts were crushed against my chest and I wanted them in my mouth too, so I began to slide out of her, intending to suckle them for a few glorious seconds before once again entering her.

To my surprise I felt her legs go up around me, encircling me, keeping me inside her.

"No... please... just fucking now. Anything you want later... but fuck me now."

I did as she asked, and kept up that relentless rhythm, back and forth, as her nails gently raked my back.

"Oh yes.... I love your cock David... fuck me harder please... I need it harder."

It had been many, many years since I'd been with anybody but my ex-wife. In addition to being slow to arouse, I don't think she'd much cared for the act of penetration itself. Quite often it seemed to hurt her. I don't think she was particularly small, and I'm no more than average, but for whatever reason that part of love-making was something I always felt she endured rather than enjoyed. And so I had learnt to be gentle and tender and to treat her as something delicate.

It was proving hard for me to escape that mindset now. Part of me still saw all women as being as fragile as my wife had been. Certainly I saw the key to their pleasure as being gentle caresses and movements, soft murmurings and brushed kisses.

"Harder... use my cunt David, fuck it hard."

That jolted me. My wife had also had an aversion to the "c word", as she called it, and to hear Helen use it in such a desperate tone was hugely erotic. I began to lose control, and to pump at her more energetically and vigorously.

"Fuck yes... that's it. Fuck me nice and hard with your fucking lovely big cock."

I moaned, and began to pound her even more brutally. This was primal, animal fucking, like a dog mounting his bitch and using her. Part of me still protested this was wrong, this was not how modern men behaved, but a larger part of me loved it, and I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to.

"Talk to me... tell me what you're thinking David... you fucking dirty lovely man..."

Oh Christ. I wasn't sure what to say -- a verbal accompaniment had never been part of my married sex life either -- but I took my cue from her.