Chesterbury Tales Pt. 18

Delia knew that Peggy fancied Pierre like mad. Probably ready to let him fuck her if the chance arose. Her fantasies about Pierre certainly made her particularly amorous and wet between the legs with her silken honey.

In spite of Johnnie's protection, Delia had managed to be with both the French boys during one or two of the games, having allowed both Jacques and Pierre a quick, furtive grope into her knickers, with a feel of her pendulous breasts which had left Jacques gasping. She herself had managed to grasp their bulges during Postman's Knock but was too nervous of trying to go further. All this sensuality left her panting with frustration, desperate for fulfilment.

After the party was over and the guests had gone home, Delia parents returned from their night out. There was more horseplay in the home, before they all retired to bed. Jacques and Pierre had reluctantly agreed that their hopes had been unfulfilled and that neither of them would get between Delia's thighs, even though both felt she would have been willing had the opportunity arisen.

Jacques was asleep quickly after his tiring evening but Pierre was unable to sleep for the painful frustration in his groin, the insistent throbbing of his hard penis.

He didn't want to wake Jacques with his squirming so he decided that the best thing to do was to go into the bathroom to jerk himself off. He stole silently out of bed, standing in silence, listening intently to the quiet stillness of the house itself, before opening the bedroom door with great care.

He stood still on the dark landing, straining his ears. The bathroom was to his right. The door to Delia's bedroom was to his left, beyond her parent's door. It was slightly ajar. With his heart in his mouth, he suddenly made the decision to creep discreetly to her room. With a pounding in his chest, he tip-toed slowly past the parent's door, pushed open Delia's door very slowly, sneaking softly into the bedroom.

It so happened that Delia had not been able to sleep either. It was a warm night, and her body was too much in a turmoil of frustration after the sensual atmosphere of the party. The furtive gropes and stolen kisses in which she had been a willing participant had left her feeling so thwarted that her aching genitals were wet and hot with lust.

With hands pressed between her legs, squeezing her thighs together, she rubbed her clitoris to bring about the climax she hoped would release, if not completely relieve, the deep seated longing in her genitals. But the orgasm just refused to come! She was in a despair of frustration!

There was a faint disturbance in the air as the door of her bedroom swung silently open. Delia always slept with the window curtains open to give a glimmer of light in the room because she was rather afraid of being in total darkness. The small bedroom was at the front of the house. A street-lamp outside her window threw an eerie glow into the room.

Delia turned her head as Pierre closed the door behind him. He had expected her to be asleep but saw the faint reflection from the whites of her wide, imploring eyes gazing up at him. Pierre stood motionless at the side of her bed looking down at her. Delia's eyes turned to the stiff, clean cock jutting proudly out of his pyjamas from its nest of blonde curls.

Staring at it in the dim light, she realised that she desperately wanted to feel it inside her. Although only a standard six-inch penis, it seemed bigger. It dominated. The shaft of light from the sodium street-lamp outside the window caught it in it's beam, imparting a curious orange glow to it's pale skin. The surrounding dimness of the room suffused the upright shaft with an inner personal glow, giving it a stature of strength and mystical divinity of its own.

It was beautiful. All-powerful. An arrogant deity.

Being a fairly religious person, Delia had thought a lot about Pierre's explanation of Eastern morals. She had tried to rationalise the desire of the flesh in relation to the needs of the mind and soul. She remembered Pierre telling them about Tantrism where God is not to be found by shutting oneself away from the world, but through the pleasures of making love.

He had on a later occasion told her about Taoism in which the couple making love share in the motion of the universe. She had been fascinated by, if rather cynical of, these strange, rather erotic ideas. Staring now at Pierre's proud penis as it reared above her face glowing in its own light, Delia realised that what she was seeing was the god of the flesh given to man by God in Heaven for woman's pleasure. To seek the goddess within her, her private bodily heaven, that soft, tender part nestling between her thighs.

From these warm, demanding folds of flesh, she was able to achieve a private ecstasy to complement the ecstasy of the mind when worshipping God the Father. She hadn't fully understood the philosophies Pierre had spoken of, but after listening to his description of the Eastern rituals, she could not believe that sex was wrong and dirty, which was what her mother would have her believe.

This stiff, incandescent column of flesh rising before her was the god of flesh. She must worship it as God's agent. More than anything else at that moment she craved to have it enter her heaven, into her womanly paradise, warm and moist, longing to embrace this proud god to seek divine fulfilment from it.

Pierre stood quite still, quietly clenching and relaxing the muscles of his groin to retain a strong erection. The clenching action made his penis twitch and quiver as if it had a life of it's own. Delia stared hungrily at its arrogant glowing beauty, reaching out to trail her fingernails lightly up its length until they reached the tip.

There, she pressed the thumb and forefinger gently over the crown, peeling the loose foreskin down its shaft, to reveal the glistening head. A pearl of clear liquid formed on the tip. She watched transfixed as it lazily trickled over, down the flesh of his retracted foreskin.

Lifting her face, she placed her puckered lips gently against the tip, to pay homage to this arrogant god. Delia had never ever thought of kissing a penis before. But here, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to honour the idol swaying in front of her face. Folding back the corner of the bedclothes she raised her knees before flapping them wide open, showing Pierre the mass of dark, damp curls spread over her genitals - her heavenly paradise - inviting him to enter her.

The hem of her nightie was already round her waist as Pierre looked down at her open thighs covered by the dark forest spreading from her navel, across the expanse of her lower belly, down her inner thighs to conceal the whole genital area. She was certainly the hairiest woman he had ever seen. The sight encouraged his cock to stiffen even more

Nevertheless, he could clearly see the dark inner lips of her vulva which thrust out of the hairy gash like a pair of testicles, glistening with her dew in the yellow glow. Pierre felt a surge of wild sexual arousal at the sight of such a magnificent vulva. There was nothing insipid about this throne of love. It was vibrant and glorious in its sheer sexuality.

Pierre climbed slowly on top of her, lowering himself with great caution, to avoid any squeaking of the bed springs, between her wide-open legs. He groped for the hot opening of the heavenly passage with the head of his shaft, as Delia parted the heavy, swollen lips with the her own fingers to lay open the vaginal gap.

Her other hand grasped Pierre's handsome stiffness, guiding it towards its goal. Once placed at the portals of paradise Pierre lay immobile, focussing his senses on the hot sloppy lips wrapped round the head of his powerful penis. He allowed the impatient clenching and unclenching of Delia's internal muscles to suck the conquering idol, oh so slowly, into the eager, slippery glove of tender flesh.

They both held their breath until, with a deep sigh of joy, the invader finally reached the very seat of Delia's heaven, embedded to the hilt in her warm nectar. They tried to suppress their excited breathing as they thrilled to the penetration. Both remained quiet, listening, in each other's arms, to their suppressed sighs.

As Delia concentrated on her own sensuality, the freedom of her own sexuality, the feeling of release, of joy, she clasped and relaxed her muscles rhythmically on the proud god within her. She exalted at its very presence within her. After a while, a growing feeling of ecstasy radiated from deep inside her vagina. It filled her every nerve.

She emptied her mind, focussing exclusively on the mystical union of the flesh, feeling the sensation of her idol's solid form and shape inside her. She concentrated on its shape. The soft warm flesh clutched at it hungrily. Her body began to flutter, ever so exquisitely at first, growing gradually to a trembling in her muscles.

Delia bit her top lip to prevent her rapidly rasping breath making too much noise. The trembling grew to a shake. She couldn't prevent the moans and whimpers in her throat as she reached uncontrollable shuddering spasms which shook the whole body. An orgasm began to erupt as she muttered God's name repeatedly.

She quaked violently, revelling in the forbidden glory of sex. Pierre held hard on to both sides of the bed fearing they were making a noise, whilst the tumult inside Delia's body brought about his own shaking climax. He was incapable of escaping the spasmodic wrench in his jubilant loins. His long pent-up discharge exploded deep into Delia's joyous paradise.

His cock filled her with spurt after spurt of his liquid libation. Delia wanted to cry out in glory and exultation her thanks to God for his bounty. After the succession of judders subsided, their bodies slackened until they became still, foreheads touching. A brief rest was followed, with much caution, by Pierre pushing slowly in and pulling out of Delia's citadel, careful to prevent the bed from squeaking, while brushing his lips over the nut-hard nipples of Delia's drooping breasts.

But Pierre's visit to Delia's room had not gone unnoticed. Delia's mother had sensed the sexually charged atmosphere, thinking rightly that the last night of their visit would be the time for any attempts to taste the forbidden fruit. She had felt disturbing feelings of sexual arousal ever since the other evening when she was unable to stay to experience the freedom of sex.

Memories of earlier days had persuaded her to feel at her own soft lips, encased in their hairy frame. She felt the juices leaking from her vulva and felt ashamed of her sexual desires. But they were not to be denied. Whilst her husband slept peacefully beside her, she played furtively with her clitoris until the tumult in her belly reached a peak. The jerk f her loins were unavoidable.

On this night, she heard the faintest of squeaks of the hinge as a bedroom door opened, and the light cat-like tread outside her own bedroom. She knew every creak and whisper of the house. Her husband was sound asleep, helped by his usual sleeping pill, but she had determined to remain awake, straining her ears for the slightest sign of nocturnal activity.

The slight click as a door closed told her that a visitor was now in Delia's room. She wondered what Delia would do but was soon enlightened by the faint rustle of bed clothes; the almost imperceptible rasp of the bed as it resisted the weight of the extra body. It seemed, then, that her daughter was to allow Pierre - she was certain it was he - to make love to her.

She was glad that it wasn't the boy-friend Johnnie. She couldn't get to like him at all. And, as she had tidied the French boys' bed earlier in the day, she had noticed Pierre's wallet on the dressing table. Tell-tale rings made by condoms were clearly visible. A sly peep into the wallet confirmed a packet of three. So there was little danger of conception.

As these thoughts crossed through her mind she fancied she could hear irregular breathing and sighs, but perhaps it was her fancy. There was little she could do other than have a confrontation with the whole household in the middle of the night. Had it been Johnnie, she might have done something about it, but a Frenchman whom Delia was unlikely to see again gave her a curious sense of approval.

The newly discovered desire in her own loins took her by surprise. Yes! There was no doubt that her desires were aroused at the thought of the handsome blonde boy fucking her daughter - though fucking was a word she would never use. Fornicating! Delia was fortunate.

Pretending to herself that she wanted to be sure that it was, indeed, Pierre who had visited her daughter, she slipped softly out of bed to move silently onto the landing. Her ears were cocked at Delia's door. Sure enough, although there was no sound of bed springs, the sound of irregular breathing suggested physical effort.

The door to the boys' bedroom being open, she peered inside. There was no Pierre. Just Jacques fast asleep, lying on his side. The covers had slipped half off the bed, revealing his hairy chest and navel, with his half swollen penis lolling from its thick nest of hair over the top of his thigh.

Something disturbed Jacques, for one of his eyes opened a crack, to catch Delia's mother staring at his naked genitals. He immediately closed it again, not wishing to embarrass her. Then, the thought of a woman's eyes examining him, stirred his imagination which resulted in the object of her admiration beginning to thicken and jerk as it became aroused.

Jacques was well known among his friends for his interest in having sexual intercourse with women of any age, being particularly fond of ladies in their late thirties and forties who, he believed, could give a man more satisfaction than a younger, less experienced woman.

Delia's mother had a good figure, nice breasts showing beneath her thin cotton nightie, though perhaps somewhat thick round the middle. It would certainly accommodate his crusading penis which she found so fascinating. He wondered where Pierre was until it suddenly struck him that he must be in bed with Delia. That thought only served to complete the swelling of his now magnificent erection, pressing hard into his navel.

Time to open his eyes and smile. So he did! The older woman gave him a serious glance then returned her gaze to his stiff cock. Unable to resist, she reached down to hold it gingerly in her hand, feeling its warmth, throbbing with life.

He spread his arms inviting her join him. After a moment's hesitation, she threw caution to the wind, lay face down on the bed, parting her chubby thighs. Jacques was soon laying on top of her buttocks, taking hold of his rod to present it to the hot lips of her vulva.

After nudging the shaft up and down the crack, she felt the plentiful lubrication seeping onto the outer lips, before it was thrust slowly into her yearning tightness. Her genitals had been so long neglected, she felt like a virgin all over again, marvelling at the feel of a cock deep inside her once more. It was unbelievably wonderful! To be a woman again. To feel her body revel in the joy of union with a male.

To her delight, Jacques performed long and powerfully. She was thankful that the bed had a silent mattress to conceal the activity, until that wonderful sensation she had almost forgotten, flooded her body and she reached a trembling, energetic orgasm, helped by Jacques fingers flicking over her clitoris.

When her shaking had subsided, Jacques rolled her onto her back, sat straddled over her waist before taking hold of his stiff shaft. She watched transfixed as he jerked it in front of her face. It only required a few fast strokes before his sperm splashed abundantly in a succession of gushes over her nightie.

After a few moments of silence, she slipped off the bed from under him, without looking back, returning quickly to her own bed. Shortly afterwards, she heard the soft tread of Pierre returning to his room.

It was, in fact, half an hour after her mother had joined Jacques, and following a second ejaculation from Pierre into Delia's responsive citadel, with much fondling and sighing, that he returned, happy and contented, to his own bed. Curiously enough, at no time had the lovers' lips met. It was a mystical meeting of the genitals, a glorifying of the physical act devoid of any tender feelings.

Delia realised that, though deeply in love with Johnnie, she worshipped the hard conquering cock inside her with an insatiable and joyous lust. She felt no remorse - indeed she felt elated - as the waves of sexual relief had swept through her body twice. She turned onto her side with a satisfied smile and slept like a baby not caring that Pierre's offering was trickling into her nightie.

The following day the two French pals, laden with luggage, were seen off at the station, Delia and Pierre exchanged gentle kisses and an appreciative squeeze of the hands. They never met again.

That evening, after her mother - in an unusually happy mood - had retired to bed, Delia, with a touch of guilt, allowed Johnnie an exploratory penetration of her, providing that he remained quite still, making no attempt to copulate. She relived the magical moments of the previous evening, relishing the sensations inside her rather than remembering the youth himself. After all, he had only been the carrier of the God in his cock. The youth was unimportant. After a quiet orgasm, she asked Johnnie to withdraw, before she took his handkerchief to manipulate him to his own spluttering climax before her father returned home from his late shift.

There was a murmur of approval from the company as Julie's tale ended.

'And did she and Johnnie become engaged?'

'Why, of course. It's what everyone expected. And society would allow no other course! But she never forgot that French youth's mystical fuck. She decided, indeed, that she would seek out other discreet men to frolic with, to share her feminine delights.'

'And what about Johnnie?'

'Him too! Several mistresses. On the quiet, of course.'