Free Universal Carnal Knowledge Pt. 05

The weakness of the flesh

Several hours of clearing up at Uncle Albert's house brought me no real reward. It was arduous, unpleasant work on such a sultry day, and I felt terribly invasive going through the old boy's things. The reflection that now they really belonged to me made me feel slightly less uncomfortable about it, but it did not make the work any easier.

I decided to tackle one room at a time. So I started on a pile of old magazines at one end of the front room and took it from there. Most of them were porn – the old goat had apparently kept every dirty book he had ever bought, even desperately tame stuff (by modern standards) from forty years ago. I dreaded that I might accidentally throw away some vital clue about FUCK so I checked everything thoroughly before discarding it, and this made progress slow. I carefully kept all scientific periodicals whether or not they appeared to be relevant to Uncle Albert's work; some of the astronomical stuff he had probably bought merely out of interest, but you never knew.

I also powered up his home computer and spent a frustrating half hour trying to find the password. Knowing the man, I felt sure it would be some crude sexual obscenity and I tried plenty, but without success.

Finally I called it a day and went home, feeling hot, sweaty, dusty and fed up.

It was a fairly typical home evening, differing from the night before only in that instead of letting Wendy pounce on me the instant I got home I insisted on having a shower first, and the food this time was Chinese. I noted that I was already beginning to accept these comforts as no more than my due, and I felt I should miss them when FUCK wore off.

I was also beginning to take for granted the sex on going to bed, in the middle of the night, and before getting up, and again I was not disappointed. As I watched Wendy leave for work the next morning I reflected fondly how loved and pampered I felt. This complacent mood was somewhat disturbed when the sound of Kylie sneaking home as usual reminded me that FUCK could cut both ways: it could give me the happiest marriage imaginable, or it might land me in gaol for some terrible sex crime.

So I got on with things, calling in to pay the undertaker and visiting Uncle Albert's bank. Mr Lucas had contacted them as promised so they were expecting me and we discussed the procedures for the formal release of his funds. There was less than fifteen thousand pounds, a remarkably meagre return on a lifetime of brilliant scientific achievement. It was further confirmation that Uncle Albert's motivation in life had not been financial.

I commented as much to the bank manager, who had an apologetic air as if thinking I might blame him for the lack of riches. "Yes," he replied. "Maybe your uncle was a seeker after truth."

"Maybe he was a seeker after pussy," I wanted to say, but I kept this thought to myself. The events of the last few days made it clear to me that it had been Uncle Albert's driving passion to complete the project he called FUCK and unleash himself on the unsuspecting "young ladies" of London, only for a casual accident to cut him down when on the brink of success. For him, it was an incredible tragedy; but for London's young womanhood, I could not but reflect, a lucky escape. The mind boggled at the thought of what this decrepit old lecher might have done armed with the animal potency FUCK conferred allied with its apparent power to induce a dramatic sexual response in at least some women. The law would, I presumed, somehow have caught up with him before long, but he would have enjoyed himself in the meantime. And now, this gift or curse had fallen on me.

Home again, I saw Kylie enjoying another sunny day lounging in the garden. My cock, well engorged now since I had not come for at least three hours, urged me to take a closer look but I was very firm with myself. I went straight to the bedroom and wanked copiously. This reduced to a manageable level my fascination with Kylie's massive charms and allowed me to get on with business; I needed to make a couple of calls, then I could resume the unpleasant but necessary task of clearing Uncle Albert's house.

I also checked the answering machine. There were three messages, all from a cellphone number that I did not recognise.

"Hello, Mr Walker? This is Connie. Connie Amoah from work. Can you ring me back please?"

Half an hour later: "Oh, you're still not there." She sounded crushed, then pulled herself together. "Mr Walker, it's Connie from work. I'm sorry to trouble you at home but I need to talk to you quite urgently. Can you ring me on my mobile please? 'Bye."

The final message was another forty minutes later, about ten minutes before I got back from the bank. It began with a huge, almost despairing sigh at once more hearing the answering machine, then: "Oh, Mr Walker, I don't know what to do. It's so important that I talk to you. Please, please, if you get this message, ring me back right away, please."

The desperation in her voice gave me a strong suspicion of what must have happened. She was already in higher management's bad books, so I thought she must have crossed the line and got herself sacked, or at least threatened with formal disciplinary action. It would, frankly, hardly be undeserved, but I liked the girl and wished her well so I rang her back. I was pleased that she had felt able to contact me despite the embarrassment she must be feeling about the ass-flexing display now that the effects of indirect exposure to FUCK had had a couple of days to wear off.

She answered her phone the instant it rang. "Oh, Mr Walker, thank you, thank you for ringing me back. Just one second...". I heard her telling someone to excuse her, that she must take this really urgent call. This was followed by her rapid footsteps and the closing of a door. She sighed with relief and resumed. "Sorry, I was in my course. [I had forgotten that we were sending Connie on day release on Fridays.] I'm so sorry to trouble you at home, but, please, I really really need to talk to you."

"All right, Connie, what can I do for you? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Mr Walker, I can't talk about it over the phone. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you possibly meet me here?"

This meant probably an hour's drive to the college we had booked for the training, which I dimly remembered was out in the sticks somewhere, plus another hour back, at a time when I was desperate to get to Uncle Albert's.

"Connie, I'm sorry if you're in trouble but I've got my hands full sorting out my uncle's affairs. Why can't you tell me over the phone? And I'll be back in the office on Tuesday if you want to talk face to face."

"Oh, I knew you'd be angry. I feel awful."

"I'm not angry, Connie, I'm just busy. Please take a deep breath and tell me the problem. Are you in trouble at work?"

I heard her take the deep breath. "No, no, it's not that. I can't tell you over the phone. I just can't. Please, please, Mr Walker, come and meet me."

I relented. I suppose I felt I owed her for the ass display. I took the address of the college and set off for leafy Hertfordshire on the northern borders of London. The traffic was mercifully lighter than usual and I was pleased to find it took me only forty minutes. I had told Connie an hour but there she was, already waiting at the front entrance. For a moment I failed to recognise her because instead of the tight trousers or jeans she always wore in the office she was wearing a jeans skirt that came half-way down her mighty thighs. She burst into a huge smile the second she saw me and jumped into the car with alacrity. "Ooh, it's lovely and cool in here," she said as she settled into its air-conditioned interior.

I drove off. I had expected her to tell me what was troubling her but instead the normally talkative Connie seemed content merely to sit there looking at me. It was the same look she had given me on Wednesday, only more so. It was almost adoration.

"Connie..." I began.

She suddenly came to life. "Go left here," she unexpectedly said.

"All right," I replied, obediently turning into a country lane. "Where are we going, and what's all this about?"

"It's so beautiful down here," she replied dreamily.

She was right. The lane wound through the rich green English countryside on a glorious June day. We approached a quaint country pub that I thought might be our destination but Connie simply sat there silently drinking me in and showed no desire to stop. The lane took us into a wooded hollow and across a narrow bridge over the stream at the bottom and as we climbed the slope on the other side Connie came to life again and asked me to pull off the road. "We can talk here," she said.

I stopped among the trees, looked at her, and waited.

Eventually she said, "Mr Walker ..." in a very quiet voice, but then trailed off again.

Her eyes never wavered from me for a second. They were wider than ever and her whole face seemed radiant. Her mouth was slightly open and her tongue sensuously touched her lips. Her breathing had become rapid and shallow. I was alone in my car in idyllic and secluded surroundings with a highly fanciable girl who gave every indication of being overcome with desire.

I moved my face closer to hers. She mirrored the movement. We were only inches apart now. Somewhere at the back of my mind a tiny voice tried to remind me that I had been a faithful husband for twenty years but somewhere in my trousers a rapidly hardening cock told me to ignore it.

We drew slowly closer until our lips brushed together. That was enough. We threw our arms around each other and kissed with ferocious passion. I sat back on the driver's seat, keeping my right arm round Connie to pull her across to my side, while my left hand groped for the lever that would lower the back of my seat. We never broke the kiss for a second. As the seat flattened out she shifted her weight across and swung her leg over to straddle me. At the same time she rucked up her skirt to gather it as far as possible around her waist. As her great chocolate ass burst free I gasped at the size of it under my hands, but I had no time to waste as I felt for her knickers. I groped in vain; the little minx had come prepared.

My eager hands squeezed and fondled the vastness of her buttocks; each felt bigger than her head. Their huge circumference was such that it took me a few moments to find the dripping aperture of her cunt. Meanwhile her hands were fumbling to unzip my trouser fly. As soon as she succeeded my cock sprang free and she gasped in her turn.

She was rubbing her body up and down mine like a woman possessed. I could feel my own hips beginning to move back and forth and then I felt the tip of my cock against her inviting pussy.

Abruptly and without any instructions from the conscious part of my brain, my hands firmly grasped her waist while my hips drew down as far as they could then pushed vigorously upwards. My cock homed in on its target like a heat-seeking missile and plunged deep inside her. Some animal instinct had taken over; this was not tender sensitive love-making but raw primal fucking.

Connie came almost instantly. For the merest second she gasped in surprise, then writhed convulsively and a huge long orgasmic moan escaped her.

I was not done. As my cock thrust in and out of her now passive body, which I still gripped firmly by the waist, I heard her faintly say sorry, as if it were her fault she had come so soon. My desire was so strong I did not expect to last much longer myself. To my surprise, I felt my thrusts answered, tentatively at first but then more firmly, by a bucking motion of Connie's hips. Helpless slaves of our shared desire, we writhed like animals. I felt a swelling explosion within and then, with an extra powerful thrust, I forced my throbbing cock deeper inside her than ever and pumped her cunt full of bolt after bolt of hot spunk

As I released my tension, hers seemed to build to a new pitch and then she in her turn came. This second orgasm was nothing like the first; in fact it was beyond anything I had ever imagined in a woman. If her first climax had been a convulsion, this was like a tidal wave of utter ecstasy. Her entire body seemed to quiver uncontrollably. I hastily let go of her waist in order to feel the effects on that colossal ass. Her hips were still bucking while the buttock muscles themselves were in spasm, the two rhythms combining to create an earthquake of flesh under my hands.

After what seemed like several minutes, her body slowly relaxed. She was in some post-orgasmic transport of pleasure such that she seemed unable to move or even speak, but she did not resist when I lifted her gently off me, rearranged her skirt as best I could, and put her down on the passenger seat. Then I lay back myself, utterly spent.

Eventually I pulled myself together sufficiently to lever the seat back upright, which allowed me to get a good look at Connie. She was sitting in a completely inert posture, breathing in slow pants, with her head lolled to one side. Her eyes were open but she was looking blankly in front of her and her face was divided by a radiant slightly open-mouthed smile from ear to ear. When I lifted her hand it was utterly limp and she did not react at all; when I let go it fell by her side as if lifeless. Softly I spoke her name and the rhythm of her breathing changed ever so slightly and she made an almost inaudible grunt in acknowledgment; it was only then that I was sure she was conscious.