Ivy Cottage

“Harder…deeper…” she pleaded, and then she let out a howl like an animal in pain.

“Oh God, its coming…its coming…oh…oh…eeeow…oh no…oh no…oh darling…I want…need…make me…”

I emptied myself into her but she hung on to my buttocks, forcing me to stay with her.

“Don’t go…don’t go…don’t leave me…” she panted.

I thought the vibrations of her orgasm would never stop as she continued to move on my wilting penis. When they did finally end she sat still for a moment, and then speaking softly, said, “Oh darling, I needed that so badly,” and then she rolled off me.

I pulled her to me, hugging her, telling her how beautiful it had been. I felt her breasts pressing against my chest as she said repeatedly, “Oh Jim…oh Jim…”

Cleo had been the dominator to begin with, but now I took control. She was unresisting as I rolled her onto her back. I kissed her but it was her tongue that thrust into my mouth as she began to writhe against me.

She would have held the kiss, but I wanted to see and touch her breasts. I broke from the kiss and moved back slightly to view her. I think they were the loveliest breasts I had ever seen. Feeling them with my hand they were large and firm. Her nipples, long and rose pink, were surrounded by light brown haloes. I gently pressed the tender mounds and Cleo sighed, “Suck me, darling, suck my nipples.”

I took a nipple into my mouth, sucking and tasting it. Calmed by our first union I could now enjoy the more subtle things about Cleo. The smell of her cream coloured female flesh; the warmth of her breasts; the sweet taste that seemed to emanate from her nipples.

I felt as if I wanted to consume her, to engulf her whole being, to plunge into her and meld with her. These were strange and bewildering sensations such as I had never experienced with any other woman, not even the lustful vicar’s wife.

I felt for Cleo’s clitoris. Her vulva was drenched with our combined fluids. As my finger touched her clitoris Cleo, in a voice that sounded as if she was sobbing said, “Do it to me again, darling, do it again.” She parted her legs to indicate her readiness for me.

I was erect and ready for more action so I came between her legs and entered her. She was very wet and slippery and my movements in her caused sucking and soft squelching sounds.

Cleo began her rhythmic singing sounds again and I could almost imagine it to be a love song – and perhaps it was. She was looking up at me with soft brown eyes – a look that might easily have been interpreted as love.

The thought flashed through my head, “My God, Jim, you’ll have to be careful, you could easily fall in love with your own aunt.”

As if she read my thoughts Cleo began to say, “I love you Jim, I’ve always loved you, ever since you were a little boy. That’s why I invited you here, darling, so we could be together like this.”

If I was shocked at this confession it didn’t register at the time because I was once more on the verge of ejaculation.

Cleo ceased speaking but began again her strange throbbing singing that I now realised presaged her approaching orgasm. Her volume increased and she was thrusting up against me with her hips, breathlessly gasping, “Now darling…now…in deep…”

My testes fulfilled their rightful function and shot the first expulsion of cum up my shaft to erupt deep into Cleo’s vagina.

I think for the first time ever I consciously experienced the primal urge to fertilise a woman. With other women I had simply wanted to expend libidinous energy with no consequences to follow. With Cleo, and as she screamed her climax, I wanted more…I wanted an outcome. I don’t think I thought of what it might mean for me to impregnate Cleo, to plant the seed of new life in her. It was just an overwhelming desire for there to be something more – some tangible issue from our sexual union.

Already flooded with lubricant and semen from our first coupling, I could feel the new emissions overflowing out of her vagina to soak my testicles. Cleo’s upper thighs were saturated and I suspected that the bed beneath her must have been getting rather uncomfortable.

She was still sobbing and begging for more, so even after the last pulse of sperm had been pounded into her I continued to move until she became tranquil.

I had a consuming desire to tell her I loved her; again a sensation I had not experienced before. I said nothing, resisting that word “love” and the devotion that went with such a declaration. I tried to tell myself that I had just fucked my aunt for a bit of fun and sexual release. The trouble was I didn’t believe it.

Cleo had no such reticence. She poured out words of love for me as she held herself close to me. It was a little scary having a woman make these declarations since it implied a commitment I didn’t feel I was ready to match.

I pulled out of her vagina and dropped down beside her. The high point of passion may have been passed, but her breasts still allured me. I took one in my hand and touching the nipple it felt soft, indicating that like me, her sexual arousal had been satisfied.

Despite that, as I fondled her breast she moaned, “You do that so beautifully, darling, don’t stop.”

Still with her breast in my hand I fell into a deep, and as far as I know, dreamless sleep, to wake in the morning to a world and self that seemed at peace.

Chapter 7. The Morning Rise

Cleo had gone from the bed and in the distance I could hear her singing. I got up, showered and dressed, and then went in search of her. I found her in the kitchen. She was wearing a loose fitting garment that barely reached below her pudenda and it seemed to float around her as she moved, preparing breakfast.

She came to me and putting her arms round my neck she kissed me deep and hungrily.

“Good morning my love, and how do you feel this morning?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt better,” I replied, her close contact and kiss already giving me an erection; “And how about you?”

“I feel...Oh…I feel like I think you’re feeling. Pity I have to work today, but do you think we might have just a little bit of fun before we eat?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean like this.” She pulled up her garment and bent over the kitchen table face downward. “Do it to me like this,” she murmured.

I dropped my trousers and underpants and positioning myself behind her I probed for her vaginal entrance with my penis. I felt her hand touch it and guide it into the warm wet paradise. I began to move in her slowly, pulling right back, then plunging in deep.

As Cleo began to thrust back against me I speeded up, pushing in hard to meet her thrusts. She started the singing noises and I knew her orgasm was near. With the first burst of semen from my urethra I plunged into her and held her tightly to me for a few seconds. Her singing became a howl of ecstasy and her backward thrust more rapid and urgent. As my semen pumped into her I matched her movements, becoming ever more violent with my thrusts into her.

Something seemed to snap inside me and for the first time I began to express what I was feeling. It was not exactly a declaration of love but one of lust.

“Cleo…Cleo…I could fuck you for ever…I never want to stop…”

Cleo responded, “Don’t stop darling…don’t stop…hurt me…kill me…but don’t stop…”

I finished ejaculating and as Cleo came down from her climax I gasped, “I must have you properly… I must have all of you …”

“Tonight, darling, everything tonight…anything you want.”

For a few moments I hung over her and then withdrew.

“Darling, have you got a clean handkerchief?”

I picked up my trousers and fumbled in the pockets, and finding the handkerchief I gave it to her, thinking she might have been crying and wanted to wipe away her tears. Instead she pushed it up into her vagina saying, “That’ll have to do until I can get to that bidet. I think you’d better go and clean up while I finish the breakfast.”

Grabbing my clothes I went to the toilet and cleaned my penis over the hand basin. As I did this I looked at the bidet, imagining Cleo sitting over its little fountain washing out my cum. Just thinking about it gave me yet another erection.

Chapter 8. A Day in the Country

When I got back to the kitchen Cleo had redressed and the breakfast was ready.

While eating Cleo informed me that she had to visit several clients that day, and if I liked I could go with her.

“Since you’re going to do an agricultural course you might as well see what you’re getting into. You’ll find the farmers a pretty tough lot, but rather conservative. That’s the trouble, you see, they complain about the prices for their products, but just go on doing the same old things they’ve been doing for years.”

“I’m sure there’s a market for new products, but they just won’t try them. I often wish I had the time to grow some of the more exotic crops on that spare land I’ve got, just to see how they go…perhaps one day.”

It seemed strange to hear Cleo the woman of business talking like this. I suppose it’s often difficult to imagine some women in positions of authority and power in the heat of sexual passion, whispering words of love and pleading, but many, if not all of them, must surely experience the delights of sex.

The very thought of Cleo as she had been the previous night and earlier that morning had me burning for her again. I tried to take hold of her and kiss her, but she fended me off; “Not now darling, tonight, after work.” Then she was off to clean herself and dress ready for the day.

When she reappeared she was dressed in shirt and jodhpurs. The shirt was loose fitting but I could see unbridled breasts bouncing beneath the cloth. The jodhpurs were tight and emphasised the swell of her hips.

I wondered how many farmers had been turned on by her and how many had scored. With that thought I felt a pang of jealousy spear through me. I didn’t want her to have been with other men; I wanted her for myself. I had often thought that my vicar’s wife entertained more than just me, but it hadn’t bothered me. If anything I thought, “Good luck to them.”

Now it was somehow different. I didn’t want my vicar’s wife or any of the girls I had copulated with, I only wanted Cleo, and wanted her to want only me. I didn’t really understand what was happening to me, but looking back I can now see I was falling in love – falling in love with my aunt!

We set off in her car to pay the visits. Sitting beside her I was intensely aware of her nearness. She exuded a fragrance that had nothing to do with soap or perfume. It seemed to surround her like a gloriole and I felt as if I could almost see it, it was so tangible. It was her femaleness; the odour of female sexuality, and it nearly drove me mad.

We visited five farms that morning and after being introduced as “My relative Jim who’s going to study agriculture,” I was taken through cowsheds and barns, and shown various items of farm machinery. All was accompanied with remarks like, “All that college theory won’t do you any good my lad.”

Now very possessive of Cleo I watched these farmers, noting how they eyed her salaciously and made hardly veiled suggestive remarks. I wondered if it was their lust for Cleo that got her the business, and whether she’d rewarded any of them for their patronage with something other than her business skills.

We arrived back at Ivy Cottage with ledgers, receipts and invoices sitting on the back seat of the car. I carried them into the office and Cleo said, “Now Jim, I’ve got to get down to some work this afternoon, so after lunch you’ll have to entertain yourself for a few hours.”

My one wish was for the day to pass quickly so that Cleo and I could be in bed together, but I had to accept that Cleo had her work, and since I was getting my board and lodging, plus other things, free, I had no reason to complain.

After lunch Cleo said, “Right, I’ll get down to work. Why don’t you go for a walk, it’ll be good for your liver,” she grinned.

My liver was not the organ of most concern to me, but facing the inevitable I began by taking a closer look at Cleo’s weed infested wasteland.

As I was to learn later, Ivy Cottage and its three acres had once been part of a huge farm. Over the decades parcels of the land had been sold off, no doubt to cover debts incurred by speculation or gambling. At least, that was how my romantic mind thought of it. Now there only remained the three acres attached to the cottage. I could see what Cleo meant about trying some experimental crops on it, although what crops I could not at that time imagine.

I left the cottage and took a walk along some of the adjacent lanes, looking over five barred gates to see what was in the fields. Again I could understand what Cleo meant about the farmers being conservative.

Hay, wheat, Swedes for winter cattle feed, cabbages, and a few other vegetables were being grown. Here and there machinery clattered as the wheat was harvested. No doubt these crops were very useful, but as Cleo had said, they probably didn’t fetch a great deal on the market.

I had wandered some distance from the cottage and was surprised at how long it took me to walk back. Cleo was still at work and as I poked my head round the office door she said, “You can do something useful. Sort out these invoices and receipts, will you?”

After some instruction from Cleo I got down to the tasks. Cleo did things in ledgers and occasionally chattered away on the big old typewriter. Her work was punctuated by muttered comments like, “Silly sod.” “How many times have I got tell the old bugger?” “How they get into such a bloody mess I don’t know.”

Around five o’clock Cleo slammed a ledger shut, stood up and said, “I’ve had enough. You finish what you’re doing while I get some food ready. With that she stomped out of the office, leaving a slightly aggrieved Jim to fiddle with the bits of paper.

Again the contrast between Cleo the business woman and Cleo the bedtime companion struck me as odd. How could this adding, typewriter banging woman, be the same one who sighed and moaned her love at night? And had she sighed and moaned with some of those farmers?

Perhaps it is that we never fully know or understand another person however long we know them and even live with them. I remembered reading a psychology text book once, and the writer made the point, “You can peel away layer after layer of the human personality, but however many layers you peel, there is always another layer beyond.”

With that thought I rested, if not content, at least realising I would never know Cleo in her totality. As far as my insecurity about Cleo and other men was concerned, certainly she must have been with one or more because she was no virgin when she came to me during the night. But then, neither was I a virgin, so who was I to complain?

I tried to set aside the thoughts of Cleo and other men, telling myself I would just “fuck her and not get involved.”

“No you won’t,” said a voice inside me. “You’re already involved but you won’t admit it.”

“Shut up,” I yelled back at the tormentor. “She’s just another woman wanting a good screw and anyone will do, I just happen to be here.”

“You don’t believe that, Jim,” said the voice. “You heard her last night tell you she’s always loved you, and that she invited you here to express that love in a new way. If you don’t want that sort of love you’d better scarper quick smart my lad, because if you stay you’re going to end up admitting you love her.”

“Bullshit, she was just saying that because she felt good after being fucked. She’s just another cunt to stick my cock into.”

“Have it your own way Jim, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now you’d better go to the kitchen because that cunt will just about have your grub ready.”

I felt sick and didn’t want to eat. I felt as if I’d just been screaming obscenities in a holy place. I had reduced a woman who had said she loved me to being only a sex organ for me to stick my sperm into. Cleo who had come to me of her own volition offering her self; Cleo who could have had many men, had come to me and spoken of love, and I had reduced her to a “cunt.”

Trying to hide the shame I felt at having thought so outrageously about one who had never been anything other than caring and loving of me, I went to the kitchen.

Cleo was just about to serve the meal and I was struck by how tired she looked. It had been a busy day for her following a rather active night. I thought I could at least have offered to help prepare the meal – even cook it since my mother had taught me a little of that skill. I determined I would do the clearing up after the meal while Cleo rested.

I went to Cleo and put my arms round her.

“Are you okay, Cleo?”

She turned and placed one hand on my cheek and softly kissed my lips, then looked into my eyes as if she was seeking something there.

“I’m fine, darling, after all, I’ve got you here.”

“I warned you, Jim,” said the inner voice.

“Sod off,” I told it.

We sat and ate, Cleo mainly in silence as she listened to me relating what I had observed during my walk.

“I told you they’re very conservative around here, but Jim, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Yes,” I queried a bit warily.

“You haven’t really told me why you’ve chosen to do agriculture. I mean, you’ve always lived in city suburbs.”

I was relieved; we were on safe ground.

“Well, a guy from the Ministry of Agriculture came round to our school. I was about fifteen and trying to make up my mind what I was going to do. He talked to our class about the future of agriculture; how there was a revolution coming…”

“I wish it would arrive around here,” chipped in Cleo.

“He really had me interested so I talked to him afterwards. He told me about the Agricultural College. I’d never heard of it. All the other kids, if they were going to go on at school, wanted to be accountants – sorry – lawyers, teachers – things like that.”

“We had a garden at school where a lot of kids who didn’t do well at other subjects used to be put. I asked if I could do gardening but the Principal said ‘No. You’re doing too well with science and math’.”

“I spoke to dad about it, telling him that I wanted to go to the Agricultural College, so he came to the school and talked with the Principal. It ended up that I was allowed to do gardening as long as I didn’t drop other subjects.”

“It was a real sweat, but the teacher who took gardening was a great guy. We tried all sorts of things – things nobody else seemed to grow, and mostly they did well. That’s about it.”

There was a gleam in Cleo’s eye. “Darling, they’ve got a course on farm management and administration, have you thought of including that as part of your studies?”

“No, not really, but I’ve got to see the dean of studies to sort out details of what I’m to do. Do you think I should do management and administration?”

“Only if you want to, but I was thinking…well, it’s up to you.”

That ended the conversation and telling Cleo to go and have a rest in the drawing room, I got on with the clearing up.

When I finished and went into the drawing room it was to find Cleo stretched out on a big divan thing. She had poured a couple of whiskies, and I went to sit down in an armchair, but Cleo patted the divan and said, “Come and sit beside me.”

Chapter 9. Seeing a Lot More of Cleo

Like everything else in the house the divan was massive. As I sat down Cleo sat up and cuddled close as if she was trying to burrow into me.

“It’s really lovely to have you here Jim. It can get a bit lonely at times.”

“Don’t you have people dropping in,” I asked, thinking of the lusty farmers I imagined Cleo bedded with.

“Oh yes, I have people drop in and I have the occasional dinner party, but it’s not the same as having someone living with you in the house, especially having you here.”