The Object of Forbidden Desire Ch. 02

This is the second part of a story I wrote a while ago. I think to understand what's going on, you should read the first part of the same name. Please let me know what you think, I appreciate constructive criticism.

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The sound of birds in the garden reached her ear. She sighed turned over on her back. She could still feel his body over her. Her thighs tingled where they'd rubbed against his slim, hard waist. Her hands moved down over her body, over her pussy and across her inner thighs. She smiled and laughed lightly. Oh, she felt wonderful!

She lay still remembering and luxuriating the sensations that remained on her; the taste of his skin, the feel of his hard smooth muscles. Her hands could still feel the hardness of his pecs where she'd kneaded them as he gently thrust into her. God! If that was how he made love when he was half asleep, how would it be when he wasn't?

She lay for a while until she realised that something was missing: she couldn't hear anything other than the birds twittering in the garden. He wasn't swimming. She tried to get up but as she sat up she felt the most awful bruising. All that "exercise" last night was coming out in its usual way.

She hobbled to the window and looked down. There was no one in the garden or the pool. She wondered where he might be.

As she moved to the bathroom, her well-rubbed thighs screamed in agony with every step. She managed to get to the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath: a nice hot soak would help quell her aches and pains. She glanced at the clock on the landing and noticed that it was already half past nine. He should have been finishing his swim by this time. She poured some scented oils into the bath and mixed them in with her hand.

She undid her robe and gingerly stepped over the side of the bath. She realised she was out of practice even for simple straight-forward sex. Easing herself into the water she felt the heat sooth her muscles and she let out a deep sigh.

Her hands moved once more over her body. Not bad, she thought to herself as she gently brushed her slit and squeezed one bosom, not bad for an old lady. Her smile grew more and more and she let out a laugh as her fingers retraced the steps that Mark's had taken.

Her thoughts again turned the fact that Mark wasn't following his routine. Had she overdone it with the drug? No, that wasn't possible she knew the right dosage, even if she did have to guess some of the factors. She'd have had to put a hell-of-a-lot more in than she had. And not to forget that he'd been almost conscious when she'd gone to him. Even though he hadn't really woken, he'd been quite responsive...quite the 'stud' she mused. She smiled at the thought of him once again ploughing into her.

A thought flashed through her mind again: if he was okay, then why hadn't he done his usual swimming however many lengths as usual? Maybe he hadn't been so "asleep" after all! She sat up with a start. Perhaps he'd remembered and felt so ashamed at having slept with her! Or disgusted! Maybe he'd found the thought of doing it with her repugnant. Maybe he remembered what happened and was calling the police! She had drugged him and although she knew there'd be no long-lasting effects it was still illegal! Could he prove it? She thought about it carefully. What proof was there? Well, the drug would quickly leave his body, about twenty-four hours after ingestion. She calculated the time in her mind. Of course, if they analysed the casserole, they'd find traces. She didn't know how long it'd take to break down into base elements.

Her head spun with more questions as she tried to work out if she might be in danger of being found out. She quickly got out of the bath and began drying herself. The aching had subsided somewhat but not completely. But she wasn't going to be put off from saving her neck by some twinges. She got dressed quickly and devised a plan to get inside his flat and remove the evidence.

Fifteen minutes later she was standing outside his door. Her legs were quivering and her heart was pounding fifteen to the dozen. She hesitated before pressing the bell, all the worst possible scenarios whizzed through her head: he was dead, he was dying, he'd realised what had happened and even now was calling the police or even worse the police were already inside. She told herself not to be so stupid! If they were inside, the car would be in the drive and that wasn't the case.

Her finger pressed the doorbell. The chimes drifted through the house. She waited. She heard some thumping and moving about. Something must have fallen because there was a heavy thump, a tinkling sound and Mark cursing. Eventually a large tanned figure moved behind the frosted glass panelling, blotting out everything else. She found she couldn't swallow as her heart seemed to have risen to her throat and was beating so hard it almost choked her.

The door opened. Mark stood in the doorway, half-dazed. "Mrs. Roberts," he said surprisedly. "How can I help you?" He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to shake sleep off.

He was only wearing a pair of loose boxer-shorts. The fly of the shorts gaped because his stance pulled the material at the hip. She could see a tuft of pubic hair glimpsing through the gap. She moved her eyes up quickly to his face to try and dissimulate, but it didn't seem to work. His hand nonchalantly moved round to his crotch pulled the gaping sides together. Her heart skipped a beat; had she given the game away? He looked exactly as he had the day before. He rested on hand on his hip and leant the other on the door for support. He wiped his brow on his forearm. His skin had a sheen on it: he'd been sweating.

"Are you all right Mark?" She managed to say steadily despite her heart thumping in her ears. "It's just that normally when I wake up you're swimming and I don't think I've ever known you to miss a day's exercise." She smiled trying to act serenely.

Mark was obviously still under the effects of the drug. He was trying to open his eyes, and stand unaided, but was having a little difficulty. However, he hadn't screamed at her for taking advantage of him the night before so she decided it was safe to assume he couldn't remember anything.

Her voice became concerned. "Oh, Mark, you don't look well at all." She moved forward as she spoke and placed her hand on his forehead.

"No, I don't feel..." he started but didn't manage to finish the sentence as she took charge.

"Come on, I'll help you back to bed." She said, ineffectually trying to guide him back through to his room. "I'll whip you something up that'll make you feel better."

Without arguing, he allowed her to put his arm over her shoulder, so she could lead her back to bed. His other arm took most of his weight as he leant against the wall, using it to guide him as well as keep him upright. Slowly he gave into her and allowed some of his weight to fall on her shoulders. She steadied him by pressing her hand over his abs and sliding her other hand around his waist. Her fingers tingled at the touch of his undulated abs where memory and actuality fused. She couldn't help herself and she gently stoked the fine hairs that ran down from his navel and disappeared under the band of his boxers.

"That's right, come on, this way," she cooed as they moved through to his bedroom. "You lie down there and I'll sort you out."

Mark lay down on the bed. "You know," he whispered half asleep, "I'm having some déjà vu. I think I've dreamt this.

Phyllis stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean?" She asked over her shoulder, cringing inside thinking she'd been found out.

"Don't know really" and he closed his eyes.

She moved to close the open window. "Well, we'll talk later. Let me do all the work for you," she whispered.

"There it is again, "he muttered.

"Well, that's the way déjà vu works, dear." She pattered him on the chest making sure her hand brushed against his nipple. The power was sublime. She really was going too far and she knew it. She made a hasty retreat.

In the kitchen the first thing she did was take the casserole out of the fridge and throw the remains away. Then she took the bin out and put it in amongst her own rubbish.

Returning to the kitchen she looked around. Aside from washing the plates from last night's meal there wasn't much to do. She set to washing the dishes and wiping down the work surfaces and then she boiled some water and put it in a bowl. She went through to the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. Mark was sleeping but he stirred when she came in. "I'll just get a flannel from the bathroom, okay?" she said leaning over him. The smell of his body made her pussy tingle. She brought back a small face cloth and a towel. She dipped the flannel in the water and wrung it out.

The touch of the warm damp cloth made Mark try and draw back. He already had a temperature and the warm cloth made him feel as though he were burning. "Now, now, don't fight it. Just lie still so I can clean you up a bit." She chided.

She'd realised that it wasn't really the drug that was having this affect; it was the fact that he'd caught a chill during the night. She'd run out and left him with no sheet or cover. Although the nights were warm, it was still easy to catch a cold with the cool early morning breezes. She felt a little guilty at this, more so than having drugged him for sex. She realised the irony of it as she wiped over his taut body, enjoying the sensation of having this fabulous creature under her power like a toy.

She knew there and then, this wasn't over. He was going to be hers more than once. She needed him and he needed her to take care of him. Her mind's eye toyed with the idea of taking him there and then. What would he do? She imagined him, responding to her kisses, crushing her in his big arms and finally rolling on top of her to take her once again to bliss.

She left the flannel in the bowl and took the towel to dry him off. Her hands pressed down on his hard compact muscles: his chest and abs his legs and arms. Every touch screamed out to her that he should belong to her. And she knew that he wanted it too, even if he didn't know it yet. All the evidence was there, the way his nipples stood out when she'd washed them, his eyes trying to focus on her, the fact that he'd come to the door practically naked. She couldn't help smiling.

She knew she had to take it slowly. Covering him with a blanket, Phyllis managed to control herself. She tore herself away from his side and went to the kitchen to prepare him an infusion. Some simple lemon drink with paracetamol to bring the temperature down would do the trick.

When she came back in he was sleeping like a baby. She smiled at him, her new love, her helpless beast. Large enough to crush her but too weak to work out where he was. His face was still, and even with a day's stubble, he looked good enough to eat. She put the cup on the side and leant forward daring to kiss him.

His eyes opened when she was only a few inches away and stared at her. "What are you doing, Mrs. Roberts?" he asked with a worried look on his face.

"Why... I thought for one moment you'd stopped breathing, you where that peaceful. You gave me quite a turn." She turned and took the drink from the bedside table. "Here, I've brought you something to help." She offered him the drink and he leaned over to take it.

He put the cups to his lips and sipped.

"Drink it all down now. It'll be better for you if you drink it while it's hot." She sat watching his big hand close round the mug handle. Those long fingers that had pawed at her backside and squeezed her breasts the night before, those lips that had breathed hot and heavy against her ear as he'd thrust into her. There was no world outside this. She began to feel dizzy with the sensations of sight and smell mixed with the heady memory of last night.

"Mrs Roberts, Mrs. Roberts," his voice echoed in her head. "Mrs. Roberts?" She realised that he was holding out the empty cup for her to take off him.

"Sorry," She smiled. Placing the cup on the side she turned back to him. He lay back and closed his eyes.

"I do feel better," he said.

"Well, I don't mind looking after you. I'll let you rest for a while and I'll cook you some broth or something. It'll help you regain your strength."

She went to back to her own kitchen for the ingredients: Chicken meat, stock and some vermicelli. She put her hand over the drawer where she kept the drugs. Should she do it again? She could have him, she could worship him and he could worship her. No. She moved away from the temptation. What she was doing now would be a labour of love, and he'd see that, wouldn't he? He'd appreciate her more. She hurried back to his flat and began preparing the light broth. She set the broth on a low light so it would be simmering away, ready for when Mark wanted it.

She sat at the kitchen table, listening to the liquid in the pot bubble away and watching the tops of the trees through the window as they swayed in the light summer breeze. Images of how the sun glistened on Mark's skin as he pulled himself out of the pool and wiped off the excess water from his heavy muscles, taut and compact from the exercise flashed into her mind. His nipples, dark and large, stood out from the lightly tanned skin as he'd brush the soft white towel against his hard skin.

She could feel her pussy becoming moist. Slightly irritated she wondered how she had become so enslaved by him. She'd have to have him soon and then she'd be cured.

Just as she began formulating a plan, in came Mark. He'd put a bathrobe on but it was carelessly tied around his waist and sagged open as he sat down in front of her at the other end of the small table.

The mixture of his image in her head and the real thing in front of him was all becoming too much for her. Obviously he wanted her; otherwise why show himself off to her? He must have remembered the previous night's love making and wanted more: just as she wanted more. Being close to him, seeing him like this. She couldn't wait for the next "romantic evening" she was going to get out of him. She flushed from head to toe.

"Feeling better, dear?" she asked as she stood up and began to ladle some of the broth into a bowl. She set it down in front of him with some bread and a spoon.

"Yes, thanks. Thanks for everything, Mrs. Roberts." He replied. He began sipping the broth. "I don't know what I'd have done with out you. I don't know how to show you how grateful I am for what you've done for me."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Phyllis said under her breath.

"Sorry?" Asked Mark, unsure of what he'd heard.

"Oh, I didn't say anything, dear. I'm sure I've done nothing out of the ordinary." She said.

"You have, you've been just like a real... mother. I'm surprised you don't have children of your own. You would have been a good mother."

His words shot through her. Not the ones about being childless, she hadn't really regretted not having children, it was the comparing him to his mother! She lowered her eyes and her smile dropped from her face.

He could see that he'd offended her. Thinking it was the reference to children, he started, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up any painful subjects. It's just that you've done everything my mother would have done. I meant it as a complement."

"Yes, I can see that, dear." She said, bemused that he had apologised for the wrong reason. Trying to compose herself, she waved it away. "Let's change the subject, hmm? Are you feeling better?"

"Err...Yes," He lowered his gaze embarrassed that he'd put his foot in it, "it must have just been one of those bugs that floor you and then disappear."

"Yes, it must." She agreed.

"Well, I must thank you for all your help." Phyllis was about to protest once again but stopped as Mark carried on, "I'll cook you dinner as a thank you for both the delicious casserole last night and for helping me this morning."

"That would be lovely. You tell me when and I'll come over with a bottle of wine and dessert." She smiled as she stood up. "How about on Thursday? You should be up to having dinner guests by then."

Mark was about to say something when she quickly added, "Good, that's settled then. So, I can see you're much better; I'll let you get on with your day. After all, tomorrow you've got work, and you need to take things calmly."

They both laughed, for different reasons, as Phyllis left him eating her broth.

The next few days passed very slowly. She made sure they didn't coincide, though she watched him from behind the net curtains. After he left for work in the morning, she'd go through the adjoining door and lie on his bed, rifle through his things, smell his clothes. She imagined what it would be like to watch him go through his routine. She couldn't help it. Now that she knew she'd got away with it, she began to obsess and yearn for the next time she could feel his skin, his hair, his cock.

When Thursday came she was standing eagerly outside his kitchen door and itching to ring the bell. The door opened and the sight that she'd been hoping for opened the door. He smiled and waved her in. She knew he wanted her, despite what he might say if he were asked: I'm irresistible, she thought, and he wants me, she convinced herself. As she passed him, she noticed the black, figure-hugging T-shirt that had the contrary effect of pressing his muscles and making him look more muscular than usual. His jeans were also tight and she looked for the bulge where his cock was lying dormant, waiting for her lips to wake it and her pussy to engulf it. She was sure he had dressed that way because he wanted her to look at him.

Her mind whirred with thoughts and suddenly, from somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she was only fooling herself. Her smile slipped slightly as she set the bottle and dessert cups on the table. But she knew she wanted him, had to have him. It burned like a hunger inside her. She wiped her conscience from her mind and turned round to see him.

"Well, you've certainly got dressed up for tonight, haven't you?" She smiled.

"I thought tonight would be special," he smiled as he showed her to her seat. "It's the first time I've had a guest for dinner."

"That's right." She sounded amazed. "All this time, you've never had anyone round. Haven't you made any friends while you've been here?"

"A few people at the gym and in the office of course, but mostly I've been keeping my head down to get enough money together to get my own place." He saw something in her face, "Oh, not that I'm not happy here, of course. It's just that I'd like to get on the property ladder, show my parents that I can make it on my own."

"Of course you can," she encouraged him. "A fine young man like you, you can do anything you set your mind to."

Mark blushed and looked down. How beautiful he was. His embarrassment made him more desirable. It was such a contradiction; his physical prowess and his emotional fragility.

"Well," he said tapping the table and snatching up the bottle, "I'd better get this opened. Isn't it supposed to breathe or something before we drink it? I'm afraid I don't know much about wine and stuff."

"No," She corrected, "that's only for red wine. This is rosé; I've just taken it out of the fridge, so it should be fit to drink right away."

"Oh," he said looking at the bottle. He moved over to a drawer and took out a corkscrew. She watched him place the bottle between his thighs and grip it while he screwed the corkscrew into the cork and pulled, muscles flexing. Phyllis couldn't help but rest her head on her hands and take in the image of this muscled athlete straining on a small cork. She began to feel a moistness between her legs in anticipation.

The meal was amiable but it went on too long for Phyllis' liking. She could hardly wait to reach the dessert. When it came she practically shot from her chair to the fridge, eager to make sure that he got the cup which contained the drug. She set it on the table in front of him and waited eagerly for him to take his first spoonful.