"Timmy," Claire whispered to me, "Don't be so rigid. Stop clenching your mouth."
I tried to comply, and on the next kiss, our lips mushed into each other. It actually felt pretty good ... but it was bad, bad, bad ... Suddenly, something soft pushed and probed into my mouth. I opened my eyes in a start but could only see Claire's closed eyes.
Claire sat up and beckoned Stephanie to join us. Stephanie, casting another doubtful gaze down the hall, was hesitant, but she eventually came over. She stood beside the bed and bent over my face. I closed my eyes again.
Stephanie's lips were big and full. It was a completely different sensation. She was a bit more forceful and smacky. She kissed me quickly over and over and over, and I began to suspect that she had more experience than she was letting on.
Enough! ... I had to be the sober person here, so I turned my head away from them. "Where are you going, little boy?" Claire said, grabbing my chin and turning my head back. But I swung my head away again.
Claire sighed. Then, she pointed to a spot on my cheek and said to Stephanie, "Here. Kiss him right here." Stephanie planted a little smick of a kiss on the target. Then Claire pointed to a spot on my chin, and Stephanie kissed it. Then Claire pointed to a place on my neck ... a place that I didn't realize was so sensitive ... and Stephanie kissed it. Wow! It felt just like an intense tickle. I squirmed and let out a little whimper. ... That was an unfortunate reaction to have revealed.
"Whoa!!" Claire exclaimed, "He liked that!" Stephanie leaned in and went nuts. She kissed and kissed and sucked on the tender spot and all around it. I squirmed and whined. Then Claire leaned over my turned head and started kissing my lips again, but this time, she was more forceful. Everything was spinning out of control. Lips were landing with great rapidity. "Mmm, mmm," Claire whined into my mouth. Electric currents were running up and down my body. My neck was being teased mercilessly, and my lips were being violated. I couldn't make sense of all my feelings, and my hard-on was starting to rub up through my boxers against the sheets.
Then suddenly, the sound of a telephone handset being cradled brought everything to a halt. The two sexual assaulters sprang to their feet and crossed the room. In the distance, the sound of running water suggested that Mrs. Wilmot was filling my glass in the kitchen.
Claire poked her head out the doorway and confirmed that the coast was clear. She looked over her shoulder at me and scratched on the outside of the door, moaning, "Be-ware of the un-der-wear ghoooosts! Woo-oo-oo-oo!" Then, she scampered across the hall into her room, followed closely by Stephanie. I could hear them giggling as they closed their door, and then, in the safety of their room, they burst into laughter.
The sensation of violation reverberated on my lips and neck and then slowly faded away. I lay on my back staring blankly at the ceiling, and my erection throbbed in my boxers. I pulled the sheets up tighter under my chin.
*** The Tuck In ***
Mrs. Wilmot came into my room to set down the glass of water on the end table and then crossed over to check on the girls. When she returned, she shut off my overhead light, leaving only the bedside lamp on. The room became very soft and dimly lit.
Closing the door, she paused at it, with her hand on the knob. She seemed to be thinking or praying or steeling herself to do something. Eventually, she drew in a deep breath and walked over to the bed. As she sat down, I noticed that her zipper was undone to below her bellybutton ... she must have been pretty warm.
I tried not to look between the unzipped open ends of her shirt. I determined that I just needed mental discipline to ignore the temptation. I just needed to see that it was only Claire's mom. ... For example, that wasn't a cute little "inny" bellybutton with soft, tiny, pink folds of skin that I was looking at – it was only Claire's mom. And those two plump, rounded pillows of soft, pliable flesh that formed sculpted curves of light and shadow on her chest weren't tempting me to run my hands over them – it was ... it was ... um ... Claire's mom. And that delicate, pink, flawless skin with its wisps of tiny, blonde, bunny fur was not promising to yield like pudding to my fingers' soft caresses – it was ... uhhh ... it was ...
My hard penis twinged.
Mrs. Wilmot looked down at me with that same sparkly-eyed, intense look as she had had before. She leaned over my body, and her chest moved visibly in and out as if she was having trouble breathing. "You ... uh ..." She cleared her throat. "Are you settled?" she asked with a bit of a raspy voice.
"Yes, Mrs. Wilmot," I responded shyly.
"Do you ... um ... need anything else?" she asked falteringly.
"No," I replied.
"No," she repeated immediately after me. "Then you're good ... you're okay ... I ...uh ... I should then go then ...," she stumbled over her words.
She continued staring at me. I didn't know what to do. "Good night," I offered.
"Good ni..." she started to say and then leaned slowly towards my face. She stopped and started to sit back up but then continued forward. When our noses were almost touching, she whispered, "Good night," and then gave me a little peck on the lips.
She did not lift up again. I could feel her breath on my mouth and in my nostrils as she hovered just above me. Then she lowered herself again and enveloped my lips with her mouth. She dragged her lips around and over top of my lips, mushing them together. When she finished, she moaned, "Mmmm ..." Then she kissed me again ... and then again ... and then again. Her lips mushed and slipped and pressed and slurped. It was wet and slippery and ... and ... wonderful. I shouldn't have been enjoying it so much.
Suddenly, she bolted upright and looked back at me in fear. She zipped up her shirt in a single quick pull, jumped up, and strode towards the door. Grabbing the knob, she turned and pulled on it, but her other hand held the door closed. She let her forehead fall against the back of the hand holding the door, and she paused in reflection, idly turning and releasing the knob. Finally, she backed away from the door, undid her zipper, and returned to the bed. ... Why was she coming back?!! This didn't feel right!
Sitting down on the bed, she took in a big breath and let it out slowly. Then she ran a finger through my bangs to comb them into line. She cleared her throat. "You seem a little ... hot, Timothy," she said softly, not looking into my eyes.
"No," I said, pulling the top of my sheets more firmly up under my chin. I didn't like where this was going. "I'm fine."
"But you're sweating, Timothy," she observed. "You'll overheat. We should get some of these covers off you."
"No, I ..." but before I could say any more, she pulled the sheets down my body to my knees. Cool air suddenly settled onto my exposed skin. I now had only the thin cotton of my boxers between my naked body and a real, flesh-and-blood woman. In my shorts, my agitated penis pushed impatiently at the loose flaps of my fly in an attempt to see what the excitement was. I felt entirely helpless and vulnerable.
Mrs. Wilmot looked at my jutting boxers out of the corner of her eye and then scanned back to my face. "Ti- ... Timothy," she strained to speak, "I know how difficult it can be for boys your age." Her hand began to trace a line from my ear down my neck towards my chest, and then she stopped. "I know that sometimes it can be very, very frustrating." Her hand started drawing little figures on my upper chest. "Do you ... I mean ... Have you ever ... uh ... done things with Claire?"
"Things, Mrs. Wilmot? What kind of things?"
Her finger traced up and down the centreline of my chest. It tickled but it also felt naughty. I grew worried. "Well, things that would ... um ... relieve your frustration," she clarified.
I still wasn't following her. Go jogging? "Maybe. I don't really understand what you mean."
Her hand repeatedly smoothed the skin over my stomach towards my side, as if she was trying to stretch it into place. "Well, has she ever touched your penis, for example?" Her hand paused in mid glide after she asked the question, and she cocked an ear towards me, waiting for my reply.
"No, Mrs. Wilmot!" I was offended by the question. I knew what was right and wrong. No girl had ever touched me down there, and no girl will ever touch me there until I get married ... guaranteed.
Mrs. Wilmot breathed out a large sigh and went back to petting my stomach. She seemed relieved but still a little nervous. I was more than just a little nervous. "You know, Timothy." She avoided looking in my eyes again. "I'm available to help ..." She cleared her throat again. "... to ... um ... help you when you get like this ... when you get tense like this," she said cryptically. "You shouldn't just try to ignore it, or things will get backed up and become sore and maybe even rupture. I want you to know that you can a-a-a-ask ..." She coughed. "... ask me for help when you need it."
What the heck was she talking about? "What will get sore, Mrs. Wilmot? What's going to burst?" I asked.
Her breathing started getting heavy again, and her hand skittered with friction across the skin of my stomach towards the waistband of my shorts. Looking down, she lifted her hand over top of the fly of my boxers. She was breathing heavily through her mouth, and it sounded like she was in the middle of a running race. With her thumb and forefinger, she peeled back one of the flaps of the fly, allowing my hard cock to push into view.
I was absolutely shocked! I wanted to cover it with my hands, but I couldn't move. She was looking at it! She was looking at it!! It was hot and pulsing in the embarrassment of being exposed.
Its appearance had an electric effect on her. She drew in a sharp breath, planted her hand firmly on my stomach, and slid it roughly under the waistband of my shorts. She curled her fingers around my pole, retrieving it back through the fly, and squeezed. ... She was TOUCHING it!!! ... Then she whimpered and looked sharply into my eyes. She had a panicked look, like she was losing control. I got scared.
She flopped forward onto the bed, laying on top of my arm and pinning my hand under her – down where I don't think my hand should ever be. With my penis in her grasp, she jerked her hand forcefully in and out of the top of my shorts, and with another whimper, she threw her mouth onto my lips and began to ravage them. The faster she jerked, the harder she kissed; and the harder she kissed, the faster she jerked. Her whimpers turned into a rhythmic moan. Jerk and jerk and kiss and kiss.
The whole bed was shaking. My body was being forced back and forth. ... No, it was her body that was moving up and down, causing the bed to rock. She had one leg over the side of the bed, and her hips were grinding her lower body into my hand through her shirt. Something soft was rubbing on top of my knuckles. "Ungh ... ungh ...," she moaned into my mouth with her kisses.
I didn't know what was going on. Her hand was hot with friction on my cock's skin. Along the inside hardness of my erection, the nerves were stretching excitedly against each thrust and then eagerly anticipating each next pull. A feeling welled up at the base of my penis that signalled to my brain, "Bang, it's coming ... bang, it's coming ...," but I didn't know what was about to happen. Something was bubbling in my balls. ... And then ... AAHHH!! ... And then everything below my waist suddenly seized. My thighs and calves contracted, and some gunky liquid rushed through my penis and spurted out the end. The gripping and liquid came in spasms ... three ... uhmmff ... four ... uhmmff ... and my hips lifted with each shot so that my cock could push against her grip ... five ... uhmmff ... six ... uhnnnnmmff ...
My body stopped jerking, but hers didn't. She kept bearing down on my knuckles. "Ungh ... ungh ... ungh ..." The bed pushed up and back. She had quit kissing me, but several times tried to go back to it. She would get a kiss in and then screw up her face and moan again. "Ungh ... ungh ... ungh ..." All of a sudden, she sped up ... "Un-un-un-un-un ...," and then she pressed down in one final, firm push. Her face grimaced, but no sounds came out of her mouth. I could see the muscles in her throat tighten. Finally, all the tension in her body released all at once, and she collapsed on top of my arm.
We both lay there in the dimly lit room with only our laboured breathing to disturb the silence. My energy entirely spent, I melted into the bed. Blood that had pumped repeatedly into my head during my spasms seeped slowly back into my body.
I felt drained. I knew that the floor was soon going to open up into a fiery gash, and Satan was going to escort us to our new home, but I was too tired to care. I looked down in amazement at the novelty of a woman lying in bed with me ... on me. Her back was rising and falling slowly with her breathing. I reached over and touched her hair to convince myself that I wasn't dreaming.
Mrs. Wilmot finally stirred. She sat up slowly and gripped together the ends of her unzipped shirt. She avoided looking at me. Extending her arm in front of her and turning it over, she inspected the spatter damage from whatever I had spurted earlier. I wanted to apologize, but I was still too stunned to speak, not to mention exhausted.
She stood up slowly and zipped up her shirt as high as it could go. She still avoided looking at me. "Timothy," she said solemnly, "You must never tell anyone about this, especially Claire. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Wilmot," I said meekly.
She rushed back to the bed and grabbed my shoulders roughly. "I mean it, Tim!" she said agitatedly, "No one must ever know. You must promise me."
"I won't tell anyone," I replied fearfully, "I promise, Mrs. Wilmot." Who would believe me anyways? I wasn't even sure myself that it had really happened.
She calmed down. She let go of my arms and brushed her hand gently across my cheek. "Good," she said with a relieved smile and then leaned down to give me a little kiss on the lips. She hovered over my mouth for a second, her eyes looking into mine, and then pushed herself up again. "Let me go get a washcloth to clean you up." And with that, she left.
This had certainly been an eventful night, but I knew that it couldn't get any weirder than this. She would clean me up, and I would go to sleep, and in the morning, we would all get up and go to school. If I pretended that none of this had ever happened, then I could be a good boy again ... and everything would go back to normal.
Mrs. Wilmot returned with the wet washcloth, which she wiped over my chest. The cloth felt warm and comforting. At one point, she swiped the cloth under my boxers around my groin, which tickled and made me giggle, but she didn't stay down there too long. She seemed to be smiling and lightening up.
"Timothy," she said idly, as she went slowly over my chest again, "There's something else that I want you to do for me."
"What's that, Mrs. Wilmot?"
"I want you to come and ... When ...," she searched for the right words, "From now on, Timothy, whenever you get tense or aroused, I want you to know that you can come and ... um ... talk to me."
Huh?? "I don't know what you mean by 'aroused,' Mrs. Wilmot."
"Well, when your penis gets hard like it was tonight, for example."
I flushed. My goodness! Why would I do that?!! I get embarrassed enough when it gets hard. How could I possibly go and talk to her about it? "You mean like phone you or something?"
"No, Timothy," she corrected me, "You must come and see me." Her wiping was going over old ground now and was going lower and lower on my torso. "I want you to agree to come and see me whenever you start getting a lot of hard-ons. ... But you can't tell anyone about it. It has to be our little secret."
I really didn't get what the point of this was. Did she want to become my therapist or something? "Like when?"
"Like when Claire has to go to work after school, or when she has a class and you don't, or ... later tonight if it happens." The washcloth was starting to slip under my waistband. ... Later tonight? I'd be sleeping later tonight.
Whatever. "Sure, Mrs. Wilmot. I promise that I'll come see you." Anything to get her to leave.
She smiled broadly and stood up. Then she pulled the covers up over me and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth. "Sweet dreams, my little lover," she quipped ... oddly ..., turned off the lamp and walked towards the door. She seemed to have cheered up a lot from earlier. If nothing else, her step had more spring in it. Before she left, she turned to me, bit her bottom lip with a grin and unzipped her shirt playfully in one quick movement all the way down. Snickering, she skipped out the door and shut it behind her.
It was finally dark and quiet in the room. With all that had happened, I was exhausted, and I had no trouble drifting ... drifting ... drifting ... into a deep ... restful ...
*** The Raid ***
In my dreams, Mrs. Wilmot's hand pumping on my penis caused the bed to rise off the ground and float into the air. "If you wear a sheet, a slipping sheet, instead of underwear," she said, "You'll be a ghost, an underwear ghost."
The more she pumped, the higher we rose. We levitated like ghosts over the house and lifted into the sky. Her face was over top of mine, and her eyes were staring into me. They were big and dark, and then they turned into an owl's eyes. "Whoo-whoo ...," she called, as her big owl eyes blinked slowly, "Whoo-whoo ..."
I looked down and saw that I was an owl too. My body was covered in feathers, not underwear. "Whoo-whoo ...," she beckoned, as she flew off into the sky. I wanted to follow her. "Whoo-whoo ..." I slid my body off of the bed to spread my wings and soar in behind her. "Whoo-whoo ..." The sheets slipped away from my body – over my chest – as I slid off the bed. "I'm coming, Owl Wilmot. I'm coming to fly with you ... Whoo-whoo ... whoo-whoo ..." Sliding ...
My eyelids flickered in the dark, as reality seeped into my consciousness. Bed sheets were sliding down my chest, and Claire's disembodied voice was calling to me from out of the darkness, "Woooo ... wooo ... The un-der-wear ghooosts are here ... wooo ..."
The sheets were at my stomach by the time I realized what was happening. "HEY!" I gasped. By reflex, I grabbed the sheets and yanked on them, but someone was pulling hard on the other end. We tugged with each other for a while, and I managed to stop the sheets' progress, at least.
"Claire?!!" I whispered firmly, "What the heck are you doing?"
Two giggles at the bottom of the bed finally revealed the location of my intruders, but I couldn't see them very clearly in the dark. They were both pulling on the sheets, and I doubted if I could hold out against their combined strength.
Suddenly, a body flopped on top of me, causing the bed springs to compress and whinge with the added weight. Claire sat heavily on my stomach and towered over me in the dark. Then, with the sure movement of a martial artist, she swung both of her hands into my sides and gripped forcefully at the vulnerable, ticklish skin that she had targetted.
I squirmed and bucked ... "Aarghhh!" ... but there wasn't much I could do, and I began to panic. I immediately let go of the sheets, which quickly disappeared off of my body, and flailed my arms about wildly trying to pin her hands to my sides or push her arms out of the way.
Claire gripped again ... "Aarghhh!" ... but then had to let go to defend against my swinging arms. Our hands gripped and tussled. Clenches were broken and then re-applied. The room filled with the sound of the frenetic scuffing and slapping of skin. Lower on my now uncovered body, Stephanie placed her hands on my knees to steady herself as she climbed onto the bed and sat down on my shins.