Breaking the Duck! Ch. 02

"M-m-m-m-m... you taste good..." She cooed. "Maybe, next time we could try...?"

There was a sudden scrambling movement as they scuttled about the room collecting clothing and as the light went out I realised that I could hear movement in the bedroom above and there was the faint glow of a upstairs light coming on.

I didn't dare wait to see if Joanne's father had heard their lovemaking and made a crouching dash onto the road just as Craig exploded from the back door, naked to the waist and clutching his shirt and shoes.

They had put on a super performance for me and I really wanted to know what was going to happen to them. I would make a point of trying to run into Joanne somewhere in Oxford, girls usually like to talk confidentially to their old teachers and we had always got on well, she had been a talented musician and a favourite of mine.

I got to my car and sat panting and breathless, not so much from the exertion of running down the street as from the pent up lust brought on by watching Joanne and Craig. I was very tempted to either return home or to find somewhere hidden to park up and masturbate, my swollen clitoris felt enormous like a miniature penis and needed my undivided attention.

I sat and smoked a couple of cigarettes and flicked the filter tips into the gutter. I very seldom smoked in my car and never used the ashtray, it made the car stink of stale smoke. I kept a little atomiser of Eau d'Cologne in the glove compartment and always sprayed after smoking.

I realised that I was only two roads away from the bungalow where Brianne Walsh lived and it was Friday night she would probably have been out drinking and picked up a date. I had known Brianne for a few years now, although we came from different backgrounds we both regularly attended choral recitals at the university and had got talking and afterwards went for a drink together once or twice. I soon realised that dear Brianne was a perfect quarry in my hunt for voyeur entertainment and it was so much more pleasurable and erotic if you actually knew the person you were spying on, so much easier to share their emotions and desires.

*

I really don't remember driving home that night, or parking my faithful little Morris Traveller in the resident's car park at the back of the flats were I lived in the centre of Oxford. All that I could think of was my two 'thrills' of the evening, watching young Joanne and Craig furiously fucking and then Brianne and her Mancunian pick-up humping at her bungalow. For the first time in ages I had lit a cigarette whilst I was driving and had handled the car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out of the wound down window holding the cigarette. I never do that, it is such a macho posture... to see men doing it, their hairy arm rigidly upright proclaiming their virility to the motoring public at large is one of my pet hates.

By the time that I ran up the two flights of stairs and burst into my second floor flat I was so busting for a tiddle that I left my handbag, coat, shoes, skirt and jumper in a trail down the hall to the bathroom door and flopped gratefully onto the toilet seat seconds before peeing on the floor. The relief as my urine gushed out was almost orgasmic.

Wiping myself clean reminded me how excited my little voyeuristic thrills had left me. My labia lips were still engorged and swollen and my vulva warm and wet, dripping with moisture and felt enormous. My little hooded lady had subsided during the drive home but as soon as I began to touch myself down there began to come back with a tingling vengeance.

My Friday night voyeurist thrills had been fantastic but had left me aroused and unrequited and I needed to address that right away or I would never be able to sleep and would end up roaming the flat in the early hours until I finally did the deed and masturbated myself to a satisfactory orgasm. I felt hot and sticky all over and my inner thighs were seriously coated with a tacky slime where my sex juices had run freely from my aroused pussy and so I lit the Ascot boiler and walked naked through the flat gathering up my clothes and belongings and hung them neatly away in the wardrobe whilst I waited for the water to heat up.

The large windows in my sitting room overlooked the street and the block of apartments opposite and it gave me a slight twinge of aberrant pleasure to approach the window stark naked and twist the vertical blinds so that they were almost closed, I could stand at the side and see out but nobody outside could see in. I could not see a light in any of the windows opposite but I loved the irony of the naked voyeur putting on a peepshow for her neighbours.

I returned to the bathroom and turned on the showerhead over the bath and preened in front of the full length mirror whilst the spray warmed up. The reflected image showed me a 38 year old woman of medium height, about 5'6", with mousey-blonde hair cut in a half-bob style, an oval not unattractive face with blue eyes and full lips. I forced a smile at my alter image just to assure myself that my facial muscles had not irrevocably frozen and that smiling was still possible even if not a regular occurrence. I suppose a ready smile would have made me marginally more attractive to those around me but if a scowl and a notoriety for unsociability kept men from trying to get into my bed then a grimace was good with me.

My eyes travelled down to the centre of my being. My soft pale pink pussy was smooth and almost without pubic hair with plump lips which became pink and engorged as soon as I became the least bit sexually aroused. My little clitty was just peeping out from her sheath but could so quickly grow and become the burning centre of my sexual arousal demanding attention as she had done all evening. I seldom wore knickers when out peeping as just the touch of the fragile fabric on my aroused clit was enough to drive me wild.

I had tried shaving my mound once shortly after I started university when my best friend Alice Pellew had secretly whispered in the public swimming pool changing room that my light brown pubic hair was straying out from beneath my bathing suit when wet. That night in the dorm house bathroom I tried trimming the soft mat of curls with a pair of nail scissors. It was a disaster, the blunt scissors tugged painfully and the points pricked into my thigh and drew blood. The result looked ragged and felt itchy and sore down there and I was on the point of tears when Alice came into the bathroom looking for me.

"You have never done this before...have you, Tommie?" She had chuckled and sat me down on the edge of the bath with my knees wide apart. I felt exposed and embarrassed and a little frightened, nobody had ever been this close to touching me intimately before. She walked over to the sink and filled it with warm water. Then after taking the scissors and gently cutting most of the excess hair off, she fetched the brush, shaving soap and safety razor she normally used on her armpits and legs and shaved off all the rest of the hair above my slit. It was a new and strange experience. I enjoyed the touch of the warm soapy brush as she lathered my mound and labia and that sensitive little fold between pussy and my rectum. I don't really remember the shaving as I tensed up and closed my eyes but I jumped and gasped when she put her fingers on my puffy clitoris as she pulled and manipulated the flesh to expose all the skin to the razor.

She gently washed the freshly shaved area and patted me dry with a soft hand towel. "You really need to do this every week if you are going to wear high leg cossies..." She said. "Maybe we could help each other...I'll do yours...if you do mine...eh?"

I liked Alice a lot we were sharing dorm rooms with Glenda Sparkes another music student but this new physical development to our friendship was frighteningly close to touching upon my sexual phobia.

"Er, yes...maybe..." I replied in a small voice non-committedly.

A few days later I went into Boots the Chemist to buy my own razor, soap and a shaving brush and came away with nothing but a packet of sanitary towels, then went across the road to Marks and Spencer and bought two new sports style bathing costumes with lower legs. I would let my pubic hair grow back again... it was comfortable and protective... and besides I thought that the little fluffy bush looked quite cute and my comforting fingers would miss it if it wasn't there.

I clasped both hands together behind my back with arms straight, forcing my shoulders back, as I stood facing the glass and turned slowly around to look at my body from all angles, happy with my firm mature figure and admiring the way my rounded breasts stood out so firm and nicely shaped, not yet starting to sag or become wrinkled in middle age. I caressed each heavy breast in turn and squeezed both nipples, rolling them around between my fingers, then lifted each nipple up to my mouth in turn and sucked them a little, and then harder and longer as they swelled up and became hot and hard and sensitive. It was a little trick of self-pleasuring that I had discovered spying on a neighbour naked and masturbating in her lounge with her curtains open. I had almost been caught as she suddenly looked up and for a fraction of a second our eyes met but then I was gone. I ran all the way home by a long circuitous route. I never saw her curtains open at night again. The technique of sucking my own nipples took a while to master but was worth the time devoted to the learning.

The shower was starting to give off hot steam and so I stepped under the fierce spray enjoying the hard stinging jet of water pummelling my breasts and back and belly as I gave a slow pirouette exposing every part of my body to the hot massage of the spray. I began to soap my body revelling in the sensuous feel of my lathered hands gently and smoothly travelling over my breasts and then down over my taut stomach to caress and lather my legs and then massage the sensitive insides of my thighs with my fingers until one hand finally came to rest over my hot, wet little pussy.

I couldn't wait any longer I needed to satisfy my sexual need immediately. Wrapping a thick bath towel around me like an absorbent toga I ran the ten steps from the bathroom to the bedroom uncaring of the damp footprints that I was leaving on my new beige Axminster carpet. I was literally panting from built up sexual tension and tossed the towel onto my bed and then spread myself on top of it, my thighs falling open and my hand instantly seeking the moist warmth of my aching pussy.

I heard myself moaning softly as I pressed down and rotated the heel of my hand on my mons veneris and then inserted the tip of one finger lightly into the moist open valley between the swollen lips of my labia and dragged it back and forth gently caressing my quivering wet vulva until it came to rest lightly caressing my clit, massaging her back into engorged life demanding the ultimate in satisfaction.

Almost reluctantly I moved my finger tip down to gently press against the tight entrance to my vagina and felt a thrill surge through my body in anticipation and I was again tempted to take the plunge and satisfy my desire to have my most secret place penetrated for the first time, to thrust my finger into my virgin depths as I had been waiting to do for the past twenty-five long years.

I felt hot salty tears of frustration squeezing out from beneath my eyelids and trickling down my cheeks. I couldn't do it! The time was not yet right! I hadn't yet conquered my sexual demons!

My whole body was still screaming for relief. My hand returned to its devotional massage of my clitoris my fingers squeezing and tweaking at my swollen nub until she felt as large and engorged as a man's penis and my hand movements became frantic as my mind drifted to the thrill I had received this evening from watching Joanne and Craig shagging and my inner eye became riveted to the memory of the student lad's huge rigid erection pumping out his streams of thick white sperm. I imagined that enormous cock ramming into me and filling my womb with that outpouring of hot spunk it was repulsive and arousing at the same time.

Suddenly my whole body was quivering, my stomach was tense and aching and my face went numb as if it was made of cotton wool. I felt as though I was perched on the edge of the world ready to dive into outer space. My heart was pounding, because I was terrified that that longed for climax would not happen, but then the orgasm hit and the explosion just forced me to fall and feel weightless, like my vagina was being tossed off a cliff and went into free fall for a second before landing on a really bouncy circus trampoline! Then everything went black, I was still aware of the sensations flowing through my body, the traffic noises from the street below and the heat and wetness emanating from my throbbing little pussy, but it was as if I was sewn into a thick black velvet bag being hurled through time and space.

Gradually my sight returned and I heard somebody laughing hysterically and screaming with joy and as the sound came closer I realised that it was me and at that moment I was free and didn't have a care in the world.

As the trembling subsided I drew my knees up under my chin and rolled myself into a tight, safe comfortable foetal ball. I knew that I would wake up later still naked and cold and shivering but at that moment my lust was satiated and all I wanted to do was sleep, the contented sleep that follows an intense orgasm.

My last waking thought was that I pitied the male sex. A woman's capacity for extreme sexual gratification was a thousand times greater than that of a man and I thanked God for creating me a woman.

*

Chapter Two: SATURDAY

I awoke late on Saturday morning to my alarm clock stridently proclaiming that it was 8am. At some point during the night I must have surfaced as I was still naked but had crawled beneath the bed sheets and quilt and had dragged Mr. Timmy, my ancient and almost hairless Teddy Bear into bed with me. Mr. Timmy was as old as I was, he had been a present from an aunt when I was born and had been my best chum, my confidant, and my only bed companion for thirty-eight years.

Last night's bath towel with its large circular stain from my overflowing orgasmic sex juices was on the floor beside my bed and I scooped in into the dirty wash hamper when I dashed to the bathroom to relive myself, wash and put my day make-up on. I never wore a lot of make-up for work, just some subdued lipstick, a little eye shadow and a pat-down of face powder. I was never one of those precious women who are always fussing with their hair or holding a compact in front of their nose. I wasn't trying to make myself attractive for the opposite sex, or even impress other women and my 10 - 15 year old pupil groups were generally so terrified of the fearsome Miss Catz that it was unlikely that any of them raised their eyes from the floor long enough to be able to describe my dress or appearance. The girls at the High School had long ago nicknamed me 'The Catz Claws' but despite that my extra curriculum instrument lessons were always oversubscribed, I wasn't particularly liked but I was popular and respected as a music teacher.

It was the second Saturday of the month and I was due at St. Mary's church hall at 10.30 am to rehearse the junior string ensemble made up of the more gifted pupils from the city schools who came together to give a number of concerts during the summer semester. This year's collection of little monsters were actually quite talented and for once I was not sorry that I had taken on the voluntary chore of helping to coach the combined schools orchestra.

The task was one that I had inherited when my parents were both killed in a road accident some years back and I was bully-ragged into filling in for my mother with some of her voluntary musical duties. I had quickly managed to get shot of the bloody Gilbert and Sullivan Society, with its middle aged prima donna mezzo-sopranos and sweaty handed corpulent tenors, most of whom only joined because of the society's long standing reputation as a hot bed of adultery. I had reduced my involvement with the Sophos Choral Society to assisting with their annual concert at Christmas, the group contained some good singers but was little more than a women's gossip circle of boring academia wives.

*

My parents had both been music teachers with an obsessive need to involve themselves in all manner of group activities, societies and amateur musical groups and were so totally absorbed in their affection for each other and their hobbies that as a child I was pretty much left to find my own entertainments, although my mother took the time to teach me the violin and the cello and my father made me proficient on the piano and then seemed to believe that their duty towards me as their daughter was completed.

My parents, and my mother in particular were the root cause of my emotional and sexual phobias.

I now realise that my parents were totally devoted to each other but were obsessed with sex. As a smaller child I found it confusing that they would lock themselves away in their bedroom for hours at a time or would arrange for me to have 'sleepovers' with aunts or friends so that they could have the house to themselves. It was never their intention to be cruel but there was no place in their lives for anyone besides each other and their selfish interests.

By the time that I had started to get older and began to understand what was happening, my mother had already begun her slow mental decline into early senility and was becoming neurotic and jealous of my father and spiteful to all men in general. She lost no opportunity to express her feelings to the only other female in the house, me!

They would still spend extraordinary amounts of time locked away making love but it no longer made my mother happy and their sexual activities became more and more voluble and violent, with my mother loudly screaming and shouting words that I had yet to comprehend, often in demand of orgasmic release and sometimes afterwards from disturbed irrational anger.

As I grew into a teenager and began to understand these things, my Mother would spitefully regale me with accounts of their sexual activities and in particular describe my father's member, the size and the hardness and how he would violently penetrate her time and again, weeping over the perceived pain and suffering that he was causing her. Never-the-less she still returned to his bed and could be heard howling her lustful pleasure as she climaxed over and over.

Nobody was helping me to understand what was happening and that Mother's perception of their sexual activities were coloured by her mental collapse. For me the idea of sex as I slipped into puberty became something to be feared. Nobody would speak to me about it, my female relatives and teachers shied away from the subject and my friends had so many fanciful or romantic notions that I just became more and more confused and apprehensive.

Finally I took to listening at my parent's bedroom door, horrified at the guttural groans from my father and the wailing, screaming and hysterical outpourings of my mother. It was inevitable that the situation would be brought to a head and one Sunday afternoon the telephone rang whilst they were shut away in their room. I answered it and was asked to fetch my father to the caller immediately... it was urgent... and a matter of grave importance! What, I never knew?

I remember running up the stairs and knocking repeatedly at my parent's door, but my mother was calling out obscenities and moaning loudly and in the end I simply opened the door and walked in. My parents were both naked on their big double bed my mother kneeling on the mattress her face on her folded arms and her buttocks raised high, with my father standing behind her mounting her with the violence and furiosity of a rutting stag. I simply stood there horrified. This was not at all how I had imagined the sex act to be. They were not even aware that I had come into the room. I felt sick and frightened and totally forgetting the telephone call fled to the bathroom and vomited, then sat on the loo and pee'd and pee'd and pee'd... I think from sheer terror.