Goodness and Mercy

Flo took his head in her hands, and pushed it down lower. His exploring tongue found the hole it was looking for and thrust in and out Flo was bucking and grunting wildly, rising off the bed by inches with each thrust. She pulled his head tight against her. He was breathing hard, through his nose, which was now buried in the top of her cunt. She was so wet he was blowing bubbles with his nostrils and inhaling her fluids up them. He was desperately wondering how to clear his breathing tubes before he drowned in her fluids when Flo gave one huge lunge upward with a scream, and sank back down on the bed, pushing his head away.

He crawled up the bed and rolled onto his back next to Flo. They lay silently side by side, both panting. He closed his eyes and drifted into a dozy sleep. He dreamt that he had a hard erection and aching balls. He woke to find that it was not a dream; both conditions existed in fact. Still half asleep, he turned towards Flo and pulled her legs apart. She offered no protest or resistance. He climbed over her and lowered his prick. It slid easily into her open cunt. This was nothing like his first attempt to fuck her. This time there were no smooth walls clinging to his knob. Instead he found himself dipping into an open well. It was, he thought, rather like pushing your prick into a plastic bag of warm olive oil, and he wondered why he had never tried that. It would probably be too messy, he imagined.

As he continued thrusting in and out he realised with surprise that he was able to have extraneous thoughts while fucking, and that he was not obsessed by the idea of his prick being in a cunt. He was enjoying this feeling of a nice relaxed fuck. Although there were no clinging walls, still at the end of each thrust his knob nudged against something soft, which sent a thrill up his shaft. I can control this, he thought. How much longer do I want this to last? Not too long, my arms are getting tired. I'll have to do press-up training if I want to manage extended fucks. He smiled to himself at the thought that all the time he had been worrying that his prick wasn't up to it, it had really been his arms that were his weak point.

Okay, he thought, six more pushes and I'm going to come. One. Going to come, there's an oxymoron for you. Two. God, that felt good. Three. I'm going to really bang the next one in. Four. Oh Christ, it's building, building. Five. Oh my God, I'm wound so tight I'm going to explode. Six. Aaaah, release. Six, six, six. Just a few little ones for luck. Couldn't help them. Reflex actions, that's all. He rolled off Flo's body and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Thursday morning.

When Ken blinked his eyes open in the morning he was alone in the bed. He looked at the clock and was fully awake instantly. "Oh my God!" he shrieked. "Look at the time!" He tried to leap out of bed, but found he didn't have the strength for that, so he crawled out instead. Flo emerged from the kitchen, dressed and groomed, with an apron around her waist. "I'm late for work, Flo," he said. "I must hurry."

"Good morning, Ken," Flo replied, with a big smile. "Why hurry? An excuse which is good enough for two hours will serve for four just as well. In fact, why not take the morning off? Or the day, even? I'll cook your breakfast while you shower. What would you like?"

A little later, Flo sat across from him as he ate. "Well, you are a dark horse, aren't you?" she said.

"What do mean?"

"My dear boy, if the ladies around here knew how talented you were, they'd be queuing outside your door, believe me." Ken had a mouthful of toast, and was unable to reply. "With a tongue like yours, you don't need a prick, which, incidentally, there's nothing wrong with, which I hope you now realise."

Ken washed the last of his toast down with a mouthful of tea. "Yes, I'm beginning to see that, but I think it will take a few more demonstrations before I'm fully convinced."

Flo laughed. "Don't think I can't see through you, you cunning bugger. But you've no need to worry, I'll be here again tonight. You've not seen the last of me, not by a long chalk! But I'm off home now. See you this evening, okay?" She gave him a big kiss and left, saying, "Marmalade kisses! Nice!"

* * *

Thursday evening and night.

Following Flo's advice, Ken took the day off, and caught up with his laundry, especially the bedsheets. He eagerly awaited Flo's evening visit, and hoped she would be staying the night again, although he did wonder how Sid was coping. He didn't once think of the lingerie catalogue all day.

When Flo arrived at half past eight, she was again carrying a small bag, and his heart leapt at the sight. "Now, Ken," she said, "before we go to bed, I want to have a little chat. Why am I here? I think we've cured your anxiety problem, don't you? And I'm not falling for your 'I need more practice' line, you cheeky sod, thinking you could con old Flo with that one. I wasn't born yesterday. So I'm not here for therapeutic purposes. No, I'm here because I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I didn't give you a good fuck last night."

"You what?" Ken exclaimed. "I had a lovely fuck last night. I couldn't imagine anything better."

"Yes, you had a nice fuck, but I didn't give it to you, did I? I just lay there, and let you do all the work. Tonight I want to fuck you, not just let you fuck me."

"Well, all right," Ken said, "but I still don't know what you mean."

"I know you don't, but after tonight you will, if I have anything to do with it. The trouble last night was that you had completely wasted me with your tongue, leaving me like a wet rag. But you like eating pussy, don't you? Gets you ready for the real thing. So we've got to be careful not to overdo it, one way or the other. Spontaneous sex is all very well for the fully experienced, but that doesn't include you, Ken, not yet. You've still got a bit of learning to do, lad, and that's what tonight's lesson is all about."

Within the hour they were both naked and climbing in between Ken's freshly laundered bedsheets. As she lay on her back, Flo said, "Now, Ken, remember what I told you. You can eat my pussy to warm you up, but you must stop before you've brought me off. I'm relying on you. Once you've got me going, I might not have enough will power to stop you. You've got to have the self control. Don't get carried away. It's up to you now."

Ken needed no more invitation, and was soon crouched between her legs, lapping happily. As soon as she started responding with spasmodic jerks, he remembered her instructions, and reluctantly pulled away. He leaned above her, braced on his hands and knees, and looked down into her eyes. "Good boy, Ken," she smiled. "Now, where are we?" She reached down and took hold of his prick, which was fully stiff from the pleasure of tonguing her cunt, and steered it into her as he lowered himself slowly upon her.

It was immediately apparent to Ken that this was nothing like the two previous occasions he'd been in this position. The first time he had spunked as soon as his knob had started to enter Flo's slippery hole. The second time he was scarcely conscious of entry as his prick had not seemed to touch the sides, she had been so open to him. This time was nothing like either of those. Her entrance yielded readily with Flo holding him in the right position as he pushed, but it seemed to close again around him as he slid further in. Her passage was holding his prick, like a hand wrapped around it.

When he was in as far as he could go, and was about to start fucking motions, he felt vibrations run along his shaft.While he paused and tried to analyse this new sensation, it occurred again. In fact it repeated regularly, strange massaging motions up and down his cock, as ripples ran up and down Flo's cunt walls. Suddenly he understood what Flo meant when she spoke of her fucking him. She was doing this, manipulating her cunt to milk his cock. The thrill of it spread to his whole body, and he trembled above her. He made some motions of his own, but they were tiny movements, scarcely half an inch. He looked down into her face. She was smiling at him triumphantly, knowing that she had him in her thrall. He couldn't smile back; his face was frozen into a grimace of passion.

In addition to her internal movements, Flo now started litle rocking motions with her hips. He had no control now; she was working him up to an irresistable climax. He closed his eyes and concentrated on enjoying the ride, savouring every second of the rapturous sensations spreading from his prick to pervade his whole being. The tightness began to build. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Nor did he want to. He was like a balloon being pumped up. With each stroke of the pump, the pressure increased, almost painfully. How tight could it get before it burst? He thought they must have already passed the critical point, but still it went on, and on, and on, and... Aargh! Aargh! Aargh! A valve had been opened and the balloon deflated suddenly, in giant gasps.

He flopped onto his back, gasping like a landed fish. When he could speak he said, "And you called me a dark horse! My God, Flo, I didn't know you could do that. I didn't know any woman could do that."

"Not all of us can, love, so don't get your hopes up with every lass you take up with. But the good lord gave me the talent, and I wanted to give you the pleasure of it in return for what you did for me."

"Talking of which," Ken replied, "give me a minute to get my breath, and I'll finish what I started earlier."

"Take your time, love. I've got to clean myself up first anyway." Flo slid out of the bed and padded toward the bathroom, adding, "You lie there and have a rest. I'll turn the light out so it doesn't get in your eyes." She suited her actions to her words as she left the room.

Ken had learnt that it was best to do whatever Flo told him to, so he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. He felt the bed move and naked flesh touch his. He had not expected Flo to return so soon, or had he perhaps actually fallen asleep and lost track of time? Still half asleep, he guiltily scuttled down the bed and knelt between the open legs. Hoping to forestall any recriminations for falling asleep on the job, he set his mind to doing his very best. He kissed and stroked up and down her thighs teasingly, wanting her cunt to be aching for his touch. He knew he had succeeded when a pair of hands reached down and gently drew his head higher. He smiled smugly to himself as he lowered his lips to her cunt.

He paused, puzzled. She must have made a very thorough job of cleaning herself, he thought, for there was not a hint of semen or its smell, but had she also taken the trouble to trim her bush? Why would she do that? His hormones now however were urging him to concentrate on satisfying the female offering herself to him, and he had no time or inclination to let his mind be distracted by other considerations. His tongue licked at her slit, trying to find the inner surfaces of her outer lips. Another surprise; she was tighter than he had left her. Perhaps the cold water had done that. He continued with his lingual ministrations, and she was responding strongly, violently even, as if she hadn't known what to expect. She was fully open now, and her juices were flowing. They tasted tangier than he remembered. He sucked at her clit, and it popped into his mouth between his lips. Had he really caused it to grow from the little nobule he had found before? Now this was not different, her hands holding his head, pushing it lower, pulling it into her. No time to wonder; time to bring her off, to satisfy her before she drowned him in her juices. He licked and sucked frantically, jabbing his tongue, this way, that way, now quick, now slow, now gently, now fiercely. As she bucked wildly, so he matched her ardour, until she arched her body with a scream, and thrust him from her.

He slowly crawled to straighten himself in the bed. He flopped onto his back, breathing heavily. Would they have another fuck, he wondered. Now? Or wait until morning? He turned to see whether she was giving any clues as to which way her thoughts were tending, but she was not there. When she had not returned after half an hour, he rose and went to look for her. She was not in the bathroom, or the second bedroom, or the kitchen. In the sitting room he found a note. "Goodnight, Ken dear. Thank you, that was lovely. Now get a good night's sleep. Work tomorrow. You can't afford another day off. See you tomorrow evening. XX"

He went back to bed reluctantly. Something strange had happened, but he didn't know what. He had lost his chance of finding out by letting his libido overrule his intellect, but he didn't care. If the same thing occurred again, he would still make the same choice. Had he been drunk, he wondered? He had taken no alcohol, but perhaps you could get drunk on sex. I'll drink to that, he thought, and fell asleep smiling at his own joke.

* * *

The next Friday evening.

Ken was still puzzling over the previous night's events when Flo arrived at the usual time on Friday. She gave him a friendly kiss, but when he tried to get more amorous she pushed him away, saying, "Not tonight, Kenny love, no sex tonight." Seeing his crest-fallen face she laughed and added, "Don't worry, you'll get plenty over the weekend, I promise; maybe more than you can manage, even, so be careful what you wish for. Anyway, you might find it hard to believe, but there are other ways to enjoy yourself. I'm throwing a party on Saturday. You are invited of course, but you've got to sing for your supper. I want you to write some poetry for the occasion."

Flo then went on to explain the nature of the verses she wanted Ken to compose. When she was about to leave, Ken asked her, "Tell me, Flo, was I drunk last night?"

"Drunk, dear? No, of course you weren't."

"It's just that I had this funny feeling that..."

Flo interrupted him. "Oh, don't worry about that now, dear. It will all be explained tomorrow. Everything will be revealed." She laughed as if she had made a joke, and left.

* * *

The following Saturday evening.

Ken was not the first to arrive for Flo's party. When he entered the lounge, he saw the manageress from the Chez Lucille boutique talking to Flo. "What's she doing here?" he asked Sid.

"Who, Luce?" Sid replied. "She's Flo's sister. Didn't you know?"

It took Ken a while, but when he saw that Sid was laughing up his sleeve, the penny dropped. "You rotten sod, Sid. That was a put up job, sending me to buy undies, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was, you silly bugger. You don't think Luce pushes her twat into the face of every stray fella what wanders into 'er shop, do you? Can't you see the likeness? In the dark it's 'ard to tell 'em apart, I can tell you. You 'ave to feel their tits to know which one you're doing."

The surprise Ken felt at this revelation of life chez West soon evaporated as the implication sank in. "So that was it!" he said. "They switched on me!"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Sid said, "but I can guess. They like playing that trick, they do, cheeky moos. Thick as two thieves, they are. Gawd knows what they've planned for tonight."

Flo entered the room clad in a full length dressing gown with a flamboyant oriental design of gold and scarlet dragons. "Right. Now we're all here," she said, "let me put you in the picture." Ken looked around, and saw that apart from himself, the Wests, and Flo's sister, there were the Vicar and Doreen, and a plump lady who he assumed, from what Flo had told him the previous evening, must be Mrs Buxton. "It has been a week of momentous events," Flo continued, "in which we seven were all involved, one way or another. Life-changing events for some of us, so I thought we should all get together to celebrate. There are two rules for this party: one, nobody has to do anything they don't want to; and two, what happens here is our business only, and not for anyone else to know. Okay?" There were murmurs of assent.

Flo continued with her opening remarks. "Some of you don't know it, but this is a fancy dress party, a fancy dress party with a difference, the difference being that I have decided what costumes you are to wear, and I am providing the costumes. So, if the ladies will follow me to the main bedroom, they will find their costumes there, and can get dressed. Vicar, if you and Ken will follow Sid to the second bedroom, you can get into yours."

Ken and the Vicar were puzzled to find that the men's costumes were all the same: a simple sleeveless, collarless, mid-thigh tunic, with a Greek-key pattern decorating the hem and neck, and a rope belt. "Is this all?" the Vicar asked.

"Yes," replied Sid, "that's all. It's Flo's strict instruction that absolutely nothing else is to be worn."

"What, just this over our pants?" protested Ken.

"No pants," Sid said, "just this shirt. Flo's orders."

With some trepidation, Ken and the Vicar assumed the simple garb and followed Sid, similarly attired, back to the lounge to wait for the ladies to appear.

Flo emerged first, still in her dressing gown. "This isn't my costume," she explained. "I'm revealing mine last, but I'll tell you what it is: I'm coming as Eve." She smiled as she saw the effect of this information on the men's faces. "Now as the girls emerge," she went on, "I want you to try to guess what the common theme is. Lucy, will you come out, please? Gentlemen, please meet Salome, and yes, her costume consists only of seven veils."

Lucy emerged, walking with a sinuous motion. The three men whistled their appreciation, their eyes trying to pierce her costume in vain. She was clad in seven diaphanous scarves so cleverly folded and overlapped that her modesty was completely preserved. "If you are good boys," Flo announced, "Salome has promised to dance for us later."

The men looked at each other, their eyes agog with anticipation. The Vicar suddenly said, "I think I can see the theme now. It's Biblical. First we have Eve, then Salome, and we are three shepherds watching our flocks by night."

"Nice try, Vicar," Flo said, "but no cigar. Doreen, will you come out, please, dear?"

Doreen entered the room wearing a white blouse and black gymslip, the latter not long enough to hide her stocking tops and suspenders when she bent over, which she proceeded to do, needlessly. "I can't recall any mention of Saint Trinian in the Good Book, can you, Vicar?" Flo asked. "You're more likely to find Doreen in the headmistress's bad books."

"Touché, Mrs West, touché," the Vicar acknowledged.

"Last clue," said Vera. "Out you come, Betty." Clad only in a grass skirt and several leis across her bosom, which they tried in vain to cover, Mrs Buxton sashayed into the room in a hip-swinging gait, humming Hawaian music. The men could not take their eyes from her undulating flesh until Flo announced, "And last, but not, I hope, least..." and she stepped into the middle of the room and cast off her robe. She stood with one hand behind her head, and the other on her hip. Her only covering was three cardboard fig leaves, attached to her person by double-sided toupee tape. After posing for the men's admiring scrutiny, she relaxed and asked, "Well, have you found the theme yet?"

Again, only the Vicar answered. "Is it skirts?" he asked. "We are all wearing skirts."

"I'm not, Vicar," Flo pointed out, "but you're close. It's not skirts, but what's under them."

"But we haven't got anything under our skirts," Ken objected.

"So?" asked Flo, quizically.

"By George, you mean none of us, male or female, are wearing any..."

"You've got it, Vicar," Flo confirmed. "You may all have been puzzled by the bunch of feather dusters in that vase in the corner. They are tickling sticks. Feel free to use them whenever you wish."