Tartan Blanket

A sigh and a shuffle on the seat, an uncomfortable shiver and a gesture of movement, snuggling up close and resting her head against his arm, her breasts rising and falling in a slow rhythm with each intake of breath, the smell of hairspray, cigarettes and a mist of perfume teasing his nostrils.

With every swerve of the car she shifted in the seat, her weighty breasts flattening against his arm and whispers of warm breath blowing intermittently against the side of his face.

Her eyes were closed. He couldn't tell whether Eileen was sleeping. But with his heartbeat increasing by the minute, sending a surge of blood into his penis, if she was sleeping, he had no intentions of wakening her.

An impulsive moment of furtive intimacy, slipping his hand under the blanket, giving his stirring limb a gentle tug, his fertile imagination creating images of Eileen flaunting her body over the kitchen sink... She must have known what she was doing. Was it deliberate? He thought. Christ some of her bending positions with her legs apart were bordering on the erotic.

The mere thought of her trousers creeping inside her bum cheeks and her huge tits bouncing inside her blouse, had left him nursing a throbbing muscle that couldn't be ignored.

A soft purring whisper and a slight movement interrupted his lustful reverie. He moved his hand from his groin. He glanced at Eileen. Her eyes were still closed.

"Sorry," his father said, raising his hand in the way of an apology when the car collided with a pot hole in the road, throwing the car one way and then the other.

The sudden movement hadn't woken Eileen but her weight had shifted again and even though the warmth of her heaving breasts pushing against his arm held his interest, what concerned him most was that her hand had moved onto his thigh and her fingers were almost touching his swollen organ.

It was dangerous. It was risky. It was exciting. It was insane.

Pulses raced and his heart beat gathered speed, imagination flirting with opportunity and pursuit, an adventurous mind rejoicing in the endless possibilities of surreptitious foreplay.

A distressing thought brought a nervous lump in his throat.

What happens when she wakes up and discovers that her hand is touching his penis? She might think I've put it there while she slept. And if he had, what else had he been up to in the darkness. Christ, she might think I'm some kind of pervert.

He decided to move her hand.

Making another journey south beneath the obscurity of the blanket, his right hand creeping slowly over the straining lump inside his pants, coming to a halt when he felt her warm hand resting on his thigh.

Gritting his teeth, holding his breath and twisting his face with nervous apprehension, weaving his feather light fingers with the skill of a watchmaker beneath her hand, lifting slowly, inhaling and exhaling through his nose, lifting...lifting.

A sudden movement, a shuffle on the seat, her eyes slowly opening, the acquaintance of hands, the intimacy of touch and the promise of expectation lifting the corners of her mouth.

"It's starting to snow," Eddie casually announced, the windscreen wipers squeaking in quiet protest across the glass, dropping his cigarette through a gap in the window and glancing in the rear-view mirror, a questioning eye staring into the darkness.

"Just as well you brought that warm blanket with you," Eddie chuckled, through a throaty cough before lighting another cigarette.

'In more ways than one,' mouthed a silent reply from the back seat.

He just smiled into the mirror at his father and said nothing. He had other things on his mind and a warm blanket wasn't one of them.

Ignoring his father's remarks, but keeping his eyes focused on the mirror, mindful of her hand moving with flirtatious intent beneath the dark veil of secrecy, opening his legs and lifting his buttocks slightly, responding to the invitation of touch.

The familiar voice in his head spoke again. 'It's nothing more than a little bit of playful flirting.'

But Eileen had gone too long without sex. Eileen wanted more.

She fiddled impatiently with the brass button on his jeans, tugging and pulling at the zip without success, searching his eyes for assistance, irritable gestures and frustrated sighs growing into dissonant words that he didn't want to hear.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, making sure there were no suspicious looks from his father, lowering his zip with agonising slowness and forcing a cough into his hand, trying to mute the painful rasping noises from the metal teeth coming apart.

Without waiting for an invitation she slipped her hand inside the tight fabric, feeling the firmness of his youthful flesh growing beneath the warm confines of his briefs, squeezing her hand inside the tight opening, trying to liberate the throbbing limb from his pants, hissing her frustration through tight lips when she was unable to gain entry.

Holding his breath and lifting his buttocks slightly from the vinyl seat, trying not to make too much noise, slipping his hands into the waist and sliding his pants over his thighs, never once taking his eyes off the driver or the drunk snoring next to him.

The awesome length, the formidable girth and the firmness of his virile cock throbbing in her hand forced a deep throaty gasp, accidently breaking the silence.

"What was that Eileen...? Did you say something?" Eddie asked, his questioning eyes looking back through the rear-view mirror.

The unexpected question caught her by surprise, her fingers tightening around the fleshy limb, her eyes searching for an answer.

"Oh, I was just wondering if Malcolm was okay," she replied, with an easy calm, relaxing her vice-like-grip on his swollen flesh.

"He's okay. He's sleeping like a baby," Eddie confirmed, through a cloud of smoke.

Ignoring the brief interruption, continuing her journey of sexual discovery, familiarity flirting with expectation, the pulse between her legs teasing her senses, closing her fingers in a tight fist around the girth, moving her hands slowly and deliberate, working the length back and forth, gripping the meaty flesh on the down stroke, feeling his pubic hair brushing against her hand, holding it for a moment before easing her grip on the way back, pulling the loose foreskin over the smooth head, feeling a sticky deposit oozing from the open eye, moving his hips to the persuasion of touch, his legs stiffening, the pace of her hand increasing, back and forth, pulling and tugging, gulps and mumbles vague, his release only seconds away.

"Not far now," Eddie announced, pointing a finger at the brightly lit signpost with one arrow pointing to Newcastle and another pointing to Gateshead.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Ellen, although I wished it could have been under different circumstances," Eileen replied, working his cock back and forth.

"It's been a long time," she added, raising her voice an octave, hoping it would mute any signs of mischief going on in the back of the car. "Too long in fact," she said as his balls exploded, spewing out a phenomenal quantity of milky white cargo in four repetitive bursts, decorating her hand, smearing his stomach and coating the inside of the tartan blanket.

Eddie carried his brother to the front door. Mark carried Eileen's case and his deflated appendage. Eileen carried the soiled tartan blanket containing his fertile seed.

After a friendly hug at the door and an exchange of comforting words of condolences, Ellen Brand ushered Malcolm and Eileen into the warmth of her living room.

"I've put you and Malcolm in Frank and Mark's room," she said, forcing a smile that quickly faded. "Single beds...I hope that's okay," she added, in a whispered apology.

"Couldn't be better," Eileen uttered, under her breath.

"Frank's stopping at a friend's house. Mark can sleep downstairs on the sofa," Ellen said, removing a handkerchief that she always kept under her sleeve and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "I'll take you to your room. After you've hung your clothes up, we can eat," Ellen offered, an outstretched hand forcing another question.

"Let me carry that blanket for you."

"No!" Eileen croaked her voice a little too high. "I can manage," she insisted, lower her voice and pulling the stained blanket against her chest.

It was pouring with rain the day of Victoria's funeral.

Surrounded by a sea of headstones blackened through the passage of time, family and friends gathered around the open grave to say goodbye to Victoria.

Ignoring the rain battering against his face the minister opened his bible.

"Our father which art in heaven..." Voices croaked through sobs, sniffles and tears as the coffin was lowered into the ground by four burly men holding thick ropes.

Under a veil of black umbrellas, family and friends said their final goodbye to Victoria.

As the mourners slowly melted away in a steady tide of grief and the gravediggers shovelled the earth back into the hole, Eileen and Mark linked arms with Ellen as they headed towards a black limousine waiting at the main gates of the cemetery.

Eddie and Malcolm followed slowly on their heels, stopping occasionally to read faceless names on a headstone.

"These fucking graves are getting a bit too close to the dual-carriageway. I hope they keep enough room for me," Eddie mumbled, through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"I've told her to burn me. There not putting me in a fucking hole," Malcolm uttered.

Ellen made a shushing noise in quiet protest. Eileen smiled. Mark wasn't listening. His mind was on other things.

Eileen still managed a smile when they accidently touched hands in the funeral car.

Under a veil of silence the limousine pulled slowly away from the cemetery, the closeness and familiarity in the back seat bringing back memories of their impulsive intimacy in the back of his father's car.

Their eyes met briefly and she shuffled uncomfortably in the seat, her breathing increasing, her breasts rising and falling, the whisper of nylon brushing over thighs as she crossed and uncrossed her legs, staring out the window, trying to hide her emotions, trying to calm the ache between her legs.

The thought of ripping her knickers off and fucking her in the back seat of a funeral car stirred the sleeping muscle inside his pants. He moved the untimely nuisance to one side and stared out the window.

After a small buffet for family and friends at the local British Legion Club, Ellen, Eileen, Mark and his sister Eve walked the short distance back to the house.

"We'll not see Eddie or Malcolm until the pubs call last orders," Eileen sighed.

"How's that friend of yours getting on Mark?" Eileen enquired. "I can't remember his name...The one who moved to Ipswich with his mother."

"Andy Dobson," he replied. "He's fine, although we haven't spoken on the telephone for a while." There was a long silence before his mother chirped in.

"I heard a rumour that his mother, Ruth married a man she met in Ipswich."

A lead weight suddenly dropped into the pit of his stomach. He choked back a lump in his throat. He said nothing. He glanced at his watch and quickened the pace.

It was after midnight when Malcolm and Eddie eventually staggered back from the pub.

After climbing unsteadily up the creaking stairs and an unnecessary clashing of doors and a few curses from Eileen, the house fell silent.

Alluring images of Eileen's tight little bottom and bouncing tits quickly gathered a space inside his head. With enough material for masturbation, he stretched out on the sofa and took his glorious manhood in hand.

It was quick. It was powerful. It was messy. It was the perfect anaesthetic for an uncomfortable night on the sofa.

A warm hand touching his arm and a whispered voice broke him from his sleep.

In the flickering shadows of the glowing coal fire there was no mistaking the familiar silhouette of Eileen wearing nothing but a pyjama top and a pair of white panties.

Ignoring the scrunched up paper tissues abandoned on the floor, she smiled and unbuttoned her top, letting it pool at her feet.

"I can't sleep with his snoring," she whispered, pursing her bottom lip in an innocent but seductive provocation, his eyes catching a glimpse of the dark shadow of pubic hair hidden beneath her white knickers.

"And I was missing my new friend," she confessed, optimism flashing in her eyes and an ache between her legs, slipping out of her panties and sliding on the sofa next to him.

Chaos and uncertainty rattled around inside his head, his tortured mind trying to evaluate a risk analysis, his heart and genitals doing the same, the acquaintance of an inquisitive hand clutching his growing limb and the heat of her breath against his neck brushing away the clouds of doubt and any futile attempt of risk analysis.

The promise of suggestion and an expression of seductive foreplay, a flirtatious movement of hands and a hot mouth travelling south, peppering soft kisses of light affection over his stomach, tasting the salty evidence of his earlier eruption on his warm skin, coming to a halt when she felt the whispery curls of pubic hair and his throbbing cock brushing against the side of her face.

A wanting woman with frustrated needs dragging her long fingernails over the rough skin of his scrotum, pulling the fine hairs covering the rugged skin, cradling both testicles in her hand, playful fingers teasing his balls, her sensuous mouth working the long shaft with a well-practiced skill, breathing him and blowing him out, licking and sucking, sweeping over the bulbous head, dancing around the rim, pushing the tip of her tongue into the small eye, savouring the taste of his youthful seed.

"I want this," she whispered impatiently, her eyes sparkling with hungry intent, letting him slip from her mouth, giving his balls a parting kiss before straddling his body.

A burning heat manifesting between her legs, an aching vulva wet with desire, the hiatus of a sexual drought giving way to the urgency of carnal engagement, the threatening force of nature throbbing and pulsing between her buttocks, a frustrated sigh hissing between tight lips, an urgent adjustment, her knees finding purchase on the sofa, lifting her bottom slightly from his thighs.

"Put it in," was all she said.

Urgency responding to suggestion, a surge of high octane adrenaline rushing through his veins, fuelling the fire of passion, the perilous limb throbbing in his hand, a grunt, a wheeze, a thrust of his hips and he was inside her body.

"Oh. Oh. Ahhh," she whispered, her face twisting in a distorted mask of pleasure, the gruesome muscle stretching her tight entrance, filling the depths of her inner core, opening her legs, opening her body, digging her finger nails into his arms, whispers turning into painful cries. "You're too big...Keep still...Let me do the work," she volunteered, shifting her weight and moving her hips in a slow seductive rhythm, wriggling and shuffling her bottom, meeting the penetrating force, easing the thickening object inside her body.

In the fading light of the dying coal fire, his eyes growing wider and wider, her pendulous tits swinging with reckless abandon in front of his young eyes, thrashing her head from side to side, her hands pulling recklessly at her hair, frustration forcing sighs, wheezes chasing gasps, words stumbling over breathless pants, a mature woman hungry for physical fulfilment, bouncing and wriggling, thrusting her body with promiscuous intent.

A brief pause, a breathless sigh, a quick adjustment on the sofa, urgency and desperation brushing away compromise, a wanting woman launching into a tireless marathon of physical endurance, wriggling and twisting, bouncing and thrusting, lifting and lowering, easing him into her body in a commentary of verbal filth, easing him out in a chorus of endearment.

The copulation gathered speed, a mutual engagement of physical endurance, a synchronised motion of give and take, breathless whispers turning into urgent cries, voices growing louder and louder, the springs on the sofa making too much noise, frustrated sighs blown between clenched teeth, the warmth of her mouth brushing his ear.

"Get on the floor," she whispered, raising her bottom slightly, letting him slip from her body.

He didn't object. With his balls about to explode at any minute he just followed her orders.

With the graceful skip of a dancer she was lying on the floor with her legs wide open, the outline of her dark hairy bush easily visible against her milky-white body.

He dropped to the floor and climbed between her legs, ignoring the threadbare carpet beneath his knees and her whispered voice of caution, gripping the swollen limb firmly in his hand, flexing his buttocks and thrusting his hips, pushing through a forest of pubic hair, parting the slippery flaps and folds, easing inside her body in a chorus of moans and groans.

Wrapping her long slender legs around his waist, digging her feet into his lower back, moving her hips to meet the force, pulling him into her body, embracing the length, adjusting to the girth, gripping his arm, accidently piercing his skin with a finger nail, short shallow breaths snorted in wheezing gasps, words of endearment suddenly turning into an urgent blast of crude profanities.

"Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Give me more."

A heart banging inside his chest, carpet burns torturing his knees, responding to her urgent commands, fucking fast, fucking hard, giving her more, pushing in and pulling out, deeper and deeper, thrusting and grinding, pounding and hammering, penetrating her depths, letting her feel the fullness of his potent flesh stretching her entrance, filling her body with a force she couldn't have imagined.

"Ah...fuck. Ah...fuck. Oh...Oh...fuck...fuck," she uttered in breathless gasps, a shiver and a shudder, a shake and a tremble, the rapture of euphoria reverberating inside her bruised and battered body, a climax of earth-moving proportions exploding inside her vulva, tingling her feet, curling her toes and shaking her legs, sweeping through her chest and face, rattling her teeth and the back of her throat, a whiplash of orgasm thundering through her body with a momentous force, a mind-numbing release stealing the last breath of air from her lungs.

A breathless gasp and a contented smile, a woman lost in the overwhelming heat of passion, waiting for calm, waiting for the climax to melt away, unable to hide the post-orgasmic flush colouring her face.

"You need to finish," she offered, sucking in air through her nose, kneeling on all fours, opening her body to accept his perilous length.

Ignoring the carpet burns, peeling back the slippery folds of flesh, easing the threatening muscle inside her waiting heat, slowly at first until he thought she was comfortable enough, increasing the pace letting her feel the power of his finely tuned piston, the unforgiving force of a perpetual fucking machine.

A creaking door and a whisper of movement in the shadows, apprehension inviting panic, his softening penis slipping from her body, their moment of copulation abruptly halted.

Heads turned in unison, questioning eyes staring at the door, trying to focus in the darkness, watching and waiting, the fading echoes of hurried footsteps disappearing up the creaking stairs sweeping away doubt.

He choked back a lump in his throat. They spoke in conspiratorial whispers.

"Who was it?" he asked.

"I've no idea," she replied, hunching her shoulders. "It couldn't have been Malcolm. If it was he would be beating the shit out of both of us."

A nod of agreement, his eyes vacant and his throat dry, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, his words mumbled in a nervous stammer.