The Johnsons

On the last day before Mr Johnson was due back from his holiday, the weather had broken and there was rain. Johnnie got wet during the paper rounds and Mrs Johnson dried his hair on a towel in the side-kitchen when he got back. During the day Johnnie felt an awkwardness and turned to find Mrs Johnson gazing at him. He wondered with trepidation if she had noticed his embarrassing erection tucked up into the waist band of his underpants.

No, he was sure she hadn't, but these involuntay erections were a decided nuisance. She smiled sadly at him and turned away to occupy herself with adjusting the sweet jars or the library books.

When he returned to the shop for the evening he was offered a glass of sherry. It seemed to Johnnie that Mrs Johnson had already had a glass. Apart from that, the ritual was the same as before. Cocoa, biscuit, nine-o-clock news and up the stairs to bed. There was a distant roll of thunder as Johnnie got into bed and curled up onto his side with his back to the middle of the bed breathing steadily.

He could hear Mrs Johnson in the bathroom singing 'Fight the Good Fight' in a toneless contralto voice. Johnnie recalled that she had been humming hymns to herself during the quiet moments in the shop since the afternoon opening. Eventually, he heard the bathroom door open and close and Mrs Johnson came into the bedroom. The bed gave as she climbed into it. The light went out and almost straight away, Mrs Johnson's deep breathing signalled sleep.

As he was drifting off to sleep, Johnnie suddenly became alert again. He felt Mrs Johnson's hand flop over his thigh, the fingers resting on his erection. He froze with acute embarrassment. He was paralysed with shock and terrified in case she would awake to find him in a state of arousal.

He held his breath and strained his senses. He could hear his heart knocking at his ribs so loud that he was sure the thumping might wake her. She woke at the sound of a cat's tread she had said, but her deep breathing continued steady and regular which reassured him a little. He began his regular breathing once more as he tried to weigh up the situation.

Just a minute! Her fingers gently curled round his shaft. Was it deliberate or just a natural reflex movement of her hand? He desperately wished that the stiffness would go down or that he dare quietly remove her fingers which had now curled themselves completely around him. But, on the contrary, his erection was responding to the attention it was getting with involuntary tremors.

Johnnie panicked. He had no idea about what he could safely do to get himself out of her grasp without the fear of her waking to find him in such an acutely embarrassing position. And the consequences of that happening were too terrible to imagine! He could only hope that Mrs Johnson would roll away from him in her sleep.

After what seemed an age she took an extra deep breath and rolled onto her left thigh, pulling Johnnie over with her, on to his back. He lay there pretending to be asleep, trying to think what he could do, breathing regularly in case she woke up. Mrs Johnson was now definitely fondling him, slowly easing Johnnie onto his left side. His mind was confused and he was totally bewildered by all this.

He was even more so when he felt her transfer his erection to her left hand, drawing him towards her. Before he realised what was happening she pushed her bottom towards his lap. What on earth....? He was in a state of hypnotic confusion. A fleeting sensation of his cock rubbing against rough hair and he suddenly felt himself encased in a slippery, sponge-like warmth.

Throughout all of this, Mrs Johnson's breathing had never faltered. She pushed herself gently and slowly on and off Johnnie's lap. He could hardly comprehend what was happening and was powerless to know how to stop her. Then reality hit him like a sledgehammer.

She was fucking him!

Oh my God! He was actually being fucked by Mrs Johnson! It was unbelievable! She was fucking him in her sleep! His mind couldn't begin to guess what would happen now if she suddenly woke to find herself impaled on an eighteen year old lad. His mind was in a panic but he managed to maintain the same rhythm of breathing and pretend sleep in case the worst happened. Mrs Johnson's right arm curled itself around the small of his back and pulled him closer to her buttocks in rhythm with her pushes.

Then the very worst possible thing imaginable started to happen. He couldn't stop it. It was inevitable! He was unable to prevent the muscles jerk in his groin as, to his profound horror, he climaxed into her with a series of subdued lunges.

He lay there in a state of utter disgrace whilst she continued her shameful rocking movement. My God! he thought I've spunked into Mrs Johnson. He was wondering how to come to terms with this indignity when he became conscious of Mrs Johnson's breathing getting quicker and more laboured.

She pushed against him with firmer, quicker thrusts, her fingers rubbing between her thighs. She pushed hard into him until he felt a tightening of her muscles. Her whole body started to twitch, juddering against him as she made a curious whinnying noise. Johnnie was terrified. His brain was racing. Perhaps she was having a fit. What should he do?

But her shaking body subsided fairly quickly and she let out a long drawn-out sigh as she relaxed again to sink into the soft mattress. Johnnie rolled away from her gratefully onto his right side as he felt her pull her nightgown down and between her thighs. He couldn't really believe what had happened but thanked God it was over. He sighed with deep relief.

He still could hardly believe what had happened. Ladies didn't do that sort of thing; ever! Perhaps she'd had a nightmare. That would account for the spasms and curious whinnying noise. But, however it had happened, it was certain that he'd been fucked. Perhaps raped was the better word, since he had taken no active part in it and gained no pleasure from the experience.

On the contrary, he had found the whole episode an embarrassing and unpleasant one. He tried to remember the sensation of being gripped inside a woman's fanny but couldn't. Events had moved too quickly with him in too much of a panic to concentrate on the sensation. It was amazing to him that he'd had his first fuck and couldn't remember it!

Then the thought of having to face her in the morning filled him with terrible apprehension. What would he say? Would she remember? Would she know? He decided to pretend nothing had happened, acting as normally as he could. What else could he do? With a deeply troubled mind he fell asleep.

He didn't hear the alarm the next morning. He woke from a deep sleep with his shoulder being shaken by a smiling Mrs Johnson A mug of tea stood on the bedside table.

'There's your tea Johnnie. It's half past.'

Mrs Johnson was smiling! Not a sad smile but a kindly smile. That was unusual. Then the events of the night suddenly came back to him with alarm as she was walking out of the bedroom. He felt himself. Everything was as it should be. His usual stiffness.

He sat up and sipped the hot tea wondering how he dare face Mrs Johnson in the cold light of day. Would she accuse him of tampering with her? But she had just smiled at him, so everything must be alright between them. That was a good, reassuring start. He decided the only thing to do was to start the day and go through with it as soon as possible.

When he finally reached the side-kitchen, Mrs Johnson was in the shop, at the other side of the curtain, sorting through the piles of morning papers as usual.

'Sleep well?' she called out casually.

Johnnie blushed to the roots of his hair and was glad he didn't have to face her when answering. 'Thank you, yes' he called back. 'I slept like a log' she added, concentrating on the papers. Johnnie sighed a mental sigh of relief. She hadn't woken up after all. She was quite unaware of what had taken place. But there he was wrong. Mrs Johnson had been fully aware of everything that had happened because that's how she had arranged for it to happen, though she never believed it would be anything other than one of her many fantasies. It was literally a dream come true.

But after the act, she was plagued with intense feelings of remorse at having deflowered this young man, involving him, unknowingly, in a compact with the Devil. She was consoled by the fact that he had remained asleep throughout, seemingly unaware of what she'd done to him. His voice sounded normal enough the next morning.

If only she had been able to do it with Johnnie openly, caressing his body and playing with his genitals. But no! That wouldn't have been possible.

After the difficult and painful birth of her son she and Mr Johnson had decided not to have any more children. Both believed that intercourse enjoyed for its' own sake was a temptation of the Devil, to be resisted. Besides, it was too risky. She was a fairly simple soul, never seriously questioning her religious upbringing. So for the last twelve years, aided and abetted by Mr Johnson, she had been denied the fulfilment and enjoyment of intercourse.

There were times, of course, when her frustration became hard to resist, with the fantasies of her younger years returning to plague her, none more so than when she was taking a bath. At these times she had been taught that singing a hymn would help to dispel the frustration in the burning hell between her legs.

Emily had been a lonely girl without friends or play-mates. She made her own amusements. Emily discovered almost by chance, the little bud tucked under a fold of flesh at the top of her crack. She was already nineteen years of age. It gave her a great deal of pleasure to rub it between her fingers. It was during one of these occasions, with her attention absorbed by playing with herself, that Emily had been caught in the act by her distressed mother, who was a God-fearing Christian. She had gasped and turned quickly away.

After much thought, she went round to the vicarage of St Stephen's to her vicar for advice. He was a middle-aged man, stern in his appearance with dark, unruly wiry hair surrounding a bald patch and gold-rimmed spectacles which magnified his eyes so that they filled each lens with an owl-like hypnotic stare. A tuft of hair poked out of the top of his dog-collar and his black surplus was heavily stained.

His waistcoat, similarly soiled, sported a heavy watch chain across his substantial paunch. He had a habit of taking the watch from his pocket, glancing at it and putting it back again. He did this whilst listening to Emily's mother. Not that he wanted to know the time, but it gave him something to look at to distract him from staring at women's busts. He was a batchelor and had an old, half-blind widow keep house for him in the vicarage.

It was an embarrassing interview for Emily's mother but the vicar managed to put her at her ease. His manner was not as fierce as his looks suggested and he could be understanding and sympathetic. This was one of those occasions.

'Try not to worry Mrs Adams. We all have to grow up and face the temptations of the Devil. If you would like me to, I will instruct Emily in the temptations of the flesh. She is still young and curious about her body. But the devil can work on this innocent inquisitiveness. She needs to be shown the dangers that lurk in giving in to these temptations.'

So it was that each Wednesday after work, until he was moved to another parish some months later, Emily called to see the vicar. She was nervous and a little scared by the vicar, and of his stern, unbending beliefs which he taught her with a solemn, deep theatrical voice. She would meet him in the vestry of the church where he would draw a chair up and sit close to her.

She was fascinated by the hairs bushing from each nostril and the thick growth on the backs of his hands. He asked her if she knew about how babies were made. She didn't, having been brought up in an atmosphere where sex was stifled; not even mentioned. She remained silent with downcast eyes. He explained to her how women and men developed differently, how the union of their bodies would result in a baby growing in the mother's womb until it was ready to be born.

On her next visit, he told her that sex was an instrument of the Devil and that it was the Devil who gave men and women the sensations of bodily pleasure when it's private parts were stimulated. It was only natural that she should be curious about parts of her body but to caress herself for pleasure was an offense to God, an unclean thing, to be denied. Sex could only be indulged when holy wedlock permitted it for the joy of begetting children. The vicar warned her that the wrath of God's dreadful punishment would be heaped on her if she continued with the unholy, unclean act of self abuse.

At subsequent meetings he instructed her in the devious ways of the devil and his fiends; he showed her pictures in old volumes depicting the torment of damned souls being confined to hell's fire by the demons.

'Some of those condemned souls were those who had taken liberties with their own bodies for the satisfaction of the flesh' he explained.

Emily was frightened. They had horns sprouting from the head, mouse-like faces, hairy human torsos but the haunches and legs of a goat, with cloven hooves. She went pale, terrified at the prospect. He made her repeat the ten commandments explaining the meaning of each to her. Her dreams began to be plagued by the appearance of the demons she had seen in the pictures, who would prod her with their forked sticks and taunt her for having abused her body for pleasure.

At a later lesson he warned her that a woman's virginity was to be highly prized and to lose it outside marriage was a terrible disgrace to herself and to her family. He cautioned her against fornication, teaching her about the wickedness of Eve. The responsibility for sin, he said, rested with the daughters of Eve. He explained how the devil, through women, ever since Eve's downfall in the Garden of Eden, had plagued and tempted men through the lure of the flesh. Emily, who was now sufficiently relaxed in the vicar's company to converse with him, told him that she could not properly understand this, knowing nothing of men.

Sworn to secrecy, with the threat of immediate retribution if she even thought of divulging the secret, he quietly raised his cassock. There, beneath it, she saw a column of pink flesh rearing up proudly from out of his parted shirt tails. He explained to her that it was man's lust, raised up at the Devil's command, saying how the Devil would not let it rest until Eve had lured it into her body, the soft entrance between her legs, to drain it dry.

He never touched Emily's body, who, in her innocence, was never in doubt that the vicar was anything other than an agent of the Lord, sent to help her resist the Devil, to show her the way he operated, helping her and encouraging her to reject sin. But she was dumb-stuck at the unimaginable thought of so large a thing piercing her slender crack.

It was after a few weeks, when Emily had become accustomed to seeing it, that the vicar encouraged her to touch the Devil's instrument, promising it could not harm her. He told her that it was important for her to be aware how it worked, spitting out its vile, evil juices which entered into Eve, piercing her egg which would grow into a baby. It was explained that the Virgin Mary conceived Jesus without the aid of man's juice entering into her. That is why it was a miracle.

He taught her how to pump it up and down with her hand until it discharged its contents. He explained that the grip of the woman's vagina on the shaft had the same effect. Her absolute concentration on the spectacle of his grunting ejaculation seemed to slow down the action as the small opening in the swollen head of the shaft parted, the thick juice gushing out of it in several spurts.

She was very frightened, yet strangely mesmerised by this awesome occurrence, no matter how familiar it became to her as she pumped it up and down. The vicar would spurt his juices into his palm, whilst little Emily's eyes were closed in prayer - though her eyes were never quite tightly shut, so that she could watch with wonder the gushing devil. The vicar explained to Emily that his grunts were caused by the effort of trying to prevent the devil from having his will.

Each session ended with a prayer of help and strength for the innocent, asking forgiveness of the Lord for having given in to the desire of the flesh. Emily was taught to seek the Lord's forgiveness through prayer whenever she felt tempted to succumb to the temptations of the flesh.

'Sing a hymn or psalm' the vicar told her, or offer up a prayer asking for strength to fight the Devil.

The trouble with all this instruction was that it made Emily rather more curious about sex than she had ever been before, which was merely a mild curiosity about the parts of her own body. Now she had developed an even greater curiosity about the parts of a man's body.

Emily had been brought up a good christian and was profoundly affected by this instruction and the threat of eternal damnation. So she managed to push any sinful thoughts into the darkest recesses of her mind, and lock them away. She couldn't, however, dispel them from her dreams, where the Devil with his demons would enter her mind, taunting her with their protruding stiff shafts.

Her dream of the demons became more frequent and, eventually, was to become part of her day-time fantasies as well. In spite of all the instruction from the vicar, the temptation of the flesh was usually too great resulting, from time to time, particularly when lying in bed in the dark, in the shadowy forces of evil creeping from the remote crevices of her imagination to plague her with appalling fantasies and lurid visions.

The devil would materialise from the mists of her imagination, bursting through of a wall of hell-fire flames in a cloud of sulphurous fumes, with leering face - sometimes the face of the vicar, sometimes other men she knew but always wearing large spectacles - with horns and pointed ears. From the waist down, the devil had the hairy body of a goat with cloven hooves, an enormous, glistening protrusion rearing up from his loins almost to his chin, spouting continuous gushes of white slime, streaked with green, in huge sprays which splattered over Emily's young innocent breasts.

He would approach her and torment her with its girth, oozing green sludge down its gnarled trunk, with occasional eruptions of steaming jets of thick liquid. She would try to protect herself by covering her tender crack with her hands and squeezing her thighs tightly together with tightly shut eyes. But in her fantasy, no matter how tightly they were shut, the Devil parted her thighs and entered her without effort, penetrating her slowly, with glee and mockery, stretching the lips of her soft vulva so that it almost ripped apart.

Emily's fingers would work at her private little button, almost unconciously, as she intoned psalms to herself, watching fascinated as the Devil's enormous shank sank into her damp vulva which stretched and stretched until it embraced the ugly monster. She got so carried away with her own fantasy that she would feel her whole body being infused with liquid fire as waves of his loathsome discharge surged through her every vein, almost choking her.

Emily's body seemed to become inflated, filled with his sticky gunge until, the pressure becoming almost painful, she burst in a delirium of glittering kaleidoscopic spray as the devil gushed his boiling starch deep into her. Her body convulsed, shaking a with nerve-tingling intensity. Only a vigorous rub between her thighs to bring about her climatic wail could dispel the nightmare. The intense emotion and the repulsive images slowly ebbed away leaving her exhausted, only to be replaced with a feeling of disgust and self-loathing.