Tales Told out of School. 9: A Fell-top Miss-Adventure.

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Are you still awake, Mom?

At about two o’clock the next morning Brenda heard Sheila using the bathroom again for about the third time. At least the ball-clock had been unplugged, so that wouldn’t wake her up again at some awkward hour.

Then Sheila was kneeling by her bed, waking her up, talking to her, even though she was still half asleep.

They spoke for no more than ten minutes in low voices, arguing together, before it slowly settled down and became more reasonable.

Peter heard them; heard the voices arguing, forcefully at first, and then subside. He would have loved to have heard that exchange.

Hearing no more, he went back to sleep, but had slept for what seemed no more than a few minutes, before he felt Sheila sliding into bed with him once more, dropping her robe onto the floor as she moved over him. It was a small bed, but she didn’t need him to move over, deciding that she would take advantage of where he was, on his back, and how he was; how he always was.

Whatever minor difficulty there had been between her and her mother had been soon resolved. He’d find out what it was in the morning.

She kissed him, pushed him back and came over him aggressively, waking him up to her once more as he reached up to her breasts, then brought her down to kiss him as she settled down over him, using her weight to get him into her, really waking him up now as he tried to slow her down.

He’d need to find out what that slight contretemps between Sheila and her mother had been about, but quickly put all thought of that behind him with what Sheila was doing to him now.

He barely slept after that before she awoke him again, and then again, though he was more than ready each time.

What the hell had she been eating? What had her mother said to her to put her into this kind of mood? She was obviously feeling good about something. What had they argued about that had sparked this welcome aggression toward him? Whatever it was, it was worth bottling and selling.

When he awoke the next morning, Sheila was lying beside him, on her back, looking up at him, still wide awake, still wanting him, waiting for him to wake up to her and knowing what would happen when he did.

He knew that look, and responded as she demanded of him, moving over her again for about the fourth or fifth time that night as he went into her again.

Five minutes later, they both died as they climaxed just a few seconds apart. If any man ever died of such pleasure, he, would be sitting somewhere high on the short list.

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