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

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The next morning of a wonderful and shocking day.

Peter got out of bed, finding that for once, Sheila had got up before him without waking him up.

The place she had lain beside him was still warm, and the towel they had lain on to catch what leaked from her after each of his steamy consultations with that intimate part of her, was damp in several places.

Her mother’s bed was empty too, and made, and there were no obvious sounds from downstairs. He would wait until later, to shower, choosing just to wash instead, brush his teeth, dress, and get on with his day, whatever it brought.

He’d do the calves first. He saw, from the small landing, that her mother’s car was gone from where she had left it as they’d brought in the shopping the previous night. He heard nothing downstairs. Had they both gone out? He hadn’t expected that.

No. Sheila was sitting in the kitchen, on the bench, pulled away from the table, and facing the stairs. She was lost in a brown study, and toying with her cup of coffee. She was dressed in that thin, filmy nightdress that revealed more than it hid; the one she’d worn that first night they had been together, driving him crazy, and with a light robe over it that was not fastened. His temperature began to rise seeing her like that, as it always would.

She’d heard him getting up and use the bathroom and had already poured him a cup of coffee.

Never mind the coffee. He had other, more urgent things on his mind. He walked over to her to sit beside her, straddling the bench to face her, putting his arm around her, kissing her, looking into her eyes, seeing everything in there for him.

He slowly moved her robe aside, undid the ribbon that closed the neck of her nightdress without saying anything, and pulled the top forward, loosening it, opening it completely from covering her breasts, and slid his hand into it to hold them, feeling her push back at him. His kiss, following that, was eagerly returned.

“Good morning, my love.” He was smiling kindly at her.

She was already excited.

“Good morning, Peter.”

After a minute or two of kissing and caressing, where they became breathless with each other, she paused, becoming concerned about something, and spoke again, almost in a whisper.

“Please, you should stop. You are making a mistake, Peter.”

“Oh.” He smiled at her, expecting that response and surprised it hadn't come sooner. “Am I moving too fast now? It wasn’t too fast earlier this morning was it? It wasn’t too fast for me.”

She was breathless, her mind still not controlling much of anything.

“No. Not for me either, Peter. Oh dear, this wasn’t supposed to be happening now. I knew this was too much, too soon. I should never have agreed.”

“What are you talking about? There is no mistake.”

“I am not who you think I am.”

Peter smiled down at her, still caressing her breasts, nibbling at her ear.

“Yes, you are. You are exactly who I think you are. You are a woman I am in love with, and the woman I made love to this morning.”

“But I am not Sheila.” He did not stop what he was doing, even hearing that. “Sheila took the car and went out.”

He chuckled and continued nibbling at her ear and then kissing her.

“I know that too.” He felt her surprise.

She blushed crimson in her surprise. “You do?”

He chuckled. “Yes. You are one of the two women in this world that I fell in love with in the last few days. How’s that for an impossible co-incidence although, as you look alike, behave alike, dress alike, think alike, love alike, that is not so surprising.”

Her heart had better slow down.

“You are the second woman I fell in love with, just as I first fell in love with Sheila, and I am now touching you intimately, caressing you, kissing you, as befits a man being with one of the two women he loves in all of the world; one of the only two women he will ever love.” He looked at her. “You are not by any chance one of identical twins, are you? There is not a third one of you, lurking out there to ensnare me, is there?”

She shook her head, setting her breasts moving so interestingly under his touch.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

She repeated what she had said. “Did you hear me, Peter? I am not Sheila. I am her mother. I am Brenda.”

He was still smiling at her, and there was a strange look on his face and in his eyes.

Her heart almost stopped. She knew that look, and it made her heart skip a beat even as it refused to slow down. She hadn’t had a man look at her like that for years, and she’d missed it.

Her mind told her that she must intervene and stop this before it went any further, too much further than it already had, but her brain refused to function to coordinate with her mouth with him kissing her as he was.

“Yes, Brenda, I know.”

He picked up her hands and moved to kneel in front of her. She did not try to pull away, not even when he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, still looking into her eyes. His expression had not changed. He was still looking at her in a way that set her heart racing, her pulse quickening, and her lungs fighting to get enough air.

“It is time for us to speak candidly, you and I, Brenda, though I shall ask you to let me do most of the talking at first.”

She nodded, daring to say nothing. What did he want to talk about?

“I know that you were shocked when you first saw me coming out of Sheila that evening you arrived home, and you seemed deeply concerned, seeing me, my… like that.”

She shook her head, and then nodded. Her feelings had been ambivalent at that moment, seeing the size of him, of it, and so big around; immense, and knowing that all of that had been in Sheila’s body. She had not been sure what to feel for her daughter, though he hadn’t been hurting her, despite having all of that in her, otherwise Sheila wouldn’t have been so co-operative or happy about it, and would never have let him into her again, yet she had. She could barely wait to get him back into her!

“Concerned? Yes, at first. Although… not so much, after that. I had never seen anything so… so… so enormous, or obvious on any man.” She was not sure what to say that would not offend him.

“So, despite that about me; a gift that keeps on going and going, and then giving and giving, as you also found out, did I hurt you when I made love to you this morning? Even going so far as to make love to you twice. If I did hurt you, you gave no sign of it and did not push me away or stop me. I heard no complaint.”

She corrected him gently, as he knew she would have to. “It was three times we made love this morning, Peter.” She blushed as she vividly remembered each of those three times.

“Three times.” She had to remind herself of that incredible memory by saying it again as though not believing that it had happened and needed to remind herself of each time.

“Yes, it was three times wasn’t it. I knew that. There, I knew you’d soon remember what we did.”

She had to clench her legs tighter together, feeling that memory flooding back and what she had felt of him as he had first gone into her and come, and then each of the following times; each time better than the one before.

“You didn’t hurt me, Peter.” She shook her head to emphasize those words, continuing to blush like a sixteen-year old being kissed for the first time, and discovering that while she was being kissed; being distracted, the man kissing her was undoing her bra to remove it; her panties were being teased down her legs and, not only that, but he was going into her with that insistent part of his; all for the first time and with no time for her to object to any of it with an attack on so many fronts. How did a man have so many arms and hands to do all of that at the same time as he was also fucking her?

“I was married, remember? I also gave birth, so it was not as though it was unfamiliar to me. But I was never used to seeing anything like you… there… or feeling anything like that going into me.”

She desperately wanted to feel it happening again, never expecting that Peter would have approached her like this now, or so decisively this way when he came downstairs to join her.

As Sheila’s mother, and much older than either her daughter or Peter, she should have been in control of everything happening in the house, but she wasn’t in control now. He and Sheila were. She had never been; or felt as though she were in control since she had arrived home, and this man, seventeen years her junior, made her feel that she was far too young to be Sheila’s mother. She felt excited; sixteen again, younger than Sheila, as she had been when this, being in love, and being fucked, had first happened to her.

Now, she had her hands clasped between her knees, fiddling with the bottom of her nightdress in her nervousness, anxious about what he would say or do next, still kissing her, still holding her breasts.

“No, Peter.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “You didn’t hurt me.” She was repeating herself, not sure how he hadn’t hurt her with something that big.

“It was …wonderful, much more than…, but I dared not let you see any difference from when you’d made love to Sheila.” She wanted to ask him to please do it all again to her, and preferably right now, but daren't. She would never be so forward.

Peter knew that he would get the entire story now that she’d got started.

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