This is Part Two of a story which began with Lessons in Love which you can read here.
Some years ago I was in therapy and learned the principle of mindfulness. My next encounter with Fiona put me in mind of these. A week after my first visit I arrived at her house, carrying the 400 lines neatly folded and sealed in an A4 envelope with a card. I had been careful to count them before placing them in the envelope. I had, too, her beie boots, reheeled and freshly polished, in a tote bag.
“Hello again,” she said, inviting me in. “I was wondering whether you would come.I didn’t scare you off last time then?”
She smiled as she said this and I relaxed.
“I’ve been thinking of nothing else. I have been spending quite a lot of time writing lines for you haven’t I?”
She smiled again but this time I felt there was a hint of mischief. I began to get nervous again.
“I’d better have a look at the lines then hadn’t I?”
I handed her the envelope and she opened it, took out the sheets of A4 paper and the card. She looked at the card first.
“How sweet of you” she said, smiled again. She came up to me and kissed me on he cheek.
“I do hope you have done your lines properly. What do I do back in your schooldays?”
“If you weren’t satisfied you ripped that and made us do them again. Doubled.”
“And you wouldn’t want 800 lines would you? That would keep you busy for most f w weekend. Mind you, it would keep you out of the pub wouldn’t it?”
She looked pointedly at my beer belly and counted the number of lines on the first page. Thirty lines per page, thirteen pages and ten on the fourteenth page. The final line was a bit faint as my pen had started to run out. I actually hoped she would overlook this. I actually didn’t fancy doing 800 lines. I had plans for the weekend and imagined it meant I would have to wait another week to fuck her. She counted quickly, she had after all taught Maths among other subjects.
She refolded the sheets and lay them on the table.
“What are you?”
“A misogynistic arsehole who must learn to respect women.”
“Quite. That is exactly what you are. Don’t think I wasn’t deeply hurt by your stupid comments last week. That sort of thing is not easily forgiven or forgotten. ”
“I am truly sorry.”
“I have no doubt. Men are ever so sorry when they think there might be something in it for them.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
She fixed me with a steely gaze.
“And my boots?”
“Reheeled and polished as you requested.”
I took them out of the bag and held them up for her inspection. She took them off me, held them to the light, inspected the new heels and said,
“You’ve done a good job. I’m impressed.”
As she went to put them in the cupboard under the stairs where I knew whe kept her shoes I began to feel uneasy.
“Bit I thought you were going to wear them for me?”
“Did I promise you anything?”
“But nothing. I don’t need you to tell me what to wear do I?”
“No” I answered quietly, feeling more than a little humiliated.
“Follow me” she said and opened the patio doors that led out into the garden.
“Actually I have a little job for you to do before we go upstairs. I have just had a pile of rocks delivered, I’m building a rockery and need a strong man to put them in place. I was going to ask my neighbour but them I thought, as you are coming and as you like doing things for me you wouldn’t mind. You don’t mind do you?”
“Well no” I said, a little surprised by this turn of events. But then I began to think of it in as labour to ear a sweet reward. I looked at her, began to imagine her without clothes, imagine my cock sliding into her cunt, imagine her sighing with pleasure as I ……
“So what I need you to do is this.”
She reached into her bag and took out a piece of paper which she unfolded.
“This is a drawing of the rockery as it is meant to be when it is finished. So I need you to take the stones from over there, the big one are at the bottom, and arrange them like this, around the pond. I think there should be 30 of them? And when you have finished we can and have some fun can’t we?”
She smiled and ran her hand over my arm.
“Shall I get you a cup of tea?”
I took the plan and studied it closely. There was easily three hours work in this and it was starting to get hot. I knew that I was being used but I really couldn’t do anything about it. And Fiona Howe knew this.
I set to work. The task was complicated by having to take the smaller rocks first and make a separate pile before I was able to get to the big ones that formed the base of the rockery. Even the smaller ones were heavy and I cut a finger on a jagged edge of the first.
“Oh fuck!” I shouted, sucking my bleeding finger.
“Is something wrong?” asked Fiona who had appeared at my side with a cup of tea.
“No, it’s fine” I lied. I was seething with resentment, angry with myself for my lack of assertiveness, hot and sweaty as the sun rose in the sky. My arousal of earlier had completely gone. What if we went to her bed and I couldn’t well, couldn’t get it up? I could just drop all this and go. Was it worth all this humiliation just to get to stick my cock up the dry, shrivelled cunt of an old woman? Even as this thought came into my head I went red with shame. It was true. I was a misogynistic arsehole. She had seen this and was punishing me for it. And I had to embrace this punishment for her. Fiona Howe always could see through people, she was smart in a way I never could be, And that was what I adored her for.
Sot I continued with the task. Soon I had made a separate pile of the smaller rocks. I set to work carrying the heavy larger rocks to arrange them around the pond as instructed. After the first two I was exhausted and seething with resentment. Then I remembered my therapist and his words to me on mindfulness. Be in the moment, draw the positives from it, enjoy it for what it is. I was working for a woman I adored. So I dedicated the third stone to her. I imagined it as her breast, I stroked it tenderly, kissed it after checking she wasn’t watching though the patios door, picked it up with reverence, like a priest raising the chalice at consecration, carried it across the garden in the way we carried Our Lady in the streets around the church on the Feast of the Assumption.
The next stone was Fiona’s other breast, the third had a path of rough on he surface and I pictured this as her cunt, set in a luxuriant garden of hair, like the stones I was setting among shrubs, Her cunt, the prize to which my life had been heading since I first set eyes on her at the age of eleven. I kissed, flicked it with my tongue, rested my face on it, smelling it, dry stone and spoil, which I wanted to commit to memory.
“Are you alright?”
Fiona had brought me another cup of tea.
“Yeah um, it’s what my therapist called mindfulness, it’s like ”
“Being in the moment, I know. I’ve had therapists tell me that. Don’t you think it’s bullshit?”
Actually I didn’t. It had really worked for me. It was working for me now. But I couldn’t disagree with her. Not in 1974. Not now.
“I guess you’re right.”
“It’s going a bit slowly with all your mindfulness isn’t it? Enjoying the journey is all very well but it is good to each the destination, particularly today’s destination.”
She licked her lips and smiled.
“I am going out at seven so I really you need to finish by four to give us time for your little after work treat.”
She smiled again and there was, I thought, a hint of mockery in her voice.
“What’s the time now?”
“It’s just gone three. And you have already been doing that for over an hour. I think you need to hurry up.”
“Yes Miss” I let slip and felt myself going bright red. Fiona smiled, said nothing and went back inside.
I picked the stone up and went back to work.
“Reverence and speed” I said “reverence and speed.”
I was sweating profusely. My arms ached. I remained mindful. I dedicated it all to her. By the time I finished I was rockhard. I slipped my hand down the front of my boxers and felt a dribble of precome merging from the bellend. I was hot and tired but I would be ready. I would not disappoint her.
I would like to say that Fiona was pleased with my work but she didn’t mention it. Instead she told me I was too sweaty and sent me to shower.
“Upstairs. On the lift”
In the bathroom I took my clothes off , leaving them in a pile by the door. I stepped into the shower and saw that she has one of those high tech showers with a control panel like a Boeing 747 cockpit. I stood bemused, shuddering as cold drops fell onto me from the shower head,
The door opened and Fiona walked in carrying a big fluffy towel.
“You’ll need this once you have worked out the shower. Just wait there and I will come and join you.”
The door opened again and Fiona walked in, wrapped in a towel, a shower cap covering her hair. She took it off and I saw her body for the first time, still slim, the two small breasts still firm, every bit as enticing as I thought she would be. She joined me in the shower, pressed me against the cold tiles, pushed her tongue into my mouth.
She handed me a sponge.
“Wash me then get on your knees.”
I took the bottle of shower gel, squeezed some onto the wet sponge and began to rub it gently over her body. I stopped at her breasts, to caress them as mindfully as I had the large stones in her garden, carried on down. By the time I reached her cunt I was kneeling, water was running down her body like streams down a mountainside after the rains. I dabbed cautiously at her pubic hair, like a surveyor mapping a new country. I felt her push my head lower and soon I was bent double washing her feet which I kissed before she grabbed my hair and pulled my head up.
“Now give my pussy some attention.”
I leaned in uncertainly and licked at the hairs, then pushed in with my tongue, ran it up and down the slit, buried my face in the wet hair as the warm water streamed down, shutting my eyes to keep out the soap. Then, guided by her hand I lifted my head and began to tongue her clit, lapping at it like a cat at milk before flicking it with swift rhythmic motions until until she came with a scream.
I knelt there as she turned the shower off, opened the door and stepped out onto the mat. She took her towel and threw me mine. I looked at her as she towelled herself down. I was struggling to get the words out.
“Are we going to …um …”
“Are we going to do what?”
“Well, sex, like you promised?”
“I didn’t promise you anything! What a thing to say! And besides what do you think we have just been doing?”
“I want to fuck you Fiona.”
“have you got condom?”
“Well no, I thought”
“You thought it wouldn’t;t be needed because I am so old and old bats like me don’t need to think about contraception, Is that t?”
“Well yes, kind of…”
“And you don’t think safe sex is an issue at all for me?
I said nothing. I shuffled my feet. I was too embarrassed even to look at her.
“And I bet you didn’t think about lube either?”
“Lube?” I asked gormlessly.
“Didn’t you know? Have you never been with a post-menopausal woman before?”
She fixed me with a look and a smile that told me she had already guessed the answer.
“I have never actually been with any…”
“I guessed. Are you really surprised with your attitude to women?”
I said nothing, picked up the dirty sweat stained clothes and began to dress.
“I think it is time for you to go. But thank you for your work on my rockery.”
Fiona closed her front door behind me. I didn’t look back as I walked down her path and turned into the road for the short walk home. I felt sick with shame and self disgust. Used and humiliated. Those words kept going round in my head. Used and humiliated. Used and humiliated. As I repeated the words I felt myself getting hard.
I went to bed early that night. I was tired from the hard physical labour and from the emotional strain of the day. Fiona Howe had used me but I had showered with her, I had knelt before her, I had worshipped her cunt. Did I need anything more? I had the stuff of a million fantasies swirling round in my head. She belonged to me in ways she could never know.
I turned out the light and masturbated to her, on my knees, my head buried in her bush, my lips pressed against hers. I came quickly, the creamy come wetting my pyjama bottoms. I rolled over, ground against the mattress and fell into deep, contented sleep.
This is a post for Wicked Wednesday. More wickedness can be found here.