Helen 2

Clive lay back in bed and sighed. Now the dog was joining in with the cacophony from next door. He leaned over and flicked on the light. 2:15. Jesus. If Lillian was here, they wouldn't have dared. But, of course, she was away on her friends' hen weekend. Celebrating the end of her friend's single life. Clive found it difficult to see anything to celebrate in that, but there you are.

He swung out of the bed, the sound of the dog howling along in time with the music echoing up the stairs. He could faintly hear some of the guests at next door's party laughing and howling in reply. 'Fuckwits,' he muttered crossly to himself.

He trudged downstairs to the kitchen and opened the door. The Chihuahua-cross stopped in mid circuit of the room and immediately ceased it's howling to yap excitedly at Clive. 'Shut up!' he snapped, and shut the door again. The door thudded as the small dog threw itself at it, yapping all the while. Clive knew what it wanted, it was always the same. It now wouldn't shut up until it had had a walk.

To the sound of frenzied barking, laughter and a bass line that shook the floor Clive mounted the stairs to his bedroom. He might as well take the dog out, but it was cold outside. Have to put something warmer on.

He pulled on a pair of Jeans and the messy, ragged and comfortable sweater he had been wearing that day, and topped it off with his long black raincoat. He couldn't be bothered locating a pair of socks, however, so he just pulled on his old trainers over his bare feet. That would do. When he re-emerged into the kitchen the dog stopped barking and ran over to the back door, bouncing up and down madly. 'Yes, yes, I'm doing it, I'm doing it,' said Clive, exactly as he would have to Lillian herself. He groped around in a draw until he located the dog lead, and opened the kitchen door. The dog didn't need a lead for going, but it was needed to drag her back again. It shot out and away up the hill towards the park.

The night was crisp and bright, and Clive's breath hung on the air like cigarette smoke. Maybe he would buy a packet tomorrow, he mused. A small one, he would have to smoke them in a day and a half. Lillian didn't approve of smoking.

By the time he got to the park the dog was nowhere to be seen. Clive cursed loudly and set off over the hill. Nothing. He hoped she was just in the playground, down behind the slope. If she'd run off again… Jesus, what if he lost the dog? Lillian would kill him. He began to run.

Panting, he arrived at the top of the hill. The dog was there, tugging away at something in a litter bin. Clive relaxed, and then stopped, puzzled. A figure was hunched over, sitting on one of the swings. He climbed down the steep slope cautiously and walked over to the dog. It was very near the figure. He would have to say something. You can't just nod at people you meet after two o'clock in the morning. It would be different if it was Central Park rather than Pudsey Park, and he didn't know why, exactly, it just didn't seem right, or who invented the rule, but there it was. Some things, you just know.

But what to say? Evening. But it wasn't evening. 'Night. But you said that as a goodbye, not a hello. Perhaps the best thing would, after all, be just to…

'Hey, are you alright?' he heard himself saying.

The figure sniffed, and lifted its head. He could see it was a woman, late-twenties perhaps, with mascara running down her cheeks. 'I'm fine,' she said, in stark contravention of the available data.

'Um,' said Clive. He sat down on the next swing. 'I only ask because you appear to have been crying buckets in a way that would suggest, to the uninitiated, that you are in fact deeply upset about something at two o'clock in the morning on a night when most normal people are either tucked up in bed, or have at least gone home.'

She laughed, which was good, and smiled at him, which was better. 'I'm just being silly,' she said. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, allowing Clive to get a glimpse of something red clutched in her hand. For a moment he feared it might be blood, but a less casual inspection revealed it to be a pair of plastic horns attached to a hair band.

'Being silly how, exactly?'

'I jus went to a party and there was no-one there that fancied me. Everyone I knew paired off and I felt left out. And I can't just go home because Jenny, that's my flatmate, she's gone off with Tony and has the house keys.'

'Can't you just go sleep in a bedroom?'

'They're all either full of coats or other people doing… You know. And the music was starting to give me a headache. And then I went outside where it was at least a little bit quieter and then this dog started howling and…'

Clive held up a hand. 'Ah. Can I just stop you there? That was no dog. That was that bitch.' He nodded over at the dog, now happily chasing its own tail with a manic grin on its face.

'Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply…'

'No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault. It's not my dog, it's the wife's. More trouble than she's worth.' Clive chuckled to himself. 'And the dog, too.'

A chivalrous thought struck him. 'You can come sleep at our house, if you like. The music isn't too bad through the wall. I nearly got to sleep twice.'

'Well, erm…'

'Ah, I can see where your thoughts are taking you. Fear not. Married man, and all that. And, besides, if I was going to do anything I could have done it already. This is hardly the most public, public place I've ever been. Here.' Clive stuck out a hand. 'So we're not strangers. My name's Clive.'

'Helen.' She put out her own hand and took Clive's, limply. 'Okay, then.'

'Great. Just let me catch this one.' Clive spent an embarrassing five minutes trying to catch the dog, followed by a pleasant ten minutes making Helen laugh more as he pretended to be unable to catch the dog. At last he felt the joke was wearing thin, and he slipped her lead on and they walked together back down to the house.

Clive talked far too much on the walk back down to the house. It was his first time in a long time at talking to what he surmised, under the long, black coat, frizzy hair and mascara covered face, was an attractive young woman. He feared he was doing it badly. She seemed to appreciate it, though, and laughed in all the right places, and joined in whenever it was required. Mostly she seemed to be happy to let Clive babble on, though.

By the time they got back to the house next door's music had turned slow and soulful, and although it was still quite loud outside, once the door was shut it was almost silent, with the music merely a gentle background.

'Would you like a drink?'

'Erm… Maybe a coffee? Decaff, if you have some.'

Clive thought to himself that that was clearly contradicting the point of drinking coffee after a night like this, but kept his thoughts to himself. He hunted through the cupboard. 'Um, no,' he said. 'I have it Caffeinated, but not otherwise. Tea? That's not as much so.'

Helen nodded, and he clicked the kettle on. 'I'd actually meant something alcoholic,' he said. 'I feel like I'm making you miss out on your party.'

'Oh, don't. I'm glad to be away from it. I wasn't really in the mood for a party in the first place.'

'Oh?' said Clive as he rinsed out another mug. 'Than, if you don't mind my asking, why go?'

'Erm… I don't know if I should say…'

'Oh, do tell.' said Clive, hoping for some gossip on his neighbour.

'Well… I was kind of hoping… To get laid.'

'Oh.' There was total silence for a moment, before finally someone next-door put another record on.

Helen looked around the small kitchen. 'Is there somewhere I can hang my coat up?' she asked.

Clive was relieved to be reminded of being a host. 'Here,' he said, 'let me take it.'

Helen turned her back to him, and he slipped the long black coat from her shoulders. He had to stop himself from gasping at what was beneath. She was wearing a dark red skin-tight outfit of a material that glistened like plastic, but clung like lycra, revealing and disguising in all the right places. There was silence for a while as Clive's mouth hung open and his mind scrabbled desperately for something coherent to say.

Helen looked down at herself, embarrassed. 'Silly, isn't it?' she said. 'The woman in the shop said I would look sexy in it. I just feel like a bit of a wally in it, personally.'

Clive tried to demur, but his throat had gone dry. He croaked something hoarsely, threw the coat over the back of a chair, and turned back to the tea making.

Helen leaned back against the wall and surveyed the room. 'Your house isn't like I expected,' she said.

Clive coughed, as quietly and politely as he could, until some of his voice came back. 'What... What makes you say that?'

'I don't really know. I suppose I was expecting something a little more kind of bohemian and intellectual. I just don't feel there's very much of you in this place.'

Clive looked around at the chintz wallpaper, and the pastel-pink fitted cupboards, and down the at the red and white flowered teacup in his hand. No, not very much of him at all. 'Well, I'm not here very much,' he lied.

Helen nodded and smiled. She wiped a wisp of hair from her cheek, and then stared on horror at her hand. 'Shit,' she said, 'I must be a mess. Can I use your bathroom?'

'Sure. Er, straight up the stairs, and it's directly ahead of you,' said Clive. 'You can't miss it, it's the only room with a bath in it,' he added weakly.

Helen giggled politely at his lame joke and departed. As soon as she had left Clive grabbed a cup and ran the tap at the sink. He filled the cup and drank deeply. Then he repeated the process and gasped at the relief. He felt as though steam should be coming out of his ears. He put a hand under the still-running tap, and splashed water onto his face.

As he dried himself off with the tea-towel he thought: Am I being foolish? It had been so long since he had slept with anyone besides Lillian. In fact, come to think of it, it had been a long time since he had slept with Lillian. And Lillian had never had Helen's shape.

Dare he have the temerity to suppose she would be interested in him that way? He looked at his reflection in the china cabinet. A slightly balding, slightly overweight middle-aged man stared mournfully back at him. He shook his head. Ridiculous. He picked up the teapot and began to pour.

He was immediately interrupted by an ear splitting wail from upstairs. He poured tea all over the counter and then crashed the pot down on the worktop. A few scant seconds later he was at the foot of the stairs, looking up at Helen framed by the light from the bathroom door, and staring up at the ceiling.

The smoke alarm squealed and beeped for all it was worth, though there was no evidence of smoke in the air.

'I didn't know what to do,' called Helen above the noise. 'It just started as I came out of the bathroom.'

Clive climbed the stairs to her. 'It's okay,' he said. 'It does this occasionally.' He stared up at the alarm for a moment, relishing being so near to Helen on the tiny landing. With an effort he shook himself from his reverie. 'I'll have to go get the stepladder.' He turned to go.

'Could you lift me?'

'What?'

'If you could lift me up, I think I could reach it.'

Clive swallowed thickly. 'Okay,' he said. Trying not to tremble he put his hands on Helen's waist and lifted her as high as he could. It required considerable effort to both lift her up and away from himself. He tried not to focus too much on the breasts in front of his face.

'No, it's no good. I just can't reach it. Do you think you could lift me from lower down?'

Clive swallowed and croaked 'Er, I think so.' He let her back down, and smiled in what he hoped was a fatherly kind of way, before bending down and grasping her firmly below the waist. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about what was beside his head.

'There,' she called down, 'I think that's got it.' The noise shut off for a brief, blissful moment, before starting up again, seemingly louder than ever. Helen swore at length, though not loud enough to be heard over the alarm.

Clive laughed. 'Just leave the battery out.'

'Okay.'

The noise stopped, and this time they were left in a perfect still silence. The music from next door had stopped.

Clive let Helen slip down him until the was face to face with her, her arms around his shoulders. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and then Helen leaned in and kissed him tentatively on the lips, slightly pulling back his top lip as she released him again.

'You're supposed to ask what sort of demon I am,' she said.

Clive stared, transfixed, into her beautiful green eyes. 'Wh... What kind of demon are you?'

Helen smiled a great big smile at him, flashing a perfect set of brilliant white teeth. 'I'm the sort of demon that seduces married men into adulterous sex,' she whispered, and then kissed him again.

This time he returned the kiss with gusto, and they stayed there for some time, their lips locked together in silence. Clive was overjoyed, and this simple kiss was already the most erotic thing he had ever done. Their tongues intertwined, first within Clive's mouth and then Helen's. Then occasionally Helen began to part their lips so that only their tongues touched and embraced wetly. Clive had a huge erection, and Helen pushed herself up against it.

On a whim Clive moved his hands down to embrace Helen's peach-soft buttocks, and Helen pushed down into them and quickly snapped her legs into place around his middle. Clive couldn't hold her there for long, and as they kissed his mind ran over a list of places that he could manage to carry her to. His conscience told him the sofa would be best, to keep this at the level of an adolescent fumble, but the bedroom door yawned open invitingly near.

Half walking, half shuffling her brought her to the bed and deposited her as gently as he could upon the bed. To his mixed horror and delight Helen immediately undid the clasp at her waist and shuffled up the bed to the top, and then removed first her boots, and then her trousers, with her pants still inside them. She threw them to the floor with a flourish, and then made a 'come hither' motion with her hands.

Clive removed his jeans, nearly tearing them in his haste, and dropped them to the floor. His penis stood massively erect, more so than he ever remembered seeing it before. He felt proud of it, and that pride turned him on even more. He clambered over the bed towards Helen and, embracing her, kissed her once more. He could feel the rasp of her pubic hair and the wetness of her clit against the side of his penis.

Helen put her hands to the side of his head and pulled him away for a moment. 'I want you,' she said between pants. 'Fuck me.'

Clive's conscience again put in an appearance and he stammered 'I, I don't think I have any… You know'

'It doesn't matter. I'll risk it. Just fuck me.'

Clive's libido grabbed his struggling conscience and sat on it. He nodded and pushed himself up with one arm. Helen grabbed the base of his penis and guided into her tight snatch, and Clive almost came straight away. He whimpered, and Helen cried, 'Hush, hush,' and pulled him back into her embrace.

Clive could never claim to be well experienced in sex, having only had three lovers in his lifetime before tonight, but the experience of being inside Helen was like nothing he had ever even imagined. His cock felt warm and tight, and waves of pleasure were coming up and radiating out over his whole body. Indeed, he felt several times, just lying there, as though he had come and the experience was sadly over before it had begun, but he never felt the familiar tightness and pain that follows.

Soon the feeling began to subside a little and he was able to begin to pull gently in and out, making Helen gasp with each stroke. The warmth that emanated off his groin increased, and he paused for a moment to pull off his sweater and throw it aside before returning to the pleasure filled task ahead.

He moved to kiss Helen again, but she was moaning to much to really concentrate on the kiss, so he returned his concentration to the fucking. In, out, in, out, each time he brought himself gasping to the brink of orgasm without ever quite tipping over it.

And he was still getting hotter. He paused for a second to wipe his forehead against his arm. 'Don't stop!' cried Helen. Sweat dripped from every pore. He put out his arms to maximise his surface area and Helen grabbed him by the hands and gripped tight. 'Yes!', she cried, 'Yes! Fuck me, you bastard! Fuck me!'

The heat was getting intolerable now, and although the pleasure had not died Clive tried to pull away. But Helen held him in her vice-like grip. Clive felt his fingers beginning to go numb.

Suddenly Helen let out an ear splitting scream, and now Clive's cock was also clamped inside Helen's pulsating and scalding hot vagina. Vapor began to fill the room as the juices from Helen's cunt began literally to bubble and steam.

Helen's face was a mask of sheer pleasure, Clive's now of horror as he yelled and screamed and struggled for escape, but to no avail. He was clamped fast at three points, with no sign of any release. He tried to bite her to make her release him, but as he opened his mouth the joints dried and locked. He had time for one brief further cry of despair before his larynx whooshed into non-existence. He began to burn with a fierce inner light that spread all over his body and then writhed over his skin, leaving a path of black behind it. Finally, with a loud crack, he burst into a cloud of ash that flew up into the air and then gently down onto the prone figure below.

Helen sighed with pleasure and rose, insubstantial as mist, up through the ash which settled finally an the white sheets below. She drifted to the side of the bed, and then coalesced back together with the faintest of whispers. 'Thank you, Clive, my dear,' she said. 'I enjoyed that.'

Helen stripped off her top and added it to the pile of clothes on the floor below. Then she stretched, and her skin rippled and swam, and her skin darkened until it was a leather brown. A red forked tail whipped out onto the floor.

The evening had gone unexpectedly well. The man she had been sent for had had an inconvenient attack of guilt, and the other visitors to the party were uniformly single. The next-door neighbour had been a long-shot, but his poor self-image had yielded her a tasty tidbit. She skittered downstairs on her newly cloven toes and down to the kitchen and picked up her coat. She threw it

There was a knocking, and a mixed babble of concerned voices coming from the front doorstep. Time to leave. There was always tomorrow. It was so rare Halloween fell on a weekend. So many forgot that a day started at midnight, they were somehow less wary.

She turned to the door in the kitchen wall that hadn't been there before. For a moment flames danced and lit up the kitchen. The dog sat up in it's bed and barked, once, nervously. Helen looked at it, sadly. 'Poor little one,' she said. 'I never got to even know your name.' She hovered, for a moment, uncertain whether to relieve the animal of its wretched life. A crashing noise from the front of the house decided for her.

The door closed, and was gone.

'Mr. Harris?' called a voice. 'Mr. Harris, are you alright?'

But there was no reply.