Chapter 8 The Sewing Room
According to Cotton
Wendy stirred, her head came off of the arm rest and she gave me a quizzical look as if to say, 'where am I and who are you?' She had dozed off sometime during my description of my visit to the home of Mrs. P one rainy Saturday night.
Her light snoring had not deterred me from my task. I droned on; determined to give a full account of the night that I watched Mrs. P bake cookies and later helped her loose her cookies in her sewing room. At one point I covered Wendy's bare feet with a quilted blanket I found in the lamp stand. She smacked her lips and made a meowing sound in appreciation.
Putting my audience to sleep did not discourage me from continuing. Wendy had wanted to hear the story and I complied with her wishes. Once into it there was no stopping me; whether she listened or not.
Lydia was ready to call it a night. We had our fun and it was getting chilly in the room; especially given our state of undress. We were sitting on the coverlet with our backs to the small metal cot and our legs touching; basking in the afterglow of intensive and satisfying sex.
Unlike our previous 'encounter,' when she ordered me to 'get off and get out,' we talked. She had told me that the room we were in had been a maid's room at one time but now it was her get-away harbor; a room with a door that locked, masking as her sewing room. She had also told me about her children's father and how she and he had strayed from their ideals. There had been no bitterness in her version of the demise of their marriage. In fact, there had been an admission of guilt on her part.
Our bodies clung together, partly for warmth, party to extend the night that neither of us wanted to end. A few long kisses and a close embrace made it seem almost toasty warm. My hands roamed her back and she pressed her tits to my chest. I felt wetness when my prick brushed her pussy. She pulled away.
"We mustn't," she announced.
I knew her concern. Earlier in the evening she had told me of her worry that she was already pregnant from our romp on the freezer the previous Tuesday night when I had come to pick up the floral display. She had watched closely as I rolled the rubber onto my cock earlier this night.
'Had she not seen the slight bulge in my sock where the second condom was awaiting its call to action? I was almost certain that she knew it was there, making the sock on my left foot look like it was covering a growth.'
"I'll pull out," I offered.
"I've heard that before," she laughed, putting distance between us.
"I'll pull out and cum on your back," was my last argument. She raised her leg and I felt her hand on my shoulder. She was making preparation to stand.
My mouth found her left nipple and my hand palmed her right tit. The hand on my shoulder relaxed. I twisted her nipple.
I felt her hand on my thigh as she leaned close to my ear and whispered, "are you sure?"
I brought my mouth to hers as my left hand rubbed her inner thigh, letting one finger gently brush the outer rim of her pussy. She found my cock and stroked it gently, pulling it closer and closer to her wetness. Her tongue was fucking mine.
I tossed the pillow from the cot to the floor. Lydia knew what to do. She broke our kiss and crawled across the floor. Before she lowered her head to the pillow she looked back at me. Although no words escaped her mouth she appeared to be searching my face for an answer to her question, 'are you sure?'
I gave her a reassuring smile as I took my place behind her. I rubbed my hands over her ass cheeks; they were firm and soft at the same time. She reached between her legs and found me. There was urgency in the way she shifted her right leg to give me access to her cavity which, with the help of some hip action, drew me inside.
Lydia's head did not stay on the pillow. She was up on one hand while the other pulled one of my hands to her tit. I took the hint and did the same thing with my other hand. Her butt was moving in sync with my thrusts. Her hands and her right foot were flat on the floor.
She moved one shoulder to the floor and her head to the pillow but only briefly. Soon she had both hands on the floor again to get more leverage; pushing back, pushing back. Her head swung from side to side with each push. I moved my hands from her tits and attached them at her waist where I could better control our movements or at least try to keep up with them. I pushed deeper. She looked back over her shoulder with an attempted smile but a frenzied mixture of anguish and desire overshadowed it. Her forehead was covered with beads of perspiration which ran down one side of her face. She mouthed, 'fuck me!'
I nearly abandoned my promise to cum on her back when her head bobbed up and down like a filly slowing to a trot after a fast race. I heard little yelps and snorts coming from the woman as she climaxed. I stopped pushing when her head went to the pillow and one of her fists pounded the floor. The pause gave us both a chance to catch our breath. I renewed my resolve to do as I had promised.
When I was sufficiently rested I made short movements to get Lydia's attention. She lifted her head from the pillow and placed her hands flat against the floor again; signaling she was ready to resume our mutual enjoyment.
We glided together, increasing the pace to a flurry that built a rumble in my balls that would be impossible to stem. I warned her verbally that I was pulling out but she did not hear me. A puzzled look came to her face as she slowed her hip movement then brought her self to a stop. She must have felt the spurts of cum hit her back because she gave me a 'good-job' look and then collapsed to the floor.
We lay on the floor catching our breath and grinning at one another. I put my arm around her and stroked her back until I felt the pool of sticky cum which I spread out like icing on a cake. Her hair was matted with perspiration and her eyelids looked drowsy.
At the door she stretched up to give me a peck on the cheek. She was dressed in the slacks and the blouse but her feet were bare. I put my arms around her but she would not move closer.
"This is the last time, you must not come back," there was a resolve in her voice but I also heard anguish that made my heart ache.
When I pulled her to me there was a brief kiss that ended quickly with a final word, "go." I heard the door latch behind me as my foot hit the ground outside.
I slept well that night and walked on air for the next three days but by Wednesday there was an ever present annoyance praying on my mind. Her words, "this is the last time, you must not come back," nagged at my subconscious.
"Cotton, what's wrong with you?" Marcie said, calling my attention to the burning toast. It had popped up but I had absent minded-ly pushed the lever down. The smell had caught the attention of Marcie who hated to cook but hated burned toast even more.
"I'll do it," she said, pushing me aside. "Where is your mind these days? Everything all right at school?"
I assured her that everything was fine. As a decoy, I told her about the upcoming dance and my plans to test my dancing skills.
Marcies dislike of Ellen who had given me dance lessons during her week long visit saved me from further discussion. My absent minded blunders, caused by my preoccupation with my status with Mrs. P, went undetected for the balance of the week.
