I reached down and untied her ankles and carried her to the sofa. I set her down across my lap and when I her kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips, there was a salty taste from her perspiration.
With her face turned into my chest, I held her tenderly and waited while she regained her composure. She felt so small and vulnerable I had a desire to rock her gently as if she were a child.
Finally she stirred and swivelled on my knees to put her feet to the floor. After two preparatory rocking movements, she straightened her legs to stand but came back to my lap with a bump. On the second attempt, I helped with a gentle push.
She took a couple of unsteady paces forward and turned to face me. Her bare feet were apart and her arms hung by her side. Her usually neat hair was disarrayed and a lock of it obscured her right eye. Her dress was so crumpled it looked like corrugated paper.
She attempted to remove the offending lock by extending her lower lip and blowing upwards but it was unsuccessful. She looked so cute and comical I felt a bubble of laughter rising but managed to keep a straight face.
With an attempt to regain her dignity, she announced, "I shall now take a shower," and added, "That is of course with your permission." I waved a gesture of consent.
She took a couple of steps and then remembered that her shoes were still by the chair. As she started to bend down to retrieve them, she realised that her bottom would be towards me so she reached behind and pulled down the crumpled hem. Then still half-crouching, she shuffled in a semi-circle until she was facing me and narrowed her eyes in an accusing glare. It was a delightful pantomime. Eventually she left the room with a purposeful step and with her head held high.
It was then that I became aware of a damp feeling on my lap and saw the dark patch. An examination of the chair confirmed that she had leaked considerably. It took just a few minutes to get a sponge and wipe the chair, thereby saving her some embarrassment.
I solved the trouser problem by quietly going to my room and swapping them. I also had to change my boxer shorts.
When she returned to the lounge she deliberately avoided me to get to a chair. She had completely changed into a three-quarter length skirt and a blouse buttoned high to the neck. She sat down with her hands folded neatly and stared straight ahead without expression.
As one of us had to break the silence, I said unnecessarily, "I see you've changed Mother."
She turned to me with a look of distain. "I wonder why? By the way, my clothes are in the laundry basket but I left the panties on top in case you want to play with them later. That's what perverts do isn't it?"
I felt the mirth rising again. "Why are you calling me a pervert?"
With a look of disbelief she asked, "Why?" and then more fiercely, "Why? Because you sexually assaulted me, that's why."
I said calmly, "No I did not, I didn't even touch you."
She made as if realisation had suddenly dawned and lifted her fingers to her temple. "Oh that's right, it's all coming back to me. Now I remember. I had an irrational impulse to tie myself to a chair and then while still tied, somehow managed to play a pornographic CD. Then I forced you to watch while I abused myself."
I looked at the clock and saw that there was still time for a pint. "I'm going to the pub Mother. We'll resolve who did what to whom some other time."
I always kissed her when I left the house but as I moved towards her, she held up both hands in horror and turned her head away with, "Are you now going to rape me?" Nevertheless I managed to plant a kiss on her forehead without too much resistance.
On Tuesdays, my girlfriend Sue attended her Italian class and Thursdays she went to the gym. She kept her stunning body in good shape and loved every inch of it. Fridays we would go out with our friends and Sundays both stay at home. We spent the other three evenings together. At nineteen, she was a year younger than me and we both worked in IT.
She is very intelligent and highly sexed, and I am highly sexed. We enjoy masturbating together and we each take it in turn to make up erotic stories to enhance the excitement. She is a self-confessed exhibitionist and loves it when I watch while she tells me, "Tony my pussy is so hot and wet," and, "Oh God I'm coming, are you watching me come?" We are both athletic and we have fucked in just about every position possible.
During the evenings that I spent at home with Mother, she would read and I would watch sport or surf the internet. During the days that followed, neither of us mentioned our intimate experience together although Mother's demeanour became quite amusing. I would feel her looking at me but when I glanced up she would drop her eyes with a little smile.
On one occasion she gave a giggle so I continued to stare at her until she looked up again. When she saw my searching look she asked with exaggerated innocence, "What?"
"What are you giggling about Mother?"
"Oh it's this book, there are some really funny bits in it."
She was enjoying the 'I know that you know what I know' situation. She had access to all of my porn and I hoped that it was enhancing her masturbation pleasure. I assumed that she was still masturbating in the afternoons or whenever. She was certainly watching them because occasionally she would comment on the merit of one.
She had increased her vocabulary by adding pussy and clit and asked if the cocks she saw were real or strapped on. She talked about people coming but thought cunt was an ugly word and best used to describe the leader of the political party that she did not support.
My father had died two years previously aged fifty-two and I was curious about something. One evening I asked, "Mother did you enjoy having sex with Dad?"
The question startled her and she remained silent for a few moments during which she must have been considering her loyalty to him. Finally she said, "Not very much."
I continued, "Did he satisfy you? Did you achieve orgasms?"
She laughed and answered, "I don't think he knew that women are supposed to have them. He would roll on, push it in, give sufficient thrusts until he came and then roll off. Once when he kept going for nearly two minutes, I felt the beginning of an enjoyable sensation but it didn't last. After he went to sleep I explored myself and had a tiny orgasm and it made me squeak. After that I usually did it when he was asleep."
I looked at her with sadness. "Was sex always in bed?"
