This is the second part of a story I wrote a while ago. I think to understand what's going on, you should read the first part of the same name. Please let me know what you think, I appreciate constructive criticism.
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The sound of birds in the garden reached her ear. She sighed turned over on her back. She could still feel his body over her. Her thighs tingled where they'd rubbed against his slim, hard waist. Her hands moved down over her body, over her pussy and across her inner thighs. She smiled and laughed lightly. Oh, she felt wonderful!
She lay still remembering and luxuriating the sensations that remained on her; the taste of his skin, the feel of his hard smooth muscles. Her hands could still feel the hardness of his pecs where she'd kneaded them as he gently thrust into her. God! If that was how he made love when he was half asleep, how would it be when he wasn't?
She lay for a while until she realised that something was missing: she couldn't hear anything other than the birds twittering in the garden. He wasn't swimming. She tried to get up but as she sat up she felt the most awful bruising. All that "exercise" last night was coming out in its usual way.
She hobbled to the window and looked down. There was no one in the garden or the pool. She wondered where he might be.
As she moved to the bathroom, her well-rubbed thighs screamed in agony with every step. She managed to get to the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath: a nice hot soak would help quell her aches and pains. She glanced at the clock on the landing and noticed that it was already half past nine. He should have been finishing his swim by this time. She poured some scented oils into the bath and mixed them in with her hand.
She undid her robe and gingerly stepped over the side of the bath. She realised she was out of practice even for simple straight-forward sex. Easing herself into the water she felt the heat sooth her muscles and she let out a deep sigh.
Her hands moved once more over her body. Not bad, she thought to herself as she gently brushed her slit and squeezed one bosom, not bad for an old lady. Her smile grew more and more and she let out a laugh as her fingers retraced the steps that Mark's had taken.
Her thoughts again turned the fact that Mark wasn't following his routine. Had she overdone it with the drug? No, that wasn't possible she knew the right dosage, even if she did have to guess some of the factors. She'd have had to put a hell-of-a-lot more in than she had. And not to forget that he'd been almost conscious when she'd gone to him. Even though he hadn't really woken, he'd been quite responsive...quite the 'stud' she mused. She smiled at the thought of him once again ploughing into her.
A thought flashed through her mind again: if he was okay, then why hadn't he done his usual swimming however many lengths as usual? Maybe he hadn't been so "asleep" after all! She sat up with a start. Perhaps he'd remembered and felt so ashamed at having slept with her! Or disgusted! Maybe he'd found the thought of doing it with her repugnant. Maybe he remembered what happened and was calling the police! She had drugged him and although she knew there'd be no long-lasting effects it was still illegal! Could he prove it? She thought about it carefully. What proof was there? Well, the drug would quickly leave his body, about twenty-four hours after ingestion. She calculated the time in her mind. Of course, if they analysed the casserole, they'd find traces. She didn't know how long it'd take to break down into base elements.
Her head spun with more questions as she tried to work out if she might be in danger of being found out. She quickly got out of the bath and began drying herself. The aching had subsided somewhat but not completely. But she wasn't going to be put off from saving her neck by some twinges. She got dressed quickly and devised a plan to get inside his flat and remove the evidence.
Fifteen minutes later she was standing outside his door. Her legs were quivering and her heart was pounding fifteen to the dozen. She hesitated before pressing the bell, all the worst possible scenarios whizzed through her head: he was dead, he was dying, he'd realised what had happened and even now was calling the police or even worse the police were already inside. She told herself not to be so stupid! If they were inside, the car would be in the drive and that wasn't the case.
Her finger pressed the doorbell. The chimes drifted through the house. She waited. She heard some thumping and moving about. Something must have fallen because there was a heavy thump, a tinkling sound and Mark cursing. Eventually a large tanned figure moved behind the frosted glass panelling, blotting out everything else. She found she couldn't swallow as her heart seemed to have risen to her throat and was beating so hard it almost choked her.
The door opened. Mark stood in the doorway, half-dazed. "Mrs. Roberts," he said surprisedly. "How can I help you?" He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to shake sleep off.
He was only wearing a pair of loose boxer-shorts. The fly of the shorts gaped because his stance pulled the material at the hip. She could see a tuft of pubic hair glimpsing through the gap. She moved her eyes up quickly to his face to try and dissimulate, but it didn't seem to work. His hand nonchalantly moved round to his crotch pulled the gaping sides together. Her heart skipped a beat; had she given the game away? He looked exactly as he had the day before. He rested on hand on his hip and leant the other on the door for support. He wiped his brow on his forearm. His skin had a sheen on it: he'd been sweating.
"Are you all right Mark?" She managed to say steadily despite her heart thumping in her ears. "It's just that normally when I wake up you're swimming and I don't think I've ever known you to miss a day's exercise." She smiled trying to act serenely.
Mark was obviously still under the effects of the drug. He was trying to open his eyes, and stand unaided, but was having a little difficulty. However, he hadn't screamed at her for taking advantage of him the night before so she decided it was safe to assume he couldn't remember anything.
Her voice became concerned. "Oh, Mark, you don't look well at all." She moved forward as she spoke and placed her hand on his forehead.
"No, I don't feel..." he started but didn't manage to finish the sentence as she took charge.
"Come on, I'll help you back to bed." She said, ineffectually trying to guide him back through to his room. "I'll whip you something up that'll make you feel better."
Without arguing, he allowed her to put his arm over her shoulder, so she could lead her back to bed. His other arm took most of his weight as he leant against the wall, using it to guide him as well as keep him upright. Slowly he gave into her and allowed some of his weight to fall on her shoulders. She steadied him by pressing her hand over his abs and sliding her other hand around his waist. Her fingers tingled at the touch of his undulated abs where memory and actuality fused. She couldn't help herself and she gently stoked the fine hairs that ran down from his navel and disappeared under the band of his boxers.
"That's right, come on, this way," she cooed as they moved through to his bedroom. "You lie down there and I'll sort you out."
Mark lay down on the bed. "You know," he whispered half asleep, "I'm having some déjà vu. I think I've dreamt this.
Phyllis stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean?" She asked over her shoulder, cringing inside thinking she'd been found out.
"Don't know really" and he closed his eyes.
