The phone rings

I am fighting for something to say, as my hands go up to cover my breasts and the private space between my legs.

Suddenly the phone rings. I jump out of my skin but Mrs Harding, now very much alert, immediately springs to answer it.

“I’ll get that! I hope it is your mother!” she says as she moves quickly across the room, her frumpy clothes not disguising the fact that she is surprisingly lithe for her age.

“Hello” she says, almost before the receiver has reached her lips. In her haste, she knocks the speaker phone button and I can hear everything.

“Who’s that?” says a woman’s voice.

“It is Mrs Harding speaking”, comes the curt reply

“Oh, that will be the biggest slag this side of the river”

“I beg your pardon?” Surely Mrs Harding has had all that she can take for today!

“I know what goes on underneath those sensible clothes. There is nothing you like better than a good finger-fucking.”

Mrs Harding is going to explode. I am just lost in confusion, reaching for a long towel to wrap around my cooling body as I watch these crazy events unfold before me.

My mother’s friend, for so long the loudest voice in the parish, is for once lost for words... but I know that some are most definitely on their way.

Before Mrs Harding can answer, the voice, made even more metallic by the speaker, resonates out. “Never again to peak, until a lesson you have..”

“Wh-What?” stammers Mrs Harding, and then the phone goes dead.

I wait for Judith Harding to turn to me again and unleash another torrent of rage, but instead she sits down on the edge of my bed, her hands supporting her on either side, still holding the phone receiver.

“What is happening now?” I wonder. What next? And yet... I feel strange too. A strange tingle runs up my back and arms and then drops down my centre, and as it does I drop too, my knees going down to the floor. I feel moistness between my legs and I can just remember to hold on to my towel to protect my modesty.

“I...I”, she says, sitting up slightly, her hand going to her face. She is still red, but it seems to be becoming a colour of warmth rather than anger

I am certainly starting to feel warm again too.

Her eyes get larger and she starts to look into the middle distance as her hand glides over her face, feeling her flushed cheek and the softness of her nose and lips. Her face looks slightly hard and quizzical for a second, and then suddenly softens as if it is relinquishing to the sensations. Her mouth opens slightly and her eyes close as her hand moves down over her purple jumper, coming to rest upon her right breast.

Now I too start to feel the most amazing feelings as the tingling increases over my body. My pussy is becoming wetter by the minute. Then I submit too, my white fluffy towel sliding down upon my legs and around my waist, revealing my shapely breasts, their nipples hardened. I do not care now for my modesty, for I am starting to lose myself in the sensations, and anyway Harding is as confused as me.

The woman who five minutes ago was going to hang me in the square can not have changed more. There she sits opposite me; a bead of sweat on the side of her hot face. Her head tilts back as her hand starts to rub over her breast, its curvy shape clearly defined through the wool of her top. I watch her as a slight moan escapes her as I copy her movements, yet with both hands. I am getting warmer and wetter all over. My skin feels slightly moist all over as I glide my hands over my breasts and then downwards, my kneeling legs parting slightly to allow easier access under the towel.

I close my eyes for a second, feeling the sensations of my soft hands over my soft skin and then open them again to see Mrs Harding, her mouth agape, looking at me through half-closed eyes. Her face is now covered in sweat and she is moaning. One hand still supports herself as one hand clasps her breast. The nipple of her other breast is clearly erect through the thick material of her cloth, and her legs, before so prim and so proper, have now parted under that long conservative skirt, revealing her French knickers.

Our eyes are fixed in pleasure, our lips parted, and we look at each other in fascinated, intimate, bewilderment. Our pleasure mixes with our fear of what is going on. Yet we are beyond caring what the other person thinks (although the de-robing of this stiff woman into a sex fountain is turning me on). I can feel wetness starting to cover my thighs and the floor, and from the looks of it so can Harding.

The older woman speaks, still staring at me, her breasts rising and falling through her top as her breath comes faster, her head lolling slightly. “Wh-what ... is...happening?”

She gasps for breath. “I... feel. ... So... IT.”

“Th...This is... what happened... to.... me”, I say, but I do not have enough time to finish my sentence as another huge wave of sensation runs all the way up my body and through the centre of me. I can only cry out and fall back on the carpet, my knees involuntarily parting further, riding the towel up around my waistline as I reach a hand between my legs, my fingers aching to relieve myself and thrust up into my dripping pussy.

“Ohh...” I cry as I run my fingers through my bush, aching to for my sex to be adored.

A similar cry, somehow more mature and more... well,..sexy, emanates from the other side of the room. I can hear the older woman fall back on the bed.

“Oh God, I’m so wet”, she moans. “Won’t somebody fuck me”

On hearing these words I am suddenly even more turned on and I feel my pussy starting to contract with coming of an orgasm. I thrust my fingers up inside my soaking hole and they slip up there with no resistance at all. I look over at Mrs Harding and she has pulled her skirt up, her hands shoved inside her French knickers, vigorously frigging herself. I come on the spot, my juices soaking the floor and travelling teasingly up the crease of my arse. I writhe around in ecstacy, my soaked towel left behind as I arch my hips upwards to receive my thrusting fingers.