Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 04

"Good morning, Connie," I said. "Can I make a suggestion?"

She smiled lovingly, "Of course," she said. How did she manage to make it sound like flirting?

"It's brass monkeys out there," I said.

"Ugh?" she asked.

"It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey," I elaborated.

She laughed, understanding.

"Never heard that before?" I said wonderingly. "For someone who's led your lifestyle you're very naïve! It's very cold. May I suggest something for your legs?"

She disappeared and immediately returned more suitably clad. Thick tights or leggings and the shorts on top.

Once again she amazed me. I had it in mind to slow up for her if she lagged behind, but she kept pace with me for the whole three miles. She had long legs. I did shorten my usual run, and we returned to the flat red faced from the cold and panting from the exercise.

I went for the shower, and was no sooner under the hot water, when a naked woman joined me. The shower cubicle was not over generous in size, and there was considerable bodily contact.

She had her back to me, so I lathered up and washed down her front. No, I did not linger over her breasts. It took gargantuan self-control but I remained professional. I washed her mound, her vulva, and her thighs, then she turned to face me, pressing her tits against my chest, I soaped and washed her back and bottom. I did linger over their tight roundness a little, and made sure I cleaned inside her crease. She moaned.

She did me, the same way, and for the first time she took hold of my now erect penis and delicately washed and rinsed it. She did not linger and she did not stroke me. She gave like attention to my backside, and made quite sure my anus was completely clean, as well as my crack and perineum. All the while her breasts were pressed against my chest.

There was no way we could clean our lower legs or feet, so she kissed me softly and at some length, gently rubbing herself on my erection, before leaving me to finish, then reentering the shower to do her own legs and feet.

I towelled myself and shaved while she finished washing her hair, and then I went and dressed for the day. When I emerged ready for the day, she had made tea and laid out the breakfast things, and was dressed in a demure dressing gown which covered her from head to toe.

I left with a scorching kiss, and I blessed her reticence in keeping the dressing gown closed while she did it.

While I drove to pick up Zena, I pondered over the morning. Connie was behaving like a dutiful and loving wife. I felt such strong affection for her when she exercised such restraint in the shower after keeping me company on my run. My admiration for her ability to keep up with me on the run was absolute; I reckoned she could have gone faster still and further. She was very fit indeed, which impressed me no end, considering the life she had led. I resolved to ask her about that.

I told Zena about the run, though I omitted the shower.

"Have you noticed what she cooks for you?" Zena asked. "I'll bet it's really healthy and tastes divine?"

"You're right," I said. "I don't know where she finds the ingredients, but it's been a revelation."

"She told us that she kept fit by running up and down stairs when the man of the moment was not around, and she'd walk everywhere, and go running when she could. In spite of the violence in her life, she had a steely resolve not to let it beat her down. She's very strong emotionally you know."

I thought about that, but was not so sure. It was clear she felt embarrassed about the girls' generosity and her inability to repay, and she said she appreciated our gifts, while telling us she felt bad about her dependence. That out of the way, she enjoyed the hell out of her new fortune. She always seemed to grasp life with both hands, but what she had been through had to have had its effects.

We used the shower and bathroom separately that evening, and went to our own rooms to dress up for the 'do'. It was a fairly formal affair, suits and ties. I went in blue with a blue shirt and paler blue tie, black patents, but not winkle-pickers!

I waited in the living room until that moment when one gets edgy. Time was passing. How do women know that precise moment when you are about to shout, to emerge perfectly ready for the evening?

I was floored. Her hair was done in a chignon, showing off her long neck. I had forgotten how long and beautiful it was. Her makeup was understated but perfect and drew attention to those eyes, the dress was full length in deep red. Hang on! I'd not seen that in the fashion show! It had a deep V front and back, hugged her shape faithfully down to her thighs and then flared a little. She was now as tall as I was, so I knew she was in at least three inch heels.

"Oh Connie!" I gasped, overwhelmed. "So beautiful!"

She coloured and smiled. There was a confidence there. She knew how good she looked.

"Well," I said, "I can see I won't be seeing much of you this evening after the meal! They'll be queueing up to dance with you."

"They can queue all they like," she said, gazing into my eyes. "I'll only be dancing with you tonight."

"I think the Senior Partners might ask for a dance," I said. "It may be politic-"

"Sorry, Graham," she said, "not even the big cheeses."

"Connie, enjoy yourself, please," I urged her. "Choose the right dances and I'm sure you know how to keep your suitors at bay, but you are allowed to feel a little free."

"But," she said, looking shocked, "Won't you be jealous? All the men-"

"You are not my property, Connie," I told her patiently. "You are a free woman and can do and go where you please. It's up to you what you do or don't do. I'll be dancing with Colette and Zena and even Harriet if Kieran lets her, so you should have your fun as well."

"But I will be with you?" she said, now worried. "I want to be seen as your partner."

"Yes, you will be with me, and I will be with you," I assured her. "Everyone will respect that, and if they don't, you tell them where to go. They may be men, but they don't own you just because you agreed to dance with them."

She looked at me, and understood my meaning. Men had all too often forced her because they exercised power over her. I was telling her no one, not even me, had power over her.

She smiled, hugged me, and kissed me carefully, so as not to mess up her lipstick.

The evening went well. I will always remember our entrance at the hotel lounge, the astonishment on the men's faces, the satisfaction on Colette's and Zena's. There was a minor hiccup when we sat down to the dinner.

Ralph Denshaw sat on the other side of Connie. Ralph was pretty harmless, but he was also 'pretty', or should we say handsome, and he fancied himself with the ladies, who usually fancied him back. He also had no sense of discrimination, hitting on any woman he liked the look of, and he liked the look of Connie.

We were sitting at a long table, and he engaged her in conversation, and rather monopolised her, to the extent that I was spending all my time talking with Colette, who was sitting opposite me. She was looking daggers at Ralph who ignored her unspoken message.

The first I knew of any misdemeanour was Connie's quiet order.

"Take your hand off my leg!"

He had assumed her politeness meant interest and had placed his hand on her thigh. I could see it; actually it was nearer her knee than her groin.

He hesitated and laughed, but left his hand there.

"Remove your hand or I stick this fork in it!" she growled. The fork was brandished, the command was quiet but had the element of steel, and her hand with the fork began to move in his hand's direction.

He drew his hand back rapidly and reddened. He said not a word to Connie after that. That was good for me. At the end of the meal, Colette grabbed him and took him to one side. I heard what she said to him.

"Ralph, you are a bloody fool. She's Graham's guest."

"It was harmless. She over-reacted."

"She told you to take your hand off and you laughed and left it there."

"So? Women say these things, they don't mean them."

"I would have thought her reaction and her tone of voice would have told you she was serious, and what you don't know is that she has suffered sexual attacks and was raped. She is suspicious of men, and does not like being touched by strangers. OK?"

"How was I to know?"

"You do now. In any case you should have obeyed."

It was to his credit that Ralph came to Connie as she stood by me, and apologised. She looked surprised; it was not something she had experienced often. She smiled at him and accepted his apology.

The rest of the evening went without a hitch. She danced with me, and was asked by men, including David and Patrick, the Partners, when I was dancing with Zena or Colette. Harriet was monopolised by Kieran, who still shot murderous glances my way. Connie had a whale of a time, and on our way home in a taxi kept on telling me in wonder how nice and respectful were all the men who danced with her. I hoped it would further the healing of some of her emotional scars.

I had danced the last waltz with her, and she was less respectful to me than they had been to her, and I told her so. She just laughed and told me she could tell I enjoyed it by what she felt while pressed against me. I had noticed the envious looks from a few of the men, and really couldn't grumble.

Neither did I grumble about what happened when we reached home, both of us rather the worse for drink. It was two in the morning and I went to grab two mugs of milk. I emerged from the kitchen, turning off the light, to find she had disappeared. I went to her room and knocked and she wasn't there. The bathroom door was shut and I assumed she was in there, so took one mug to her bedside drawers, and took the other to my room.

I entered and stopped dead.

Connie was standing by the bed, fully dressed, and looking a little uncertain. The following thoughts flashed across my tipsy mind in no time at all: she wanted to sleep with me, she'd been trying all week, she'd been so good, so restrained. Was I going to send her away? Not bloody likely!

I turned and left the room, and heard her anguished cry.

"Graham, I'm sorry!"

I went into her room and brought her mug of milk back, only to bump into her as I left the room. She looked upset.

"Where are you going?" I asked her, straight faced.

"Well, er-"

"I was just getting your milk from your room," I said innocently.

Her face was a picture. As what I said percolated through, a smile spread across her tipsy face like sunshine after rain, and she relaxed.

"You mean?" she began.

"I mean I'm inviting you to join me in my bed."

To the danger of the mugs of milk, she launched herself at me.

"Whey hey! Watch the milk!" I cried, slowing her in mid launch, both of us ignorant of the unintentional pun (whey - milk?). She threw her arms round my neck and kissed me vigorously, her mouth opening in invitation, which I accepted, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, and allowing hers thereafter into mine, all the while balancing the mugs in my outstretched hands.

Then she turned and preceded me into my room. I put our milk down and turned to her. She simply stood in front of me. Her back to the edge of the bed. Waiting.

I reached behind her and unzipped her, allowing the front to fall forward and away and leaving those perfect breasts on show. The dress seemed to have a bra built in. It slipped to the floor to reveal some flimsy french cut knickers and a matching suspender belt to which were attached a pair of dark stockings.

I went to my knees and unhooked the stockings, rolling them carefully down her long legs. She sighed. The knickers were next, my eyes were level with her bush as I slid the garment slowly down her thighs and calves until she stepped out of them and stood, legs a shoulder-width apart.

She had a full bush, but very closely trimmed. I reached forward and cupped her bottom from between her legs, my arm pressed against her sex, then allowing fingers to trace a path down the crease of her bottom and on along her sex, the lightest touch being reserved for her button which stood firm and proud already.

She groaned, "Oh, yes!"

I unhooked her suspender belt and let it fall. She was now nude, and was pushing her mound towards to me, inviting another touch. I guided her to sit on the bed, and untied her chignon, allowing her hair to cascade down, then put two pillows behind her where her head would go.

She looked puzzled for a moment but when I parted her legs, she lay back, widening them still further.

Caressing up her calves, first one then the other, I kissed along her inner thighs, first one then the other, stopping short of her glistening furrow, then repeating, then once again, and once more. By now she was breathing heavily, pushing her hips at me, wanting more attention.

"Ah! I need... Oh, please!" her hands pulling at my head, as she mewed and moaned.

My tongue went below to her anus, rimming and licking across. She jerked, "Ooh!" in surprise. Then again, a low groan. It was time. Up went my tongue over her little perineum, dipping into the by now open and ready vagina, circling its open mouth, kissing it with mine.

Now she was thrashing about desperately seeking my touch. "Oh, fuck! Fucking hell!, Oh yes, yes!" I held her hips still against her striving and her protests while I brought my tongue slowly, oh, so slowly over her neat little inner lips, first left, then right.

She was almost weeping with frustration as I repeated the same pattern three more times, then rapidly dragged over her rampant little button, at the same time thrusting two fingers into her open sheath.

She howled! She bucked, twitched, spasmed. Again another traverse of her clit, again the yelps and cries as it took her over the edge and she lost all control.

"You bugger! You lover! Oh, I LOVE you! So much, so fucking much! You STUD! You MAN!" all the while thrashing about on the bed as her thighs crushed my head and I licked her into submission, until her thighs fell open and the spasms diminished into twitches and they in turn became gentle and stopped, while she made little mewing noises, as her hands made random thoughtless passes over my back and stroked my hair, then slowed and stopped, resting on my back.

She lay spent, legs hanging off the bed, her wide-spread thighs limp and relaxed. There was no movement and after I had risen to my feet and stripped off ready for action, I found she had fallen asleep. There was I with my erstwhile raging erection which already had begun to wilt.

I was thankful that the duvet was pulled back, thanks to my obsession with airing it each day. I scooped her up and deposited her gently in the bed, pulling the quilt over her.

" 'Night, Daddy," she smiled in her sleep. I kissed her forehead and she sighed blissfully. Then I left the bedroom and visited the bathroom.

At first I had thought she was talking to me, calling me daddy, but then it occurred to me that she was perhaps regressing in her sleep to her childhood. From what the family told me, he searched and kept on searching for her. He clearly loved her and it seemed she loved him. What to do about that?

Well, nothing initially, but perhaps a tentative word might be in order. After all she was now settling in with me and had no further need to hide. We would see.

My lengthy micturition complete I returned to bed, and climbed in carefully. She did not stir and I fell into my own alcohol fuelled sleep immediately.

Thursday 24 December 1970

I awoke at ten, headache free but abdominally delicate enough to forgo my run. I went and made tea while Connie slept on. No work today, the office was closed until after Christmas.

I thought back to the night before. I remembered being frustrated and knew I'd have taken her if she'd been responsive. That brought a frisson of fear: it would have been a bad move on someone who had been sexually used so much. I began to feel relief that she had fallen asleep. She had been made love to, and did not have to respond. Perhaps that would heal her a little; another little step. A good thing.

I went out and bought a newspaper came back and read it all at the kitchen table. At eleven thirty there was movement, so I put the kettle to boil. A bleary female figure, naked, hair on end as if she had had a fright, shuffled into the kitchen where I was sitting. Some women look fantastic no matter what state they're in.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully, getting up to pour the boiling water into the teapot.

A pair of arms went round my waist from behind, and a face pressed itself against my back.

"Umm," came the rely.

"How d'you feel?" I asked.

"Guilty," came the next reply, and the arms tightened. "Headache!"

I took hold of her hands and prized her away from me, led her by the hand to the table and sat down, pulling her onto my lap. Her face buried itself in my neck. Her breath tickled my neck; her warm nakedness felt quite arousing.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked, "Don't you want to get dressed? I've made tea. What would you like for breakfast? How about some toast?"

She nodded into my neck. "Huh? So many questions. I fell asleep on you. I let you down."

I kissed her forehead. "Yes, you fell asleep. No, you didn't let me down. I'm happy; you were lovely all yesterday evening and you were wonderful last night."

"You were wonderful," she said, sitting up and looking into my eyes, "I've never felt like that before, it blew my mind, it was... Well... Intense."

"Connie, you were tipsy, and you had an intense experience after a full and exciting evening, and it wore you out. You fell asleep. It was very rewarding knowing I'd given you that."

"But you didn't get off."

"Who cares? It's no big deal. You had fun, I had fun giving it to you."

"I don't understand."

"How about you get dressed, I make you some toast, put out a couple of paracetamol and you have some breakfast?"

"Then we talk?"

"Then we talk if you really want to."

"I want to."

She got off my knee, bent and kissed me thoroughly. Looked at me, smiled, kissed me again, and sashayed out of the kitchen. That bottom certainly could move! Talk about independent suspension! What a woman!

After breakfast and medication, she led me by the hand to the living room and sat me down on the sofa. Then she sat towards me on the same sofa.

"Right," she said, all business, "Last night you made love to me. It was something new to me. I've never ever been treated like that. All those years, all that sex and all those men and boys, and not one of them... You really loved me. Then I fell asleep. I'm sorry, you deserved better than that. You didn't get... "

She stopped.

"What were you going to say?" I prompted.

"I was going to say you didn't get your money's worth. But..."

"But you know that's totally wrong?"

"Well, yes. It's a only figure of speech, Graham."

"But in our case?"

She nodded.

"I think you're starting to get it," I said. "You're getting this payment business out of your system. You had been struggling to get enough to eat and you needed money. Not any more. This, what we have, you and I, is not a financial transaction, you don't fuck me to get your bed and meals.

"It's only a few days since you were trading sex for accommodation, and before that others took their payment for, I suppose, temporary protection. That is not what we have. Tell me, what's your opinion of, or your attitude to the men who had you over the last years?"

She looked surprised, as if she had never considered having an attitude at all.

"I hated the rapists, they were disgusting. I despised Trevor and the bastard who took me to London. Trevor was revolting. They made me feel filthy, powerless, worthless. They just used me. Don't get me wrong, some of the sex was good, sometimes they'd seem quite loving, but in the end they did what they wanted. They were in it - in me - for their own pleasure not mine. I knew if I didn't go along with it, I'd be on the streets again."