of the quietly aroused....

when i returned to the village today C was waiting by her garden gate. her hair was winded and her normally pale cheeks stung by the salt air. to begin with she pretended that she had not noticed me, but, as i stepped in front of her she said 'good morning' and asked, politely, if i had enjoyed my trip.

'would you like to join me for coffee?' i inquired. 'I can see that you want to talk.'

perhaps she blushed, or it was only the salted wind.

I swung my travel bag over my shoulder and told her to come inside. i left her in no doubt that it was an instruction, and, as i had anticipated, she obeyed without any questions.

Over coffee i asked her what had made her so curious about me? She pretended to look puzzled. it was her standard response - an almost coy innocence of worldly matters that she preferred to project to others. she had spent many years polishing that prim veneer and was reluctant to have it tarnished in any way.

"you're curious about my visitor,' i tell her. 'you suspect... imagine that there is something dark going on behind my curtains. something perverse perhaps.'

i maintain a soft tone and am careful not to advance towards her in any way. she is the sort to startle easily and would bolt quickly if she felt too... vulnerable. and yet, her curiosity binds her to the chair.

'well she's.. a pupil. i am teaching her about her... desires. to open herself to them. to allow those things that have been inside her head for such a long time.. for an entire lifetime... to spill over. to become... flesh... as it were. do you understand...? i think you do.'

C does not nod, but i can see that she does understand. the flush on her cheeks is much more the product of arousal now. though she would deny it if i confronted her with that fact.

i perceive the shift in her hips, the tensing of her thighs, even before she does. her eyes betray her sudden wetness - pupils dilate and, unconsciously she licks her thing but well shaped lips.

'you make a very nice coffee,' she almost whispers.

'she's a very respectable woman, my visitor. pillar of her community, a widow, president of the W.I. all that stuff. She knits for charity events and organises the garden fete every year, even sews together the bunting. she bakes scones and makes the perfect sunday roast and, once a week, she visits me and tells me her darkest secrets and desires, and i 'punish' her for having such had such thoughts and she finds that so delicious she can now orgasm before i've even laid one hand on her.'

i can now smell C's arousal. involuntarily she places her hand onto her lap as though to hide her wetness. i have not once released her from my gaze.

'you can press against your wetness,' i tell her.

when she hesitates i alter the tone of my voice.

'press against your wetness,' i instruct.

her eyes roll very slightly as she obeys.

i rise and stand over her.

'you can go now,' i whisper. 'that's enough for today.'

for the first time she looks a little embarrassed. she pulls her hand down to her side and blushes deeply.

'you've done nothing wrong.' i soothe. 'but it's been a long trip and i'm rather tired.'

i do not smile.

'tomorrow.. or the next day... when you are ready... you can come back. we can... continue then.'

there's a flash of almost anger in her eyes.

'but only if you behave,' i warn.

she seems to understand.

'tomorrow,' i say, as i let her out.

she does not look at me now, but keeps her eyes lowered.

'or the next day......."

today will be a lazy day, of gazing at the sea and with some thoughts of the quietly aroused.....

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