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Charley Torn Pt. 01

By: tiggerlilly



CHAPTER 1: CHARLEY

Ah, the wonderful world of shit. I had just delivered a presentation on the rebuilding of the London sewer system, to the German Society of Civil Engineers, in Berlin. In German. I had done my Masters at the University of Munich and, whilst not totally fluent, my German is pretty good. I had not been to Berlin for ages, and a lot had changed. We civil engineers love building sites. I had been put up by a delightful lesbian couple; engineers both. Georgia was dead jealous. She probably thought we were engaged in threesomes, all night long. I missed Georgia and Thomas so much that my heart physically ached. When I spoke to Gorgeous that morning, she had not been right, saying that her tummy really hurt. Mind you, she is a complete hypochondriac. Even so, something was amiss. Thomas was his usual cheeky self.

Georgia had not been herself for the last month. The amount of puking she was doing, you would think that it was she who was pregnant. When I had reached sixteen weeks the morning sickness passed, more or less. Georgia was usually totally laid back, but had been really snappy, with me and Thomas. She blamed work, but I knew it was something more. I could tell when she was lying. She would tell me in her own time. It seemed to start at the christening. Before that, she had been unnaturally high, after winning her first high profile Crown Court case.

I was godmother to Holly's first child, my niece; a lovely little girl called Grace. When I came out, as a lesbian, my mother disowned me, but Holly did not, and we became very close. She liked the shock value, I think, of her lesbian sister and her unbelievably attractive lover. When Thomas was born, Mum decided to acknowledge my existence, albeit grudgingly. Thomas' christening was OK, especially as Georgia's family had taken me in as one of their own. Outnumbered, mum behaved. Dad did not reply to my invitation.

However he came to Grace's christening. So much for me being his favourite. The scene was set for fireworks. Mum got drunk and lit the blue touch paper. She did not step back. The recriminations came thick and fast. In the church, there were just dark muttering and venomous stares. At the reception, I discovered who the homophobes were. Number one being my father. This put my mum in the awkward position of agreeing with him, which she neatly countered by blaming him for putting me off of men. Quite a lot of red wine was thrown. It felt like I caught most of it, on my white dress. Georgia eventually stopped flirting with Rick, Holly's husband, slapped Mum and dragged me away. I cried all the way down the M1. Georgia ranted intermittently. Holly rang me on my mobile and we blubbed inconsolably at each other. Thomas slept peacefully, behind us, in his car seat.

A nervous looking woman came up to me.

"Fraulein Dr Matthews? I have a message. Please ring this number urgently."

Strict conference rules. Switch off mobile phones, or leave them at reception. It felt like everyone was staring at me as I picked up the phone. It was Imogen, Georgia's sister.

"Thank God, Charley. It's Georgia. She's collapsed. They're operating now. An ectopic pregnancy......I mean......I'm not sure."

Through my panic, I thought I could hear Imogen furiously bolting the stable door.

"Charley, are you still there? Georgia said you weren't due back until midnight. Michael has booked you a flight from Tegel to London City. Lufthansa. It leaves at 2pm. He'll meet you. Charley, are you there?"

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. My legs had failed me, and I was sitting on the floor. I rubbed my tummy and the baby did a little somersault. Our baby. Ectopic. Operating. No, please no. My secretary's sister had an ectopic pregnancy the previous year. She died. No. Not Gorgeous. Goddesses are immortal.

"Sorry Imo. I'm still here. I'm ten minutes from the airport, on the U-bahn."

My finger shook as I struggled to send a text. Georgia checked her mobile constantly. It drove me mad. I kept it short.

"I love you. I'm on my way."

I looked up and through the fog of tears, I recognised Brigitte, my host from the night before. Miraculously she understood my incoherent mewling. She sat me down, rang Imogen, to get the flight details, then took me to Tegel airport by taxi, booked me in and guided me into security, where I was met by one of her friends; a security guard. I can't even remember the woman's name, but she was very kind, and walked me to the first class lounge (typical Clarke touch there) and sat next to me, quietly holding my hand and passing me tissues. Lots of tissues.

The flight was a blur. I had hand luggage only, and took next to no time to clear Customs. Michael was there with Gordon, my father. Well that was what I called him. They both looked dreadful.

I dropped my case. I felt faint.

"No. Please no. I'm too late, aren't I? She's dead. I should never have gone away."

Gordon hugged me tight. He was my father now.

"Shh, Charley. She's OK. Well physically, at least."

"Oh God, Charley, I'm so sorry."

Michael was on his knees, his face contorted by some emotion I could not quite fathom. I was looking at a stranger. I knew the suave, sophisticated, charming Michael, who had fallen from the same tree of gorgeousness as Georgia. I was, after all, carrying his child: our second.

People were staring. Gordon looked exceedingly uncomfortable; almost as shame faced as Michael. I knew that I was blushing furiously. I was, of course, relieved. The goddess lived, however I sensed that a huge "BUT", made of cast iron, was about to drop on my head.

Gordon dragged Michael to his feet.

"Don't do this Michael. Think of the baby."

"No, Dad, she has a right to know."

I was, by then, confused and a little annoyed. Georgia obviously had quite a lot of explaining to do; but that could wait. What could Michael have to do with it?

By the time we arrived at St Thomas' Hospital I was hyperventilating. My worst fears had not even come close to reality. I had a forlorn hope that this was just a bad dream. I initially feared that the cramps in my lower tummy indicated premature labour.

I needed Georgia to hold me, like she used to do, and tell me it was going to be alright. In that deep feline voice; whilst she stroked my little blonde arm hairs. But she could not be there, and she was the author of my current, utterly desolate misery

CHAPTER 2:GEORGIA

I woke in less pain than I had expected. My head cleared much more quickly than I would have liked. The nurse was kind and sympathetic, and offered me more painkillers. If only she knew; she would have been injecting cyanide, rather than morphine. Why could I not have died on the operating table?

When I was wheeled back to the ward, I had visitors; my parents, and Michael, my brother. Mother was seething; the men were extremely sheepish. Just as well that I had my own room. She started as soon as the nurse left the room.

"Georgia! How could you? Michael has told me everything, so don't even think of denying it. You must have some mental imbalance. What has she ever done to deserve this? The poor child. I'll never be able to face her again. God knows, she's been more of a daughter than you. You're supposed to be one of the great minds of your generation, and yet your brain seems to be firmly between your legs. Your brother as well. I thought you had learned from the last time. And the time before. She will take you to the cleaners. Who could blame her? You'll never see Thomas again, or the new baby. You'll be struck off. You could go to prison. You should go to prison. You should have your bits chopped off. In public. They should let her do it. With a rusty knife. I'll never see any of my grandchildren, particularly once that bitch Helen finds out. Even if Michael wasn't already on strike two. I'll have to resign from the golf club."

I can always argue with my mother.

"OK. You can't make me feel any worse than I already do. She doesn't have to know the whole story. She couldn't handle the truth. Do you really want to tear her apart? Anyway you're hardly one to lecture me."

"What I did was a youthful indiscretion. And you're right; except that Romeo has gone all confessional. He's already spilt the beans to Imogen."

"She won't talk, believe me."

"Agreed, but he's going to tell Charley and beg for forgiveness. He has a moral duty, apparently. Who ever heard of a lawyer with morals?"

Michael's head was buried in his hands, and he was crying quietly. Mum was right.

"Mike, you can't. If not for me, then for her. I thought you loved her. Like a sister. Shit, you know what I mean. She's carrying your child."

He got up, and composed himself.

"It's no good Georgia. We've gone way too far. I wish I were dead. She has a right to know. I am not having a legal debate. I have thrown away everything of value in my life. I deserve whatever I get. Come on Dad, we need to collect her from the airport." 

I could not believe that things could get any worse. He was really going to tell her. I shook with tears, as waves of self-pity washed over me.

"I can't believe that I gave birth to you." Mum's parting shot, as she left, too disgusted to touch me even.

The ward sister came in as my mother left, and sat on the bed. She held me tenderly, until I regained a little control

"Your mum said that your partner is flying in to be with you. Charlie, isn't it? I know having an ectopic is really scary, but you do still have a chance of another baby. There's more isn't there? Was Charlie not the father?"

"Charley is short for Charlotte. She's 24 weeks pregnant herself. Proper planned pregnancy. Donor sperm. We already have a little boy."

"Oh, dear. I didn't know. This has never come up before. Is she likely to be violent? Shall I call security?"

"No. Charley doesn't have a violent bone in her body."

No, her punishment would be much worse than that. I knew her so well. I would have to watch her suffer.

I had about two hours to stew. Charley had told me about her internal dialogues, not something that I really went in for, until that afternoon. Perhaps it was the emotion, or the morphine, but I mentally constructed a court for myself. I was defendant, defence and prosecution counsel, and judge. This court sat without a jury.

"Georgia Clarke, you stand accused of multiple crimes, too hideous to mention in front of decent people. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"I put it to you that on the night of June 24th you did wilfully engage in sexual congress with your own brother, and he did fire his incestuous sperm into all of your orifices, whilst you howled like a bitch on heat."

I felt wet just thinking about it and almost subconsciously slid a finger into my well lubricated pussy. I don't quite recall how it had arisen, but I had been Mike's junior counsel, in my first murder trial. And we had won. Mike took me out for an expensive dinner. We got a little drunk. His place was much nearer than mine. I rang Charley. She was just going to bed, and sent kisses to Mike.

Helen and the kids were spending a week with Helen's parents in France. We had the place to ourselves. Must behave, I thought, but old habits die hard. I made myself at home, kicking off my shoes then, wandering upstairs, availed myself of Mike's en-suite shower. Gold fittings. Charley would not approve. I asked Mike if he wanted to join me, but he declined politely. His self-control was impressive but I knew temporary. The house had three bathrooms, and Mike went off to shower elsewhere. I usually shower quickly, unless Charley is in there with me. She hates wasting water. She hates waste, bless her. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, I did a little exploration of the master bedroom. My first, as it happened. Helen, my sister, is a snooty bitch, and I enjoyed rummaging through her knicker drawer. That would totally freak her, if she ever found out. On a whim, I stole a pair; cheap plain cotton. She was the sort of woman to miss them. Helen was older than me, so her taste in clothes was just forgivable. I used her hairdryer to dry my hair, and conscientiously picked out my loose hairs from the brush. Michael poked his head around the door and nodded approvingly at my track covering. I stood up and let the towel fall and, over my shoulder, gave Mike my most coquettish smile. However, he had already gone downstairs. I walked into their wardrobe and chose a crisp, pale blue cotton man's shirt, from an expensive tailor. Rolling the sleeves up, I admired myself in the full length mirror. Not bad for 32. The thick cotton struggled to hide my aching nipples and finally surrendered. I left the top two buttons undone. And the bottom one. I did not apply any perfume. Mike has a good sense of smell, and I wanted him to savour my particular musk.

Michael was lounging, on the sofa; a glass of champagne in his hand. I sat on the chair opposite; leaned back, and ever so slowly spread my legs, gradually revealing more and more tanned, toned thigh. I knew that the cotton would fall perfectly to cover my pussy. Michael knew that I would not be wearing knickers. I leaned forward to show some cleavage, licked my lips, and put on my bestest little girl voice. Michael was wearing an old T shirt, and shorts. He was already hard.

"Little Georgie-Porgie, is feeling very small and cold. And needs a big hug from her big brave brother."

I pouted, fluttered my eyelids, and sucked my thumb, then slid off the chair and crossed the carpet on all fours. My eyes were locked to Mike's. I had tried this once with Charley. For a woman who rarely swears, her disapproval was a little shocking.

You never forget your first cock, and I stroked the old familiar organ through the cotton of Mike's shorts. On cue, he lifted his bum, and I yanked his shorts down, my mouth anxious to reach its goal. His cock got slightly caught in the cotton garment then sprang upwards, smacking his belly with a refreshing thwack. Almost instantly his massive organ was at the back of my throat, and I was just managing not to gag. I was out of practice. I slid my tongue up his lovely shaft then teased the smooth, bulbous cock head; licking the salty precum, as it oozed gently from the little slit like hole. Grasping the rigid pole in my right hand, I climbed onto the sofa and enveloped Mike's manhood with my dripping pussy. I gasped as I took his full eight inches. As always, it felt fucking enormous.

Then I kissed him. Like most men, he was not a good kisser. He tended to ram his tongue into my mouth as if it was another cock; and it made me gag more than its priapic namesake.

I pulled Mike's T-shirt off and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. He needed no encouragement at all to bite down hard on my right nipple as I started to ride him. An orgasm was not far off; but this was not what I craved... Grasping Mike's cock I dismounted; leaned forward slightly and speared my arse on his long lance. Whore that I am, I adore anal sex. Always have done.

My very first penetration had been anal. My dad thinks that he popped both of my cherries. Mike has kept the secret. He was there, for my first time, and watched.

As Imogen, my older sister, deflowered me, with a six inch strap on; first back, then front. I remember it like it was yesterday. Our parents were going away for the weekend, and had absolutely forbidden us from having a party. I suggested a threesome instead. Mike and Imo looked shocked, and then blushed as I described in graphic detail what they had done in the back garden four weeks previously. I even showed them the pictures that I had taken. It was hardly blackmail, I thought. To help their decision-making, I grabbed Imo and snogged her hard. It was a hot day and Imo's short dress made accessing her moist cunt effortless. She did not push me away. Now Imo can kiss. Not in quite the same league as Charley, mind you. 

I probably should have waited until our parents had actually left the house, but it seemed like we had not been caught. I could hardly wait. Michael took control and firmly told me that he and Imo needed to consider my suggestion. They had to go to town, shopping, and would discuss the matter further. I was instructed to take a cold shower. I obeyed like a good girl. Just before they got back, I hopped in the shower. I was after all sticky and smelly after wanking myself to a delicious anticipatory orgasm. My siblings returned an hour later, with a large, plain carrier bag. They had been to stock up at the local sex shop. I was to be punished for my disgusting, and illegal, proposal. Both blackmail and incest are serious crimes, I was reminded.

I was ordered to strip, which merely involved removing my long T-shirt. Imogen had donned a pair of black, patent leather thigh boots and a peek-a-boo corset. I was made to bend over the kitchen table and my arms, and legs were secured to the four table legs; my thighs spread uncomfortably. Charley can still do the splits. It's all that gymnastics, when she was a kid.

The air-conditioning unit was blowing cold air directly onto my wet labia, and my bum was covered in goose bumps. I screamed as my sister whacked my arse with a riding crop.

"Dirty little slut. What shall we do with her Michael? Are you a virgin, Georgia?"

"Yes." I was actually blushing.

The second blow was even harder than the first.

"Wrong answer, filthy little tart. It is "Yes, Mistress Imogen," and you're obviously lying. I've seen the way you flaunt yourself; and the length of your school skirt. Belt more like. Let's have a look. Come on Michael, you've popped enough cherries. Let's see. Quite tight; can't see much of a hymen, unless you've stretched it yourself, wanking; which is highly likely. You smell like a bitch on heat. I know your game, Georgia Clarke. Tell the boys at the rugby club that you're saving yourself for your wedding day, unless they want to try doing it a special way. Given that they're all ex public schoolboys, they don't need much encouraging. Do they, you cheap slapper?"

Imogen started licking around my aresehole. I could not believe how good it felt. I started to pant. Then something hard pressed against my entrance. The pressure built, and then I screamed as my sphincter surrendered. I had agonising cramps and felt like I was about to shit myself.

I begged.

"Please, Mike, take it out. It hurts too much. You're too big. I've never been fucked. In any of my holes. By anyone."

"Yes, he is pretty enormous," laughed Mistress Imogen, "That's why I'm breaking you in, with my trusty little strap-on. I'm sure you've sucked lots of cock, though. Let's see how you cope with a real monster. Open your slut's mouth wide."

I gulped when Mike came into view. I could not see what Imo was doing, but I could certainly feel it. The pain in my arse, was giving way to something else. I had of course seen Michael's penis before, both flaccid and erect. I had the pictures after all. I was like a rodent (a rat, most likely) mesmerised by a cobra. Mike held his turgid member and tapped me on each cheek and then the end of the nose. Finally he spoke.

"Do you want it? How many have you sucked before? How much do you want it?"

"I've never sucked a cock before, honest. Please let me lick it. Ram it down my throat."

He held the dark pink head against my lips. It looked ready to explode in a bloody mess. I licked the salty precum from around his pee hole and opened readily as he advanced his organ into my mouth, pushing my tongue flat. He then grabbed my hair and started to face fuck me roughly. It hurt and the pain felt so good, joining the pain and pleasure in my bottom. Mike and Imo were snogging furiously, above me, whilst they used me. That was all it took to make me come. Then Imo roared and Mike choked me with his gushing seed. Try as I might to swallow, most ran down my chin. Not for me, a knee trembler behind the bike sheds, for her first fuck. No I got an incestuous boy-girl anal spit roast. More was to come.


Charley Torn Pt. 01



Imo wasn't finished with me. The riding crop dealt a stinging blow to my swollen pussy lips, which almost made me come again. I was untied and made to stand, with my hands tied behind my back. Imo sat on one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs, her big freckled breasts, rising and falling, the little pink plastic phallus poking incongruously upwards between her thighs. She tapped her open hand, with the crop, and eyed me cruelly.

"Come and lick your vile shit off my little cock. Then mount it with your virgin pussy."

This proved hard, without the help of my hands, and I slid down the plastic shaft much quicker than I would have liked. It hurt and I think I started to cry. This was soon subsumed by Imogen's delightfully talented tongue. She held me tight and set the rhythm. I was a quick learner. Mike was soon stiff again, and was squirting a whole tube of lubricant up my bottom; followed quickly by his tumescent tool. I think I took five inches before the pain was too much for my inexperienced pelvis. Imo considerately withdrew and let Mike pound me to a magnificent anal orgasm. The first of many.

The next 24 hours was a blur of fucking, and I was, I think, taken in every position known to man. My pussy and anal ring were so swollen that I could not walk properly for days. I counted 24 love bites. I think that, in retrospect, we would have done things differently. Mike would have worn condoms, for a start. We would not have made a video, or at least made better efforts to hide it from Mum. Imogen and I had our abortions on the same day, at the same clinic. That was our first and only threesome. Mike was soon back at Law school. Imo was warm, soft and delicious, but was not really that into women. It was more power play for her, and I didn't much like being restrained and spanked. I soon fell in love with one of my teachers, and learnt the ups and especially the downs of true lesbian love.

One day I came home early, to find my dad wanking off to a porn video. By the time he had noticed my presence I was rubbing his shaft, with my own small hands. He was a bit shorter than Mike but thicker and meatier; too big for my little fist. But not too big for my mouth. I didn't spill a drop as I drank down his salty jism.

"Am I as good as Imo?" I asked coyly.

"No, but she's had so much more practice."

Next day, he collected me from school, and shafted me on the back seat of the BMW. I told him he was my first. I am a practiced liar. It took Daddy six months to get me pregnant.

Back to the evening after the trial. My dusky starfish was out of practice, not having been properly stretched since my last indiscretion with Mike. Charley would dutifully rim me, and finger fuck my arse, but she did it out of duty rather than desire. Her own delicate back door remained firmly locked. I gasped as Mike's great bell end barged past my powerful, anal guardian. I felt a pop as it slipped in, then that intense pleasurable pain, as I filled up. He did not thrust until I had slid the whole way down, then back up again. He could not resist, and stood up, holding me tight, then laid me on my back. With my hips flexed and my legs straight, he pushed my feet up until they nearly touched my ears. Charley could cross her feet behind her ears, even when pregnant. In that position Mike was able to pound me hard, deep and quick. A Banshee seemed to have let herself into the room and she was bawling at the devil, as I came and came, and Mike finally filled my rectum with his hot seed.

That was when we should have gone to bed and held each other tenderly. And in the morning, we should have enjoyed breakfast together. I should not have, on waking to find Mike asleep, but stiff as a board, started riding him, waking him with my loud shrieks. We should have used a condom.

We should have used a condom when we celebrated Charley's first pregnancy, eighteen months previously. That time too, Charley had thought my weeks of vomiting strange.

In fairness, I have only fucked Mike three times in the last five years. Charley, bless her, was sexually pretty conservative, and I have my needs. I was quite a catch for her, after all. She never really refused me sex, but it was limited to tongues, fingers and tribbing. I once tried using a banana (unpeeled) and she had one of her flashbacks. Maybe if she cared a bit more, she would try harder. After all, we all get tired, and I don't think that being pregnant is an adequate excuse. She'd let herself go a bit, as well. Then there's her vile mother!

When I first met Charley, I had three other girlfriends on the go. I am popular. I like variety. I had barely touched a woman, in the last three years, and they have all been escorts; strictly no commitments. I have needs. I have given a few blow jobs to further my career, but who hasn't. And who paid the lion's share of the mortgage, especially since Charley insisted on going part time?

It's not like we were married.

The selfish fat bitch.

So rested the case for the defence. The prosecution barely needed to cross-examine. I stood condemned by my own words. A selfish, hedonistic pervert. The judge donned her black cap.

Mum was precisely right. How could I? Charley called me a goddess. As cruel as any from mythology, it turned out. Charley was more like Mother Earth, nurturing everything, and everyone she touched. She moved water for a living; albeit very dirty water. She was as intelligent as I, with an amazingly analytical mind. I had met all her colleagues; they did not just respect her; they loved her. I came home one day to find an attractive blonde woman, sitting in the kitchen. Charley was bouncing a chubby little girl on her knee. Charley is the girl's genetic mother. The woman had come to thank Charley for her egg donation. She will probably donate again. Kind, loyal, loving, compassionate, tolerant, witty. In fact there are few superlatives that could not be applied to my imminently former lover. Almost forgot; she was still pretty and had great legs.

Oh, and we had entered into a civil partnership, so it was like we were married. Moreover, we had a son. He called us both mummy, and other babbly words. Charley has always insisted that Thomas would grow up with two mothers. In fairness, she did most of the work, but never complained. I love the little chap dearly. I love Charley.

I had chosen. A night's pleasure, instead of a lifetime's love.

Then she arrived, dishevelled and shaky; her face white as a sheet, her eyes bloodshot. The ward sister had a protective arm around Charley's shoulder and looked at me with daggers.

"I will stay, Ms Clarke. Dr Matthews has already fainted in reception, and looks fit to go again."

"Oh, Gorgeous, I thought you were dead. How could you?" Charley sobbed. Then she came over and kissed me lightly on the forehead, and sat on the corner of the bed, gently holding my hand.

"I know about you and Mike. It's wrong Georgia. I could have coped if it was another woman. How am I going to survive without you?"

Her face was contorted with pain. Build my gallows high.

"I need to collect Thomas from your mum's. How will I explain it to him? Oh Georgia. Why?"

Then she was gone.

CHAPTER3:CHARLEY

"Oh, Georgia. Why?"

She looked so small in the bed. Lost. And contrite. I didn't want to lose her. I hated turning and walking out of that room. I couldn't say goodbye. My lips and fingers had started to go numb, which meant I was hyperventilating again. The kindly nurse got me a paper bag to breathe into, whilst Gordon went to get the car. I so needed to see Thomas again. Little Tarquin, I think, sensed my agitation and performed a drum tattoo on the inside of my belly.

I thought of Gone with the Wind.



Charley Torn Pt. 02



PART 2. EPISODE 6 OF THE CHARLEY MATTHEWS STORY

The story so far. Charley and Georgia have been lovers for twelve years. They have a son and Charley is carrying their second child. Georgia has always been wild and has cheated with her own brother. She became pregnant and suffered a ruptured ectopic pregnancy and nearly died. Charley is bereft.

1.

CHARLEY

The hyperventilation business was becoming a pain. I had read all about the changes in blood chemistry, during pregnancy that makes you feel a little breathless and up until then I had been only mildly troubled. Discovering that your, supposedly lesbian, lover had been conducting an on-off affair with her own brother was a shock to say the least. Then she nearly bled to death. I looked such an idiot puffing in and out of a paper bag, but I suppose it was better than fainting every ten minutes, plus the sense of overwhelming panic precluded any rational thought. A part of me did not want to engage in rational thought, but that was a luxury which I could not afford. We drove through the heavy London traffic, the paper bag inflating and deflating like the pouch of a tropical frog, or maybe a frigate bird. People stared. At least it gave me an excuse not to speak to Gordon. I suspect that he was grateful.

When we arrived at the Clarke family home, Gordon opened my door like a gentleman.

"I'm OK!" I snapped. He stepped back like I had slapped him.

All I could think about was Thomas.

"Mummy," he shouted and rushed to me, tripped, picked himself up, tripped again and then I was upon him, grabbing him and crying like a baby. He's a boy so wasn't overly concerned and giggled when I started to kiss him. At least my whole world had not descended into madness.

Monica, Georgia's mother and my erstwhile mother, smiled at me nervously.

"He's growing so quickly. He's missed you. Will you stay and have a cup of tea?"

"Yes. We have some things to discuss."

Thomas looked over my shoulder, concerned. "Mummy George?"

"No sweetheart, Mummy George is poorly." My voice cracked.

I sat down in the kitchen with Thomas on my knee, a talisman of normality. The excitement of my return lasted about a minute and Thomas wriggled out of my grip and set off in pursuit of Ferdie, the unbelievably tolerant Labrador.

Monica handed me my tea.

"I don't know what to say to you, Charley. I am so ashamed."

"You knew."

"Girls talk to their mums, Charley."

"I don't."

"No, you poor thing. I didn't know who the father was, honest."

My face started to burn.

"Why was I so stupid? It makes sense now. The moodiness, the puking, the tender boobs. Just like the last time. Oh yes, Mike really unburdened himself. They fucked to celebrate me getting knocked up. Sorry to be crude, Marion but I feel like a farmyard animal. Then she was suddenly alright. The termination obviously. I still feel guilty about my own termination, when I was eighteen. She's had three and now this. She works for these battered and abused women for free. I thought it was because she cared, but I think it's just a guilt thing.

"You have been so kind to me, especially after all the hate from my mum. I thought it was because you were enlightened and tolerant but no, I am just another fellow pervert to you lot. You know that she asked me to let Mike "do it to me properly"? She said she would hold my hand. Join in more like and post the event on YouTube. She's not even really gay. How could she?"

We were both crying by then.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm going to take Thomas home and give him a bath, then have a long one myself. I can't face talking to her just now. Will you? I will not go public if she agrees to whatever I decide to do, including annulling the Civil Partnership and a suitable financial arrangement. I can't face living without her, Monica but she can't skate away from this. Will Mike confess to Helen?"

"I doubt it. He is assuming that you will tell her."

I confessed.

"I don't really like her. She has always looked down her nose at me. Tell him that his secret is safe for now. For now, mind you."

We got a cab home. Gordon paid the outrageous fare. The house was deafeningly quiet. Spot, our tabby was out, no doubt doing her bit for endangered species. By keeping them endangered. She had a cat flap and would return in her own sweet time. Thomas expected her to be waiting for him and made his displeasure known.

We had a typically enjoyable bath. The relief of being able to laugh was immense. 

Thomas was tired and it only took a single reading of "the Hungry Caterpillar" to ease him into that serene dream world, which only the very young inhabit. Spot helped by arriving half way through, sniffing Thomas carefully, then curling next to him and applying her most soporific purr. Spot always treated Gorgeous and I with complete contempt, but viewed Thomas as her surrogate kitten. If Thomas ever cried, Spot would come to alert me. This usually involved sinking her needle like teeth into my ankle.

Leaving Thomas in safe paws, I went to the spare room which was our little gym. I stripped and did half an hour of free weights and sit ups. My bump would soon make those impossible. The endorphin rush was soothing. I had increased my exercise considerably, after Thomas' birth and lost all my pregnancy weight. I did it for Georgia; it was clearly not enough. I choked back a sob, determined not to wallow in self-pity. I went into our bedroom and sat naked in front of the mirror, in full Lotus. I have always been flexible, thanks to all those years doing gymnastics and then diving. Georgia had cured me of my fear of being seen naked. I was actually quite content with my image in the glass. As always I turned my head slightly to hide the scars on the right side of my neck and face.

I needed to think and now was the time to use a technique that I had copied from a book. I had put a tiny dot of red nail varnish at the bottom left hand corner of the mirror. I consciously slowed my breathing and focussed on the dot and I was drawn into it. An hour later I emerged from my trance and went and had my bath, a plan formed in my mind.

I shaved my legs slowly and carefully. Accelerated hair growth was one of the many joys of pregnancy. I needed to get to the hairdresser as I was turning into a blonde Donna Summer. A few years back, Georgia had obtained a slightly dodgy discounted deal, whereby we had our armpits and pubes lasered, so they were spared the blade.

I got out and Spot joined me in the bathroom. What woman doesn't enjoy the sinuous, sensual pleasure of a cat wrapping around freshly shaved legs? At that point Spot was definitely my favourite pussy. Next she threw herself onto my feet and I had to tickle her ears with my toes. The final part of the game was for her to roll on her back and turn up the purr volume. Many a visitor had fallen for this apparent invitation to rub Spot's belly. They never did it twice as the capricious cat would, in a flash sink all her sharp bits into their arm. Thomas excluded of course.

Once dried and fairly relaxed I took Georgia's toy drawer out and rested it on the bed. I had honestly never explored its contents before. It was another symbol of our trust. Well we were beyond that. I was of course surprised at the collection of dildoes, vibrators and a few mystery objects. Yes, I was sexually naive still and I had been stung by Mike's recounting of Georgia's frustration at my apparent frigidity. I quite liked sex and I thought that we had a good love life and I did not love Georgia for her sexual prowess, but for her sheer loveliness. I did not quite blame myself for driving her into Mike's arms, but still felt a strong pang of guilt. I have only ever had one lover and one true friend and she was lying in a hospital bed. I sniffed a couple of the devices. Nothing. Clean girl, my Gorgeous. I actually did not know the difference between a vibrator and a dildo.

There were straight devices of different sizes and shapes; some powered and others (presumably) manual. I lined them up in descending order of size. There was a little pink cone shaped thing and a plastic egg, with a little lead attached to it. I put these side by side in a mental category of "miscellaneous".

Then there were the two double ended soft plastic penises. One had a slightly bendy mid section; the other flopped almost in half, when I lifted it. From my limited experience of heterosexual sex, they felt much too big. Finally there was the blue thing with the long bit, the short, squat handle like bit and the strange thin beaded bit at the back. I turned it in my hand and then dropped it, as I figured out what went where. I could feel myself blushing. These three objects were clearly designed to attach one woman to another. Or to be precise, to attach Georgia to another woman, or women. How could she? I of course, knew the answer to that question. Or maybe they were souvenirs from her younger, friskier days. Maybe she was still waiting for me to demand that she take me like a man.

I pondered how little I knew about sex. Being married to a sex goddess, it felt like we were at it all the time. I never really discussed sex with my girlfriends. They considered me a bit of a prude. I had not felt the need to masturbate, after meeting Gorgeous as she provided me with more than enough orgasms. She liked to watch me do it to myself, with my fingers and I had no difficulty coming, under her intoxicating gaze. It had always felt like the height of kinkiness. At least to me.

I put Georgia's erotic tool kit back into its drawer, all except the smallest piece. It was white and smooth; a bit longer and thicker than my middle finger. I was reminded of the white asparagus, which was such a delicacy when I lived in Germany. I twisted the base and the thing sprang into life, jumping and buzzing. There was clearly a rheostat in the base, which controlled the amount of vibration. I set it about half way and then pressed it against my lips (the upper variety). That felt weird. Then my nipples. Mine, compared with the Goddess are fairly modest, but the sensation was pleasant. Not enough to make them stand up. Tentatively I placed the shaking wand against my scarred right cheek. I dropped it, as it felt like I had been electrocuted. The thing could obviously only hold a tiny amount of current. The damaged nerves clearly did not like the vibration.

Even more nervously I placed the tip of the vibrator against my humble clitoris. That felt good. I spread my thighs and started circling my vulva. I was becoming wet. Then I stopped.

Shit. Tarquin. What was I thinking?

I grabbed a long T-shirt out of the drawer and scooted downstairs and put the kettle on, whilst the PC booted up. I sipped at a cup of camomile tea (vile stuff, but supposed to be calming) and typed "vibrator, pregnancy, safety" into Google, expecting the worst. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they were safe. I discovered a few more things about sex during pregnancy. I had not realised that I was likely to be quite dry, in my delicate state and that orgasm could cause contractions. That had certainly not been a problem in my last pregnancy, nor thus far in this one. "Don't mix orifices," I was warned. Curiouser and curiouser. To be on the safe side, I popped the vibe into a beaker of Milton for 20 minutes and then rinsed it five times. Who knew where it had been.

Happy that I was not going to give Tarquin brain damage, I went back to bed and lay on top in the dark, my trusty new weapon in my left hand. I hitched my T-shirt up a bit and set the thing to battle speed (thoughts of Ben Hur in my head. Funny, not sexy).I thought of Gorgeous and became wet again. I pictured her face, the first time we met; that sardonic smile, those golden eyes, feline and knowing. She looked into my soul and I ran the vibrator up and down my labia, and back to my clit. I turned the little knob on the base.

Attack speed.

I remembered our first kiss and how she took my breath away. I remembered the first time I touched her private parts with my tongue.

Ramming speed.

It was the first time that I had made love. She made me come with her tongue, then her fingers. Oh God, yes, here it was again.

"Oh God, Georgia, I love you." I gasped.

I could hear her coming, panting and growling, but in my head I saw Imogen, her busty older sister, riding her; wearing the blue plastic dong from Georgia's toy drawer. I gasped and pushed the vibrator into my fanny. It slipped from my grip and vanished.

Oh, shit. I had visions of an embarrassing trip to hospital and I started to cry. The accursed sex toy was shaking like a cartoon Tasmanian devil and was transmitting most of its energy into my rectum. It would not be long until I messed myself. I jumped off the bed and ran to the toilet. Fortunately this caused the thing to fall out. Phew.

My bowels quietened and I washed the vibrator thoroughly, and then dropped it back into the weak bleach solution.

Usually an orgasm left me sleepy and we would spoon, always a perfect fit. I usually like to be on the outside but, when I was pregnant Georgia liked to go to sleep cradling Bump in one hand. When Thomas had been Tarquin (I have never wanted to know the sex of my babies; I just called them both Tarquin, whilst they were in the womb) he seemed to sense the hand of Gorgeousness upon him and would tap out messages to her in Morse code. The bed was far too empty and sleep eluded me. I put the bedroom TV on low, so as not to disturb Thomas and watched the time pass, my sense of unease increasing. Even Spot could not settle, prowling about looking cross. At two a.m. the cat flap banged, followed shortly by much screaming and howling, as Spot vented her frustration on her feline neighbours.

Spot bit me on the nose at 7 O'clock. Hard. Thomas was awake and they were both ready for breakfast. It was a bright Saturday morning. Thomas loved going shopping.

I walked around Sainsbury's in a dream; partly due to tiredness and partly anxiety. I started wondering how much food to buy. For three, or just two? I had forgotten to put my contacts in and the welling tears meant that I could not read half the labels. I had been doing the Saturday shop alone for months. Gorgeous had never really helped and had finally got out of it by being more of a child than Thomas.

I cringed at the memory. Georgia liked to flirt with the girls at the checkouts. Outrageously, most of the time. She had hit on a pretty little thing, who could not have been older than sixteen. Every week I would load and Georgia would pack, whilst chatting to the girl. I usually paid more attention to Thomas, until the week Georgia leaned over and whispered something in the girl's ear. I have never seen someone blush so quickly and I turn red in seconds. Georgia leaned back and licked her lips. The girl put her hand to her mouth and burst into floods of tears. Georgia looked the picture of innocence. I could feel my own face turning crimson with embarrassment, then anger.

So followed our first real public row. I pushed the trolley hard into Georgia's leg. She yelped and turned to glare at me. I could feel a few hundred pairs of eyes boring in to my head. The poor checkout girl had her head on the glass plate thing, which they use to scan your shopping. She was bawling.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," I spluttered. I wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, but my British reserve got the better of me. I assumed, correctly that Georgia had made some obscene suggestion to the poor kid and I thought that touching her would only compound the insult. A supervisor was looking in our direction and I waved my arms like a demented windmill. Georgia shrugged and gave me a "What did I do?" gesture. Thomas blew a few raspberries. Georgia was wearing heels as usual, whereas I was in trainers. Her six inch height advantage did not lessen the force of my wrath. I saw a brief flicker of fear as I thrust my face into hers.

"Go and get in the car," I hissed, "Now. I will be out presently. Just wait 'til I get you home."

I heard giggling somewhere behind me. My face grew hotter and a wave of fire descended down my neck. I wanted to run. Thomas blew another raspberry, reminding me why I had to stay and face the music. By then three supervisors had appeared. Two led the distraught girl away, whilst the third sat down and fixed me with a stare that nearly turned me to stone.

"Do you need any help with your packing, Mzzzz?" she bellowed.

"No, I'll be fine," I muttered, "I'm so sorry, she's never done that before." as though Georgia was some misbehaving dog. A very naughty bitch.

The woman glowered at me again. Thomas pitched in with another salvo of raspberries and a few phrases in his own language. The woman could not hold back a smile.

"Way to go, little man," I said under my breath.

Eventually we escaped into the cool April air, my face slowly cooling. Georgia was flirting with the man who had just washed our car. She popped the boot and helped put the shopping bags in, as if nothing had happened. I put Thomas into his car seat and then snatched the keys off Georgia. She knew that I cannot drive and talk at the same time. I can sing however and I launched into "The wheels on the bus." Thomas joined in, singing a different song as usual. Georgia sulked.

My mood had lightened on reaching home. I was still cross enough to sit down and write a grovelling apology, to the girl at Sainsbury's and have Georgia sign it. Her name was Lauren apparently and Georgia had been chatting her up for at least a month.

"What on earth did you say to her?" I demanded.

"I was just telling her how pretty she was looking today," she replied innocently.

"And?"

"How I find fireboxes a real turn on."

"What?"

"You know, red pubes. Sorry, I forgot how pure you are Charley."

My face was on fire again.

"Georgia, you didn't? That's sexual harassment and probably grooming. She's just a baby."

"She's eighteen, Charley and clearly gay. I asked her when she was going to come out. Obviously not for a little while."

Yet again Georgia's assumption that everyone was as sexually liberated as her had left a young woman in tears.

I was by then distracted. "So why have you never asked me to dye my bush? And why did you shave it off on our first night?"

"Oh, I shave all my lovers. I only like licking smooth pussies. I used to keep a few curly lower locks, as souvenirs. Redheads are a bit mysterious. Some are red down below, some brown and some blonde. Your bush, as I recall was a shade darker than your eyebrows. So it is with natural blondes. With the ginger, you just can't tell, but it's such a joy finding out. TomTom looks tired and ready for his nap. Let's both take him up."

Georgia flicked her chestnut mane, winked and licked her lips. The bitch. She was turning me on. That was Georgia's answer to life's little problems. Shag your way out. Well it wasn't going to work that day. Then I was tucking Thomas in and stroking his head, as he dozed off and Georgia was slowly peeling off my jeans. I was twelve weeks and my jeans were getting seriously tight. I turned around and marvelled at Georgia's toned tanned body. She was just wearing a purple La Senza bra and brief set. Her gorgeous breasts heaved (I wished mine would heave, even a tiny bit) and her belly button winked as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She turned and I followed; dirty blonde mortal in thrall to the tawny goddess.

Once inside our bedroom, Georgia put up her hand and I dutifully stopped. She indicated that I should remove my T-shirt and there I stood hands behind my back, resplendent in plain white cotton bra and thong. Her amber eyes fixed on my pregnant belly, which had become quite evident. I am still at a loss as to why some people are so turned on by pregnant women and I don't buy the theory that we are demonstrating our fecundity and hence desirability as a mate. I have never understood what Georgia saw in me, pregnant or not. She came over to me, smiled and attached her gorgeous mouth to mine. Ginger Rogers, my tongue, already had her dancing shoes on and ambushed Fred Astaire, Georgia's tongue, whilst he was still fastening his bow-tie. Slightly surprised he gave her a little nudge. Ginger tottered on her high heels and then fell forward to be swept up by the now sartorially prepared Fred. They set about a slow deliberate Tango. Fred always dipped low.




Charley Torn Pt. 02



Whilst they amused themselves, we removed each other's bras and Georgia pressed herself hard against me. Each of her magnificent mounds had a little hard penis attached which pressed into my tender mammaries. Painful is the default setting for my breasts, especially when I'm up the duff and they had already grown into two pale balloons, each with a mosaic of pale blue veins. Georgia's remained works of art. Georgia is slightly taller than me, but I have proportionally longer legs, so my convex belly moulded perfectly into her concave midriff. They say opposites attract; her tanned and gorgeous, me pasty and dowdy, but we both still had swimmer's muscular backs and shoulders and I loved to feel the hard knots twist and relax beneath her satin skin. I also loved the feel of her buttocks beneath the silk of her designer knickers. Cautiously I pushed the filmy garment down, terrified of tearing it. It cost as much as most of my knicker drawer combined. I did not begrudge the Goddess her indulgences. She stepped out of her undies and sank to her knees, removing my thong in a fluid motion.

Fred Astaire had warmed up thoroughly and performed a magnificent solo routine on the dance floor that was my bald pubic mound, still smooth and unwrinkled and oh so sensitive. Georgia pulled down on my hips and my knees slowly buckled as my legs spread. I can do that really slowly, whereas Georgia tends to collapse in a heap. Soon I was straddling her face and Fred had shot up my vagina. I gasped. Georgia was only doing this because she had been really bad. Only I just couldn't recall what she had done. My mouth was full of saliva and Ginger was quite indignant that Fred was having all the fun.

I did a quick flip, lowered by fanny back onto Georgia's tongue and set about worshipping her. With my fingers, I parted the temple gates and sniffed the special aroma of my lover. The Goddess. Her erect clitoris was poking out from under its hood and I sucked on it hard, whilst slipping two fingers into her tight box. Muffled squeals came from between my thighs. My pelvic floor was slowly tightening and Georgia's pubic mound started to bang against my nose. I was nearly there, when she let go and panted.

"Please, Charley. Arse."

She resumed her assault on my pleasure button and I slid two fingers into Georgia's anus and set about finger fucking both her orifices. As usual I came first and had to lift my pelvis, as my clitoris had become exquisitely tender. Georgia was the Goddess of Multiple Orgasms. I flipped her onto her front and her bottom shot into the air as she screamed into the carpet. Five minute later her knees gave way and she went limp. My fingers slipped out and I rushed into the bathroom, before Georgia could recover enough to demand a suck. Shitty fingers make me heave. Fish fingers aren't much better.

By the time I had emerged from my daydream, I was at the checkout. I had a full trolley, although no recollection of filling it up. It had to be mine, as it had my son perched in the back. I loaded up the belt and pushed the trolley through to the loading end. I looked up at the checkout girl. We both froze. It was Lauren, the ridiculously young looking girl who Georgia had traumatised. She was very pretty, with curly red hair pulled back in a pony. Her skin was like alabaster. Ten seconds later, it was like beetroot. I was aware that my own face was probably the same colour. I had consciously avoided her checkout, for the previous few months, even if it involved joining a longer queue.

"Hi," I squeaked.

The girl looked left and right, like a startled deer. She finally relaxed a bit.

"Hi. You're on your own. Well obviously not on your own. I mean your friend isn't here. Is she?"

"No, she's not very well," I stammered. The girl went out of focus as I teared up again. I managed to avoid further eye contact as I packed my bags and finally paid for my shopping. Lauren did not wish Georgia a speedy recovery.

Visiting started at two. I was in two minds about taking Thomas. Hospital rules said no children except the patient's own. Well Georgia was his mum too. My biggest fear was that she would refuse to see me, so I rang my neighbour, Trish. She was happy to have Thomas for the afternoon and give him his tea. Trish and I had gone to antenatal classes together and Thomas loved playing with Jessica, Trish's scarily precocious daughter.

Trish shot me a concerned look, when I rushed Thomas around to her house. I was clearly not looking my best and I did not have the energy to lie about Georgia's ectopic. Trish was immune to Gorgeousness and had even accused the Goddess of having an affair with her husband. She pecked me on my cheek and gave me the worst look of all.

Pity.

I strode purposefully to the station and just caught the one O'clock train. I was at the doors to the gynae ward by two. Tarquin had been too quiet for the previous twelve hours and was now compensating by kicking under my ribs. I could feel a wave of panic building. I stopped and slowly rubbed my tummy, mentally imagining the wave which broke harmlessly offshore.

I walked to the nurses' desk, my heart in my mouth. A young nurse looked up at me and smiled. I finally found my voice.

"I...I...I'm Charley. I've come to see Georgia Clarke."

"Of course. Sister warned me that you weren't very well yesterday. Your partner is in room 4. I'll take you."

I have never been a confident lesbian, always expecting abuse. The nurse opened the door and stood aside. She ushered me over to a comfy chair and left us alone. Georgia was sat up in bed, a bag of blood attached by a tube to her left wrist. She again looked small and vulnerable. I sat down next to my errant lover, kissed her on the cheek and then hugged her. She started to cry, which opened my flood gates.

2.

GEORGIA

I had slept badly. My tummy and shoulders hurt a lot. The nurses kindly offered me painkillers. I tried to be strong, after all pain was well deserved. I quickly accepted the offer. I am not very good with pain. Charley, in contrast gave birth at home without as much as a sniff of gas and air. 

I woke with a terrible feeling of impending doom. My guilt was overwhelming. I have never regretted anything as much, in my whole life. The ward sister came in to my room.

"Morning Miss Clarke, I have brought you some more pain killers. We need to give you another two units of blood today. You lost a lot and your blood count is still low. It's just as well that you are physically fit. We should be able to let you home tomorrow. Look, I'm sorry if I was harsh with you yesterday. It was unprofessional."

"That's OK," I replied, "It was no more than I deserved. Don't worry, I won't sue you."

Her eyes widened.

"Please, it was a joke." I continued. "I know I shouldn't be making those. I am so scared. I have done something truly awful to someone who I love more than life itself. Sorry that sounds like something from a crap movie."

The woman smiled kindly and held my hand. Then one of her colleagues brought the first bag of blood and they both slipped into slightly aloof, professional mode. I dozed on and off all morning, having declined breakfast. I was hungry enough for a bad lunch of something alleging to be beef casserole. It sat in the pit of my stomach, a great weight that got heavier as 2 O'clock approached. Would I get any visitors at all?

And then she was there, looking beautiful and radiant. Her hair! It looked like she was wearing an afro wig. I thought she had lost weight. And she had a football attached to her front. I could feel my clit start to stiffen. Dirty bitch. But Charley really looked sexy. My own blonde MILF. No wonder there were so many pregnant porn sites.

"Where's TomTom?" I asked her.

"He's with Trisha. I wasn't sure if you would want to come home. I didn't want to have to explain it to him."

"Of course I want to come home."

Then we both started to cry. The nurse ushered Charley to a chair and brought us a box of tissues, then discreetly left. Charley blew hard, then leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips, running her hand through my unwashed hair. She smelled of shampoo. My treacherous clit was stiffening even more, which made my tummy pain worse. I winced and Charley jumped back, concern written across her face. Charley would never win money at a poker game.

"Shall I call the nurse?"

"It's OK; I'm due some more painkillers in an hour or so. Oh God, Charley. I didn't think that I would ever see you again. I'm an evil bitch. Please forgive me." 

She was biting her nails and had gone deathly pale. Charley is a gentle soul and hates confrontation. I felt some of her pain. I mentally begged her not to cry.

"It's got to stop, Gorgeous." she sobbed. "I can't live without you, but I will throw you out if you ever have sex with a family member again. I don't believe you are capable of total monogamy. It makes me feel like I am a piece of shit, but it is a price that I am prepared to pay. Women only, you hear. I want you to make a written confession in front of a solicitor. You have got a lot of trust to rebuild."

"OK, sweetie," I said, trying to sound as contrite as I felt.

"You might have died. I thought you had," she said, her face contorted with anguish.

"Don't even think about doing anything with Thomas. Or Tarquin, for that matter. I am not leaving your brother alone with them. Ever."

"Charley! What do you think we are?" I blurted out. She did not need to answer. I wished the floor had swallowed me. 

"I don't totally blame you, Georgia. He's older than you and I don't consider it truly consensual. Particularly not the first time."

I managed not to tell her how I had begged for it. I may have been the brilliant legal mind, but she had a point. She elaborated.

"Mike said that you have a special sort of love. I've heard that before, Georgia. You are the one who encouraged me to help out at the centre and the safe house. I did the counselling course remember. Most of those women I speak to have been abused as kids. Step-fathers mainly. The men say things to them. "A special type of love" comes up a lot, along with "Our little secret" and "Tell and I'll kill you". Most of those women think they have consented and I think they are more ashamed than the ones who had fought and lost.

"Why do you think doctors, teachers, social workers and even barristers, are not allowed to screw their clients? It's the power differential."

I gulped. I think I have said the same thing in court. Charley seemed to be working herself into a storm of righteous indignation. But she stopped and rubbed her belly.

I knew what was coming next, but she had to say it.

"For God's sake Georgia, it was you who made me realise that I had been raped, even though I didn't put up a fight."

She seemed exhausted and flopped back into the chair. I am not religious. Charley is, in a quiet, unthreatening way. I thanked her God for sending her to me.

After a pregnant pause, she asked, "How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts as much as my tummy. How did you know?"

"I've had a laparoscopy too, remember?"

Of course, when she donated her eggs. At the time, Charley had not mentioned the pain.

I could not believe that she had forgiven me, but it was totally in character. I had a lot of work to do to make it up to her. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. I did not want her to leave me, again Georgia the selfish bitch. Of course she had to get home to our lovely boy.

I slept better that night, the luckiest woman in the world.

Charley came and got me before lunch, on Sunday. I had been passed fit enough to travel on public transport and Charley hated driving in Central London. She liked using public transport. Nobody could criticise Charley's green credentials. TomTom was staying with another little friend.

The train home was almost deserted and it was a warm day. Charley did not object when I pushed up her T-shirt and rubbed her taut white belly. Her usually deep navel was on the cusp of becoming an outie. I leaned over and gave it a little lick. I was chastised, so put my head against her warm dry skin and thought that I caught the faint flutter of our baby's heart. Charley stroked my hair and played with my ear. I looked up and she was sucking her thumb. She blushed. She only sucked her thumb when she was anxious, but it looked oh so sexy.

"It's OK Scarface, don't stop but you're turning me on again."

"Georgia," she snapped, mock annoyed, "When we get home I am going to wash your mouth out with soap, put you over my knee and spank your bare bottom."

"Oh God, yes," I moaned, unzipping my skirt, "Do it now, Miss. Punish me severely."

Just then the ticket collector appeared at the end of the carriage. Charley turned scarlet and pulled her T-shirt down.

"That was close," I giggled.

Charley tried hard to be stern.

"Quite. And I haven't got any soap on me."

We were soon at our station. Walking over the bridge left me faint and breathless. I had to sit down, as the world spun. I had been given a blood transfusion and warned that the little red cells would take a couple of days to start carrying oxygen. I got my breath back and got up to start the walk up the hill. Charley was having none of it and hailed us a cab. We got home and Charley sat me on the sofa, clucking like a mother hen. I was told not to move, whilst she went to fetch Tom. I must have dozed off, because my lovely little boy was suddenly on top of me giggling, our Earth Mother standing behind, smiling benevolently. Even Spot, the snarling striped beast came and gave me a chirr. She is definitely Charley's cat, although everybody knows that Spot is a boy's name.

My care from the NHS had been exemplary, but its food was still deserving of its poor reputation. It turned out that Charley had also barely eaten for forty eight hours. I reminded her of her delicate condition and she pulled a face, disappearing into the kitchen and returning in fifteen minutes with a delicious cheese omelette and salad. I immediately felt less faint. I also felt a guilty relief at no longer being pregnant. The nausea had passed and my tits were already feeling like those of a human being. I leaned across and kissed my lover on her scarred neck. She would not let me help tidy up after lunch, but handed me the telephone.

"Go on Gorgeous, ring them. Yes all of them. And Lord Snooty. He'll be at his club, apparently. He rang earlier and ranted at me. You have apparently single handedly torpedoed a major trial."

I smiled sheepishly. My senior partner, Sir Peregrine was the quintessential male chauvinist pig and had reduced Charley to tears on more than one occasion. I duly rang him and apologised for getting pregnant and for being signed off sick for a week. One of those days he was going to be hung out to dry by an employment tribunal. If I was called in his defence, I would gladly recall how the price for joining his chambers was a blow job. Next I rang Mum, who was a lot less frosty than I expected and reminded me that I was living with a saint and that I still deserved to have all my reproductive organs torn out. Then I got a lecture from Imogen and finally a very difficult conversation with my brother, the seed spreader. His natural instinct for self preservation seemed to have returned and his previous concern for Charley's wellbeing had been replaced by a demand that she decide whether she was going to ruin his marriage and career, or not. I slammed the phone down in rage.

Charley let me take Tom for his afternoon nap. As usual he was of quickly. I needed a shower, but I was under strict orders not to have one for a week. What torture. I had a totally inadequate sponge wash, then I padded into the bedroom and there was Charley, my little dormouse already curled up in bed, fast asleep, sucking her thumb. I climbed in and spooned behind her delicious warm body. I reached around and put my hand on Bump. I felt the little ripple of new life under my hand and quietly cried myself to sleep.

I got a good hour before I heard Tom shouting "Up. Up. Mummy Char. Mummy George."

Unusually Charley did not stir, so I got up and took Tom downstairs. Charley came down an hour later, concerned that she had failed in her maternal duty of eternal vigilance. I spent the rest of the day playing the loving mother. Charley was equanimity personified.

I was not allowed to do any physical work, which usually suited me fine. I kept reading motives into Charley's actions. She let me give Tom his bath and read his bedtime story. 

Serious business was done in the kitchen and that was where Charley was sitting, when I came downstairs.

I took a chance and hugged her. After a few seconds she pushed me away.

She gave me one of her shy smiles, which made her look like a teenager and threw a little blue package at me.

A box of condoms. I was speechless.

"It can go in your special drawer. Girls only remember."

Charley leaned forward, tilted her head slightly and kissed me. Gently. After an age her tiny tongue slipped into my mouth and asked for a dance. We engaged in a slow waltz.

Charley stood up and smiled again. She took me by the hand.

"Come on, Gorgeous. Early night. No sex. Don't look at me like that. It's not punishment. Your pelvis is too delicate at the moment. How about I throw a sicky tomorrow and we cuddle all day."

"God, Charley. Don't torture me. You have never thrown a sicky in your life and I won't let you start now."

The week passed uneventfully. I was surprised at how much sleep I seemed to need. I contacted my friend Tamsin. She is a solicitor and was my first lover at university. We still fuck once or twice a year, for old time's sake. Tamsin adores Charley and thought her mad to take me back, once I had made a full confession. She came around to the house, with her nubile lover and they witnessed my grovelling admission of guilt. Then Tammy asked if I fancied a threesome. Saucy bitch. I declined graciously like a good girl. In fact I was still not allowed a shower and my cunt was humming. If it had been clean, I might not have been able to say no.

Friday, I went to the doctors and had my stitches removed. I went home, showered and wanked myself off, using my largest vibrator. I showered again, with my vibrating love egg up my arse. Charley was at work and TomTom was at the child minder. Spot was out hunting. I shrieked as I came.

Saturday came around and I insisted on helping with the shopping. I dressed down and behaved impeccably. My favourite checkout girl was not in, but I picked another luscious, teenage redhead and smiled benignly at her, as I fantasised about her sitting on my face. Fortunately Charley is not a mind reader, however she shot me several warning looks.

Tom needs his sleep and was asleep by eight, that evening.

Charley and I sat out in the garden, listening to the birds singing. Charley put her head on my shoulder and whispered.

"Bath time."

Charley led me upstairs. I smiled, licked my lips and ran a bath of exotic bubbles for us both. We had not bathed together for months, preferring showers. I laughed at the little islands of Charleyness that poked through the bubbles; her huge tits, her bump and her pale knees. Despite being a self proclaimed whale, my darling was having a little difficulty manoeuvring in the water. When I started licking her feet, she slipped and banged her head on the cold tap. Her hair got soaked. We settled for gentle washing, with a sponge. I got out first, feeling a little dizzy and then grabbed Charley in a huge green towel as she practically fell out of the bath. I let out a sigh of relief when she started giggling.

We went to the bedroom and lay on the wet towels facing each other, our naked bodies damp and shiny. Charley fixed me with her calm light blue eyes. Her pupils dilated enticingly. I wanted her to take the lead. I wanted her to love me. Charley stroked my cheek and then ran her finger along my jaw, down my neck and onto my left breast. My nipples were already close to exploding. She gently squeezed my boob flesh.




Charley Torn Pt. 02



"Harder," I gasped as my pussy glands opened one by one and my clit turned into a tiny cock. A look of concern crossed the tranquil horizon of her face, but she complied and I moaned. Charley leaned forward and sucked my nipple into her mouth. I felt slightly faint again, probably because so much blood had rushed to my pussy. She transferred her hand to my other tit and kneaded hard. Just as I like it. Her tongue started to wank my nipple, fast and hard. My clit was tingling, but I had not been given permission to touch. I gasped as the orgasm hit. I wondered if Charley had grown an extra arm. I put my hand between my legs, but all that was there was my throbbing quim. I came again and squirted onto my own hand. The room spun and went dark.

Then I was looking up at Charley's tearful cerulean eyes. She was anxiously biting her lower lip and stroking my hair.

"Wow," I gasped, again asking myself why I had cheated on such a magnificent creature, "How did you do that?"

She smiled and laid her head on my chest.

"What, make you pass out?"

"That, and make me come through my tits."

"Natural talent, I suppose. I'm not sure if you're fit enough for love making yet." 

That's my girl, always considerate. And she was right; we made love. My little peccadilloes were just sex; ultimately empty. I had not made love to Charley for twelve days and so was desperate. I had not masturbated for twenty four hours which was a long time.

"Sit up, baby," I instructed as I felt just how damp her hair was. If we let it dry naturally, who knew what it would look like in the morning. I sat behind her and blow-dried and brushed her fantastic frizzy tresses.

When we were finished I was ready for action again. I reached under her armpits and took a breast in each hand and stroked them delicately. In terms of size, I preferred her tits in their smaller non pregnant state, but I loved the texture of her knocked up knockers. They were stuffed so tight with goodness and I knew that they were pretty sensitive. Charley had confessed that she found breast feeding painful, but had persisted for eight months, like the Earth Mother that she is. I took in the sweet aroma of her freshly washed locks and slowly teased her shy nipples erect. Charley let out one of her girly sighs and with her left hand pulled her hair away from her neck and face. She tilted her head to the left and exposed the extensive scars on her neck and face. They would look ugly on anyone else.

The next bit I still found difficult, even though we had been lovers for years. I hissed. Charley flinched. I bit down hard onto the longest of her neck scars. Charley gasped and moaned. I never quite understood how light touch on Charley's damaged skin was exquisitely painful, but hard biting was pleasurable. She had explained about the nerve pathways on countless occasions, but it was lost on me. That she trusted me not to hurt her was deeply moving. That Charley trusted me at all was far more than I deserved. As I moved up to bite her face I made another vow to grow up and stop being a thirty two year old teenager. Charley moaned again as I nibbled her right ear. It was hard to believe that the ear had been almost completely sliced off, by broken glass, then sewn back on. I often thought about how terrifying it must have been and felt humbled by Charley's unassuming bravery.

Charley turned and kissed me, starting off as delicately as the breeze from an angel's wings. Slowly she pressed harder and slid her slippery little tongue into my mouth. Women kiss so much better than men and nobody does it quite like Charley. I taught her everything she knows, of course and she was a most diligent student. Charley claimed that our tongues had minds of their own and she had even given them names. I thought of them more like a pair of grebes or sea horses, but without the weeds.

I disengaged and insinuated my tongue into Charley's best erogenous zone. First I sucked her little, unpierced left earlobe between my lips, then licked lightly around the helix, before pushing into her earhole itself. She groaned and her hips started to rotate. I slid my hand gently down over her fecund belly. I reached her little pussy only to find her already pleasuring herself. I smacked her hand and taking a chance, took control. I whispered in her ear.

"Charlotte Matthews, you dirty little slapper. Stop that at once. You will go blind. Get on all fours."

I pronounced her name the way her mother did and she shot me an evil look, but quickly stuck her bum in the air. I spanked both her buttocks with my open right hand, leaving red finger marks and making my own hand throb. This was about as rough as we ever got. I felt a little ashamed at my state of arousal. Charley squealed into the pillow. She can take much more pain than me and I surrendered first, my hand on fire. I was also staring at her little pussy lips, which were running with cream. I just had to dive in, inhaling her delicate woman's scent. I took another chance and gently parted her bum cheeks, so that I could rim her tiny pink starfish. She did not object and I moved my tongue downwards to her slick labia. I lapped enthusiastically and then sucked her little clitty between my lips. I slid two fingers into her red hot cunt. I pushed and twisted and she squealed even more. Feeling even bolder, I withdrew my fingers, sucked harder on her clit and pressed my index finger against her ring piece. I increased the pressure and the slick digit slipped in, slowly, all the way to the knuckle. Her tight sphincter gripped my finger like a fist and I slowly finger fucked Charley's arse, after twelve years of wanting to.

Charley lifted her head and panted.

"Please...Gorgeous...don't hurt me..."

I had fantasised about taking Charley's anal virginity and riding her, wearing my trusty blue dildo, but suddenly I felt tears welling up. I had not taken her; she had given herself to me. I bent my finger slightly and started rubbing the wall of her pussy through the thin membrane. This always drove me wild and was liable to make me gush. Charley rocked on her knees, back and forth, quicker and quicker and then produced a flood of cunt sap. Her sphincter contracted so hard that my finger was forced out of her bum. She rolled onto her side and lay there panting. I was sucking my index finger. She scowled.

"Go and wash it, you filthy slut."

I wiggled my arse as I trotted to the bathroom. Charley was already under the duvet when I got back. I slid in next to her. She was looking content and sleepy.

"I love you Charley. You didn't have to....."

"Oh but I did. It wasn't as bad as I expected. I love you too."

I was ready for more fucking. Charley clearly wasn't. She got very sleepy once she came and her clit would get too tender to touch for about half an hour. I thought of all the times that I had insisted we carry on and how Charley had dutifully licked, fingered and tribbed me to countless multiple orgasms. It was time for me to show a little more consideration. I pulled her as tight as her bump would allow and kissed her shoulder gently. She was asleep in a minute.

I waited a couple of minutes and then went to the bathroom. I returned and put a towel on the dressing table chair and got my Cone out of the drawer. I switched it on to high and sat down on the pink plastic marvel, its tip just pressing against my arsehole. It is nearly silent. So was I. I sat and watched Charley sleep as I came again and again. I washed my trusty toy, then slipped back into bed. Charley let out a little sigh as I spooned behind her and rubbed Bump. Tarquin flipped and rolled under my hand and I dozed off quickly.

I woke late next morning. The bed was empty and I felt a rush of panic. Then I heard screeching and crying from downstairs. The noise got closer and Charley came into the bedroom carrying a very upset Tom. He put his arms out to me, which meant that he had been told off. I hugged him and raised an eyebrow to Charley.

"Thomas decided to pull Spot's tail. She squawked and nipped him. Just like when he last pulled her tail. Not learning from your mistakes seems to be a familial trait."

She poked out her tongue. Charley was looking resplendent in a short, blue and white maternity dress. She had a bow in her hair and had applied some makeup.

"Darling, you look fantastic. Love the dress. What's the special occasion?"

"You chose the dress, remember. Thomas and I are off to church, then we're going to your parents. You've forgotten haven't you? It's your Dad's birthday."

"Shit!" I shouted and jumped out of bed. I jumped into the shower before I was censured for using bad language in front of Tom. I am not a morning person and am usually especially torpid on Sundays. That day, I was washed and dressed in next to no time and we were walking to church as a little family. I had suggested taking the car, but was reminded about global warming.

I had not been to church since Tom's christening. That had not been a day to remember, thanks to Charley's witch of a mother. I am at best agnostic. Charley described herself as a bad Catholic. She certainly did the Catholic guilt thing well, especially when it came to her abortion. She is without doubt the most Christian person I have ever met. I have never told her.

It all went surprisingly well. Charley was clearly a popular member of the congregation and even I was greeted warmly. The kids got to spend half of the service in the church meeting room, which was quite a social event for Thomas and his little mates. And for their deliciously young mothers. Charley was actively involved and managed to get the kids and the mums to at least make an effort to learn something. None of the women had a man with her. I was in MILF heaven and my knickers were soon uncomfortably damp. No, I felt no shame. But I did behave and smiled in agreement as the young women informed me how lucky I was to have a partner as lovely as Charley. I was not expecting that degree of tolerance.

Soon we were walking back home and I was thinking about forgiveness and redemption. 

We stopped for ice cream and then on to the park. Once Charley had forensically examined the play area, for discarded needles and broken bottles, I was allowed to play with Tom on the swings.

I offered to drive to Mum and Dad's but Charley insisted, knowing that I liked to have a few drinks with Dad. Charley is a cautious driver, but she was not the one with nine points on her driving licence. We pulled on to my parent's drive and parked behind Michael's BMW. Charley gripped the steering wheel and her knuckles turned white. I gently stroked the fine blonde down, on her left forearm and she visibly relaxed.

"We can turn right around, sweetheart. Remember, you're the good guy in all of this."

Charley just leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips.

So we went in and faced my family. I had little difficulty in pretending that nothing had happened at all. Charley was handled with kid gloves. Michael was abnormally subdued and the bitch, Helen soon smelled a rat. Her immediate assumption was that Mike had been messing around with Charley and then that he had just been messing around, which of course was true.

Helen was an attractive woman, tall with long black hair. Her body was a testament to the art of the finest plastic surgeons in town. She was vain, arrogant and stupid. She was rubbish in bed. I should know; I had fucked her twice. That was our little secret. I whispered a little reminder to her and she apologised to Charley, badly. Imo had a protective arm around Charley's shoulder and look set to punch Helen. She swept my lover out into the garden, where they rescued Tom from Mike's unruly sons. I grabbed a beer and sat down with Dad.

"Looks like you've used up another one of your nine lives, girl."

"I know. I don't think I have any left. It's time I grew up. Maybe if I had a baby myself, it might shock me into adulthood."

Dad choked on his beer.

"Good for you, girl." he spluttered. "You haven't discussed it with Charley, have you?"

I had to concede the point. I had only thought of my plan a few minutes previously and could already see rather a lot of flaws.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant summer's alcoholic haze. I briefly started worrying that Imogen was seducing Charley. It turned out that Imo was regaling Charley with the tangled saga of her unsuccessful infertility treatment. Imo is a big girl and when I found them, she was giving Charley a bear hug. The poor thing was struggling to breathe.

"Oh, Charley," Imogen gushed, "You are an angel. Georgia, your amazing partner is going to give me eggs. Once she's finished growing the current one, of course."

Charley flushed, sexily.

"That's if you agree, Gorgeous."

"Of course, babe. I might just ask for one myself."

3.

CHARLEY

It went better than I had expected. The Clarkes are lovely, as long as they keep their knees together. I was once again their blue eyed girl. Only Mike remained surly and too embarrassed to talk to me. I was not ready to forgive him anyway. That would come in time. It was the first genuinely hot day of a poor summer. We left at seven. Thomas had his bath, before we left and was nearly asleep by the time we got home.

I put Thomas to bed and then had a shower. I was feeling hot and sweaty. Georgia had beaten me to it and had changed into a tarty red bikini. She had kindly dug out my blue and white polka dot maternity bikini. I had forgotten about it. Gorgeous cocked her hip and did her chest heaving thing. I had guiltily enjoyed the lack of sex, over the previous week. We had done lots of cuddling, which I adore.

Looking at Gorgeous looking.....absolutely gorgeous, I felt a rare flash of lust. I took out Georgia's toy drawer and handed it to her. She said nothing but her chest heaved a little bit more. In the drawer below was Thomas' old baby monitor. I checked the batteries and slipped into his room and placed the transmitter by his bed. I had Georgia follow me downstairs and into the garden. I grabbed two cans of ginger beer from the fridge. We were going to get thirsty.

We have a long, thin garden, with an arbour near the end. I am rather proud of it. The vines were not going to produce grapes that year, but provided shade and privacy. I had Gorgeous put the drawer on the ground and then I checked the baby monitor receiver. I could hear Thomas' regular breathing. Our neighbours, either side were elderly. They hardly ever ventured into their gardens, which were like little jungles. I loved the wildlife that lived there. So did Spot. The only things likely to disturb us that evening were foxes, frogs and grass snakes.

I still felt nervous at the prospect of al fresco lovemaking, especially as I knew that Gorgeous would be noisy. Especially if she saw a snake. She loved doing it outdoors and I rarely allowed her the opportunity. Guiltily, I had to confess to feeling residual shame about my sexual orientation. I had a recurrent nightmare, in which we were caught, at it by an angry mob and gang raped. I had not told Gorgeous as she would have either laughed or found the idea kinky.

I had Gorgeous sit on the wooden bench and I sat next to her, our hips pressed together. I opened a can of pop and put two straws in. We drank noisily, our noses almost touching. Georgia would have, no doubt preferred proper beer, but she had consumed enough already and tended to be rough when tipsy. The drink was soon consumed and we were snogging like teenagers. My bra was undone in seconds, followed by Georgia's own. She leaned over and pushed me back into the bench, one hand crushing my left breast and the other flying down the front of my pants. I winced as she squeezed my boob and her fingernail scratched my fanny. Gorgeous quickly realised her error and lightened her grip. I moaned and broke the kiss, transferring my mouth to her stiff right nipple. I slid my hand down her flat tummy, feeling the toned muscles quiver. I went to pull the strings of her bikini bottoms, but Georgia had beaten me to it and was already in "her natural state". The gorgeous pussy was hot and slick. I rubbed the spongy flesh slowly, with the flat of my hand and bit into her nipple. Georgia made animal noises.

I released her nipple and stood up. Georgia stayed attached and pushed my pants down as I stood. I had not meant to drop to my knees quite a quickly as I did, but it put me in a perfect position to worship the Goddess' pussy. Georgia put one foot up on the bench so giving me better access and I ran my tongue up and down her dripping labia. She grabbed my hair with both hands and ground her pelvis against my top lip. Georgia had taught me how to pleasure her and I applied my lessons carefully. I slipped two fingers into her vagina, for lubrication and then slid them up her bottom. Her sphincter was already relaxed.

"God yes, Charley. You are a dirty little tart. You look so sweet and innocent, but underneath you are a dyke slut. Good girl turned oh so bad. I own your luscious rounded MILF body. Suck on my dirty big clit and finger fuck my whore's arse. Yeah, rub my G-spot. Harder. Oh fuck, I'm going to squirt."

I opened my mouth and caught her little spray of ejaculate. I swallowed like a good girl. Georgia urged me to keep sucking and commanded me to bite her clitty as she came three more times. God knows how she managed it. Georgia like talking dirty, whereas I was just too inhibited. Since Thomas arrived she had been forced to content herself with whispering obscenities in my ear. Her legs finally buckled and we collapsed on the grass. Georgia kissed me hard, enjoying the taste of her own sex, on my lips. I felt a little sad at the realisation that I would never be able to fully satisfy her lust. As I had told her; women only.

I ran my hand through her thick chestnut hair and kissed her on the nose. Georgia smiled dreamily and laid her head on my boobs. They were certainly the size of pillows. A minute later her hand was between my legs and he thumb was rubbing my small clitoris. Some of my earlier arousal had passed and there was something that I had to do. The anticipation was drying me up.

4.

GEORGIA

Something was wrong. Charley stood up suddenly, leaned over and then turned around. She was holding my strapless strapon and looking serious.

"It's time Gorgeous, for you to take me roughly from behind. What's this thing called anyway?"

I was nearly speechless. "It's a strapless strapon."

"Is that not an oxymoron?" said Charley, primly.

"Well yes, it is. I suppose."

"OK then. Penetrate my tiny pussy with your great big blue oxymoron. Why is it blue?"

I took the magic wand from her, laid it on the bench and hugged her tight. I slid my hand down her sweaty back, down her arse crack and across her smooth cunt lips. I slowly slid a finger into Charley's pussy. She moaned.

I stood back and took a deep breath.

"No, Charley. I won't take you roughly, or gently. You're as dry as a bone, tight as a nun and you're shivering, although it's really hot. I am the one who has caused all the pain and hurt."

She was going to cry again and put a defensive arm across her chest and a hand over her pussy. I picked up her bikini and dressed her, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. I continued.

"I'm not a child anymore, sweetheart. I should be able to control my base urges. You do so much and that's more than enough. Mike says that I am a sex addict. I think that is pure bollocks. Anyway the treatment for an addiction is abstinence. I love you so much."

Charley visibly relaxed and I put my own bikini back on. Something caught Charley's eye and she knelt down in the long grass. She stood up smiling, something clearly between her freakishly large hands.

"How about another kiss?" she simpered, removing her top hand.