Chapter 8: A Lewd Interlude

Russ knocked tentatively on the front door. Sally's mother opened it, looked furtively up and down the road and hustled him in. "You've brought your toolbag!" She giggled girlishly and hurried through into the living room. A wave of musky perfume followed in her wake. You could certainly see where young Sally got her figure from. Top and bottom. In fact, how old was her mother? Forty? Well-preserved. No, that didn't even begin to do her justice. "The kettle just boiled. You'll have a cup? Or something stronger?"

"Just coffee. Anything stronger will send me to sleep."

"And we can't have that, can we?" She undulated heavily into the kitchen. "Come and keep me company in here," she purred from the doorway. Why not? Don't fight it, Russell! She's calling the shots here.

"What was the job you wanted doing, Mother?"

"Never mind that for now. And you can't really call me Mother, can you? It makes me feel like an ancient monument. I don't look like one, do I?"

"No, Mothe ... I mean... ?"

"Delia! You hadn't forgotten had you? Funny boy." Delia mixed a mug of instant coffee and uncapped a cold beer for herself. Obviously she didn't have a problem of falling asleep. "Now, drink your coffee then come and have a look in the bedroom." She glugged her beer, belched slightly, wide-eyed: her hand across her mouth. "Oops! This is my fourth Bud. You'll have to make sure I don't lose control, Russell!" She moved sensuously across the kitchen floor and twirled a coquettish twirl, holding her bottle out at arms' length for balance. Her skirt floated up around her thighs. "You like my frock? It's not too summery, is it?"

"No, it looks nice."

"It doesn't show too much of my boobs, does it?" She leaned forward precariously, revealing an expanse of bottomless cleavage. It was even deeper than Sally's. And about fifty times as deep as Claire's. Russ felt a pang of guilt. "I bought it in the sales. Claire made me get it. She said it's a sure-fire man-catcher. Has she shown you hers yet?"

"Hers?"

"I made her buy a sure-fire man-catcher herself. Hers is cut down to here." Delia indicated her navel or perhaps slightly below. "And it's really short, too, to show off her legs. I don't know why I made her buy it, come to think of it. She's got a good man already, hasn't she?"

Russ finished his coffee and put the mug in the sink.

Delia moved over and stood close behind him. Russ could feel the heat of her. "So maybe she needs a sure-fire man-catcher frock so she can hang on to him." 'Yield not to temptation. For yielding is Sin.'

She turned him round. "I don't often see you with a jacket and tie on. You look dishy." She shook herself like a dog and put down her beer bottle. "Come on, then. Upstairs. I'll show you what I need doing."

He followed her upstairs. He seemed to spend his whole life lately following buxom women up these stairs. "This way! We're not going into Sally's room. Lots more room in mine!" She flung the door wide. The curtains were drawn, the bedside lamp turned down to little more than a warm glow, the bed covers were turned back. Crimson silk sheets. Sheer decadence.

He found himself looking round like a tourist. "It's a bit dark to work..."

Delia turned on the main light. "I need a shelf in this corner. Just a small one, for my books and things."

"I'll get my tools..." He set off for the door, but found himself being dragged back as if he was attached to her by an elastic band.

"You can't do it tonight, silly. We haven't got any wood!"

"I'll get my tape measure, then." He edged away again.

"I've got one here. In my bedside drawer. Look!" She opened the drawer and took out a dressmaker's tape, ran it between her fingers, then draped it round her neck. "Always have a tape measure handy in the bedroom. You never know when something might need measuring, do you?" She loosened his top button, eased the jacket off his shoulders. "There, that's better. You can't work with a jacket on, can you?" She draped the jacket on a hanger and, disturbingly, hung it in the wardrobe. "And a tie?" It disappeared into the wardrobe as well. "And a shirt..."

"Delia!"

"You don't want to get your nice white shirt all hot and sweaty, do you?" Her fingers whisked down the row of buttons with practised ease, slipped inside and caressed his nipples. "Hmm, nice!" She moved with startling suddenness, yanking the shirt out of his pants and whipping it off in about a second and a half. "Oooh, look! I've found something to measure." She encircled his chest with the tape, her hands cool and frighteningly competent. "I love measuring things," she confided. "Do you? You can measure something, if you like. Would you like? I've got lots of things to measure. There, I've done your chest. It's your turn now. What do you want to measure first?"

"I d ... don't know." So this was how Herbert felt! Seventy-odd years ago.

"Well, for starters, how about Delia's big bottom? It's nice and big, isn't it? Bigger than Sally's. Lots bigger than Claire's. Here you are, it's all yours!" She handed him the tape and turned round, hanging her head compliantly. No option, really, Russell!

"Don't pull it too tight, Russ. I've got such a soft bottom, the tape just sinks into it. You'll get a false reading, and we don't want that. That's it. Slip your fingers inside. Inside the tape. That's a good boy. How big is it?"

"Forty."

"Do what?"

"Forty-two!"

"That's better. Don't try buttering me up, boyo. Sally's bum is only thirty-nine. She'll catch up, though, the way she's going. Now do my middle. I'll turn round."

She did, getting closer as she did so. Much closer. Russ had to step back as Delia's breasts rubbed against his bare chest, just above his pants. Stepping back was unsuccessful. She followed him. "Don't run away! Wrap it round me! There, that didn't hurt a bit, did it? Now then. How big's that?"

"Twenty-five. Does that sound right?"

Delia's chest swelled with pride. "Sounds too small, doesn't it? It's right, though. It really makes Sally mad that my waist is so much smaller than hers!" She slipped her arms around him and pulled him close. "That's enough measuring for now. Too much measuring makes you tired. You can do some more later, if you're good." Her breath was hot on his cheek. "And Claire says you're very good!"

"Claire? She told you? I mean..."

"Of course. Claire and her mummy don't have secrets. She tells me everything. Sally doesn't. Awful girl. Now then. We'll find something else to measure later, won't we. In fact, I think I've already found something!" A wonder Sally hadn't worn it out at lunchtime, and Ethel, too. Delia employed the same technique, proving that not all that much had changed in seventy years. Delia, though, was evidently in more urgent need. She was beginning to pant, and one hand was feeling behind her for the hook at the back of her frock, then the zipper...

It's more erotic when lovers take each other's clothes off, but time was of the essence in this case. Delia got her dress off without ripping it asunder, while Russ was out of his trousers in seconds. Reassuringly, Delia didn't hang them in the wardrobe. She was too busy dragging him back on top of her, flinging aside the bed-covers, her breath steaming on his face and neck. She still wore her bra, a businesslike garment - at least, the lower half of it was - and her panties, presumably so that Russ wouldn't feel too overdressed in his boxer shorts. Their bodies moulded together.

"Russ, yes, Russ!"

Seconds later, she squirmed out from underneath him, shot across the room and turned out the main light, locked the door and hurtled back to the bed again. Where were we?

"Russ, yes!"

"Delia!"

There are times when you just have to get it over with.

"Russ, fuck me, oh, yes, darling!"

This was not a time for thinking of Ethel, or Sally, or food or football. They achieved a commendably simultaneous climax. The editors of the women's magazines would have approved.

"Wow! Claire didn't tell me the half of it!"

Russ lay shuddering inside her, giggling stupidly. They both giggled. He felt like rushing downstairs and down the road, giggling, but it would have meant taking it out, and he didn't want to take it out. Delia was doing some most interesting things to it, without using so much as a finger.

"There," she crowed triumphantly. "Is that better than our Sally or not?"

Russ detumesced with remarkable speed. "Sally? I haven't... !"

"You don't need to bullshit me. She's my daughter. Isn't that one of those famous fantasies, fucking a mother and her daughter? Or both her daughters, in this case?"

"But I haven't touched Sally. She's only..."

"Seventeen, yes. Old enough. And certainly much more than big enough!"

"Honestly! She's touched me a few times, but not down there, except by accident."

Delia propped herself on an elbow and looked into his earnest face. "Bloody hell, you really haven't, have you? Well, bugger me!"

Russ assumed that wasn't a direct order.

Delia lay down again and a slow smile spread over her face. "Now, then, that was a quickie. Just a taster." She concentrated on internal matters and was rewarded almost instantly. "That's a good boy! Now, then, lover. Real slow!"

"You'll have to come back, won't you! You didn't even start on that shelf of mine. And what about this shelf, too?" Delia took a deep breath. Her breasts wobbled on the platform bra and the nipples, already extended, began to stiffen even further. She looked smaller and more vulnerable down here, just inside the front door. Russ cupped her bottom, his fingers digging into the softness. Her panties were soaked right up the back where she had been lying in a puddle of juices. She squirmed against him and laced her fingers behind his neck. "Forty-two inches, remember? Bigger than Sally's bum!"

And twenty-five inches, as well. Smaller than Sally's. And...

She read his thoughts. "You can measure these things next time. What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Saturday night? Nothing much. The usual things."

"Good. Sally will be going out. Doing the usual things. I'll think of something to keep your Claire occupied for the evening. Come round and see me. As soon as you like. I'll be ready for you. We'll do some unusual things!"

"What's the matter, darling? You can't be too tired, surely?" Claire bunny-hopped a few times without noticeable response. "Have you got a headache, sweetie?" She placed a wet kiss on his unresponding lips.

"My wrist hurts a bit."

"You don't use your wrist for sex! Not real sex, anyway. Come on, shag me. I need it. I haven't had it since this morning!" Claire squirmed, trying to impale herself. She began introducing fingers, but it obviously wasn't as good as the real thing. Not even Claire's considerable repertoire could get him going. Russ tried thinking of Ethel in Sally's black bra, trying to fasten her blouse buttons. Her buttons popping open as she breathed in and out. He thought of Sally dragging her fat breast out to show Ethel her nipple. He thought of Delia's soft yielding bottom...

"That's better, love! I knew you had it in you. You were holding out on me, weren't you!"

"Russ! Are you free to talk? Is Claire there?"