Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Walking the Dog by Smilodon Chapter Seven Angela's cottage had only one bedroom. The twins made subtle, but nonetheless obvious, hints that they expected us to take it while they sacked out in the parlour. Another khaki holdall produced two sleeping bags, which they proceeded to unroll. "Sorry, old son, we're bushed," said Liam, "not too much kip last night!" We murmured agreement and Angela and I headed off to her room. I was relieved to see a large old-fashioned brass bed with thick quilts. It would have looked inviting even without her beside me. I didn't sleep too well the previous night, either. Angela lit a squat candle and its pale glow lent an appropriate ambience. There was still a chill in the air so we hurried through our ablutions and dived under the welcoming quilts. The sheets were cold and we hugged each other close like a couple of children, giggling and tickling each other with cold hands. Of course, I was aroused but it wasn't urgent. I was happy to lie alongside her, stroking the velvety softness of her skin and learning the intimate topography of her body. We talked in whispers, sharing little intimacies as new lovers do. The conversation turned to our first time. I recounted my own experience. It wasn't much to write home about. It had been during the summer between school and University. I had gone on holiday to Greece, riding slow trains and hitchhiking under the achingly blue skies of that magical country. After doing the cultural bit, Athens, Corinth, Mycenae, Cape Sunion, I had gone island hopping, catching the slow and crowded ferries that serviced the Sporades, Dodecanese and Cycladese. One glorious, star-filled night on a beach in Rhodes, I had lost my virginity to a pretty Danish girl. Her skinny, tanned body had been an unexplored country and she let me find my stumbling, hesitant way without complaint. She was sweet and kind to a fumbling young Englishman and had done her best to make it memorable. Unfortunately, it was memorable only for its brevity. I still think fondly of her, for all that. She pretended she was not disappointed and had laughed gently at my chagrin. We stayed together for the rest of the summer and she taught me to please her and to control myself better over the ensuing weeks. I was more than a little in love with her when it came time to part. Looking back now, what I value most was her unfailing good nature. I don't think I ever saw her without a smile. I guess I was one of the lucky ones. Angela listened in avid silence as I described it all. When I finished, she snuggled against me and said, "She was a very nice girl, this Astrid." I could only agree. "What about you," I asked. She sighed. "Once upon a time, there was this little, fat Estonian girl." "Fat? Surely not!" "Don't interrupt! This is my story. As I was saying, there was this little, well, chubby Estonian girl. When she was eleven, her breasts started to grow. When she was fifteen, they were still growing. She used to walk with her shoulders hunched so, so people wouldn't stare so much at her chest. Her sister was a little jealous, I think, because the men did not stare at her in this way. One day, a young soldier came to see my, I mean her, father. He was very dashing, very handsome in his uniform. " He told her not to hunch her shoulders, to be proud of what nature had given her. He teased her and made her blush. When he passed her in the corridor, he gave her a squeeze, just here." She took my hand and placed it on her breast. "And then here" She moved my hand to her buttocks and pushed back against it with a wiggle. "Many times he did this and he made excuses to come often to her house. Once, she opened the door to let him in and he kissed full on the mouth, like so!" Angela rolled on top of me and proceeded to kiss me passionately, forcing her tongue between my lips and undulating her entire body against mine. "Of course, she was very confused. She liked the way the soldier made her feel but she knew what he did was not polite, not nice. Her body liked it but her heart did not. She could have hidden away, of course, when the soldier came to the house and, after he left, she told herself that this was what she would do, the next time. When the next time came, she couldn't wait to see him. It was very, mixed up? Is that what you say? "Then her father went away for a while and the soldier stopped coming to the house. She was very sad. She couldn't eat, did not want to go to school. She wanted to sleep all the time. When she slept, the soldier came to her dreams and touched her again. After about six months, her father came back. She was just sixteen, now, and no longer chubby. Her father was surprised and told her she looked like a woman now, no longer a little girl. The young soldier came to visit again. He, too, was surprised. She had changed very much." I detected a sudden change in her mood. I had the feeling that she just made a decision. She rolled away from me and lay very still. Her voice dropped its teasing quality and became very small as if she was speaking from a distance. The gentle modulations that I had come to associate with her disappeared entirely and she spoke on in a flat monotone. "One night, he came late to their house. Her father and mother had gone to Moscow for the week. She wasn't expecting him. He knocked on the door and stood there, in the rain. He had some flowers. She let him into the house and later, into her bed. He was very experienced and made it good for her, at first. Then he wanted her to suck him. She didn't know about this, thought it was dirty. He made her do it to him. She was very angry. He laughed at her. Called her a silly schoolgirl. She spat at him. He beat her. Then he left. She never saw him again. "When she was older, she came to think that he had used her innocence. She never told anyone. Until tonight." "God, Angela, that's awful! He really beat you?" "Yes, but he was clever, no bruises would show outside my clothes. He knew I would tell no one. For two reasons, first, I would never to confess what we did and second, he was a Russian." We lay in silence for a while. I could think of nothing to say and felt the sadness that was in her through the tension of her body. I simply held her and let her regain her equilibrium. All desire had deserted me. I was filled with a senseless fury. It had happened years ago. I would never meet the Russian soldier. Still I seethed and raged inwardly. In part it was my impotence to change anything that stoked my anger. She must have sensed this and rolled towards me, putting her hand up to my face and stroking it gently. "You must not mind, my Martin. I was a silly child and played with the fire. It is simple. I was burned. But all that is in the past, now. It makes me sad sometimes, to think of this thing. Now I am with you and we are not children. I was not going to tell this but then I thought I must. I hate secrets, you understand?" I told that I did and wiped away the solitary tear that glistened in the candlelight. We kissed, gently, without passion but with deep affection. She gave me a merry smile. "There, you see, I am all better now." We kissed again; this time had a more urgent quality and held the promise of something rich and wondrous. She trailed her kisses down my face and neck and put her head on my chest. Then she began to move slowly down my body, planting a succession of the faintest brushes of her lips over my ribs and stomach. Mindful of the story she had just told me I whispered that she didn't have to do this. She hushed me gently. "I want to," she said, "This is something for me, you understand?" As the tip of her tongue flicked out and touched my glans, I couldn't have answered even if I wanted to. She swivelled in the bed so that she was now kneeling beside me. Her mouth was warm as she opened her lips and took me in. She pushed her head down very slowly, taking a tiny bit more and then another bit until she had captured about half my length. Was there ever a more willing captive? All the while she swirled her tongue around the head of my prick. Her left hand came up and she gently grazed my sac with her fingernails. Electricity jolted through my frame, I swear I saw stars. She raised her head and slowly eased back down, taking more of me inside her mouth and imparting some sort of rippling sensation with combination of lips, palate and tongue. Again, her nails scratched slowly and softly and she sucked more firmly as she withdrew this time. Then, instead of taking me in her mouth once more, she licked in circles round the head of my prick and planted a line of minute kisses down the shaft until she came to my balls. With infinite care and tenderness, she took one swollen orb into her mouth and suckled gently. I was gone, lost at sea without a trace. She switched her ministrations to my other ball and started to pump my shaft gently with her hand, her fingers loose and fluttering. All the while she continued the scintillating torment of my balls, first one, then the other, back and forth, until I was writhing involuntarily and my hips were pumping upwards on their own volition. At last the exquisite torture ceased and she kissed her way back up my shaft. It was now so hard I really thought it was about to split, maybe to shed its skin like a snake. Now she thrust her mouth down on me hungrily and began to bob her head with a deliberate rhythm. I put out a hand and cupped her swaying breast. Her nipple was a piece of fiery agate in the palm of my hand. She was making a low crooning noise reminiscent of the sound a mother might make to her baby, a soft counterpoint to my harsh panting. I felt my orgasm beginning to build, coalescing like a nebula, somewhere near the base of my spine. I gasped a warning. "Oh, Christ, Angela, I'm going to come!" This seemed to rouse her to greater efforts for she sped up and her crooning became a moan, redolent of need. It was a haunting sound, the very encapsulation of desire. It tipped me over the edge. I thrust my groin upwards, twisting myself towards her to gain better advantage of that heavenly mouth that grasped me like some exotic orchid or diaphanous sea-creature. My head was filled with clouds and the candle light seemed to be diffusing some esoteric essence, the distillate of a thousand times a thousand years of passionate human love. She flicked me more firmly with her tongue and I went over the edge. My seed erupted and she made a sound that was almost a howl of triumph as spurt after spurt poured into her mouth. My entire body was rigid. All my earthly existence was concentrated into that scant bundle of over-stimulated nerve endings that sent a vast surge of ecstasy coursing through me. It was though she had caught my very soul and drawn it out through the tip of my penis, leaving me utterly drained, devoid of even the slightest conscious thought, a slave to pure sensation. She gentled then and continued to suck lightly on me for what seemed like an eternity, letting me soften, held lightly between her lips. All the while she massaged my balls with a feathery touch, as if to make sure I had nothing left to give. I floated free, disembodied. I had never experienced the like. I fell into a brief but deeply refreshing sleep. When I awoke, a few minutes later, her head was still resting on my stomach and her tongue still traced the faintest of circles around my glans. Her touch was so light I could barely feel it but it was enough to re-awaken my desire. Her movements became slightly firmer as I stiffened. I drew her up beside me and kissed her, tasting the salty, alien flavour of my own emissions on her lips. Her eyes smiled lazily into mine and I slipped softly into her. We made love slowly, letting our passion build at its own pace. Her hips moved gently back at me and she arched her body like a cat, stretching her arms up and grasping the brass rails of the bed. This lifted her breasts and brought them just into range of my tongue. She sighed contentedly as I swirled my tongue over first one adamantine nipple, then the other. I could feel her vaginal lips sliding on my shaft and she squeezed me gently. Our control couldn't last, of course. Her breathing became more ragged, my thrusting more insistent and I seized one nipple in my teeth and grazed it, sucking down hard with my lips. She made a startled noise that smoothed into a moan of pleasure and then she was coming hard, her pelvis jerking spastically, her eyes huge and luminous in the candlelight. That set me off and I galloped to my own finish with her legs clasping my hips and urging me on, pulling me deeper in, if that was possible. Once again the lights flashed behind my eyes and the seed surged out of me, hosing into her in five or six juddering spurts that seemed to carry my heart with it. The pleasure was almost too much; it had a manic edge, overwhelming. I was grunting like a wild beast. Constellations of shattered candlelight spun in my half-closed eyes and the room receded from me as I floated free. We clung together for a long time afterwards, descending from our ethereal high like a pair of feathers, swooping and side-slipping back into the real world until all that remained of our love-making was an abiding sense of peace.