Chapter 5 – Frost Fairies
“Were you a good girl with Mr Canning?”
“Yes, Mum. Mr Lovell was there too.”
A knowing twitch of the eyebrows, “Thought he might be. Did you do what they told you.”
“Yes, Mum, of course, Mum.” Three bags full, Mum. She could be so annoying.
“Were you frightened by the thunder and lightning?”
“No, I’m not a little girl.” I’m eighteen Mum, a young woman!
“Mr Canning said you were.” Huh?
“A little girl?”
“No, you silly, frightened.”
Susan’s brow furrowed. She could not remember that.
Mrs Settle’s eyes opened in the moonlight. Beside her Mr Settle was sleeping soundly, there was barely the sound of his breathing. It was all very quiet. She looked at the clock. Midnight. She had only slept for about an hour. She got up and looked out of the window. A peaceful moonlit scene in monochrome with not a breath of wind. After the rain earlier in the week it was good to see not a cloud in the sky. She stood looking, puzzled why she had woken and now felt so wide awake. It was not like her. She had woken almost as if an alarm clock had told her to rise.
The moonlight gave an ethereal dreamlike quality to her garden and the neighbouring gardens. She could almost imagine fairies out there, dancing on the frosted grass. Fairies in shimmering gauzy costumes, balletic in their dances. Perhaps half naked fairies. Mrs Settle was not an unsexual or asexual woman. She had her desires and, indeed, had Mr Settle’s semen inside her from a tumble in bed before she had gone to sleep. It had not been fully satisfying – she had not had an orgasm before he had pumped into her and promptly fell asleep. Her thoughts turned to the fairies being male and female and their dance becoming more sexual as it went on out in the moonlit garden. From cold impervious frost fairies to thoughts of real ballet dancers both female and male. Thoughts of a naked ballet. She shook her head. Male dancers with engorged cocks lifting the petite female dancers and settling them down upon their upstanding knobs. She hoped her daughter, Susan, did not have such thoughts. Such a sweet girl, so innocent at her age, sound asleep in the next bedroom.
She looked back at the bed and her sleeping husband. Annoying he was not awake and wanting to engage in ‘marital relations.’ But they had done that earlier and he would not be up for it now at all. A pity. Her hand lifted her nightdress and touched her sex, her fingers playing for a few moments very like she had when younger. She did not do that much these days. Her thoughts upon ballet dancers or fairies dancing; dancing beautifully but erotically.
Frost fairies indeed! What an idea, but it did look an enchanted garden. Next door at Mr Canning’s a light went on. Up for a call of nature perhaps or just going to bed. A couple of right male fairies there! Sweet old gentlemen but ‘bent as a nine-bob note’ – as her mother used to say. She smoothed her palms over her hard nipples and then lifted her large breasts. Age had let them fall a little: age and breast feeding. Womanly curves, nonetheless. Still attractive to men – certainly, Mr Settle had sucked and then rubbed his cock across her nipples that very night. He had been appreciative! But had come too soon for her. She wished he would not do that. Wished his penis was less ready to come all the time. She looked back at Mr Canning’s house thinking of the two old men as she stroked her large breasts and hard nipples. Neither would have any idea what to do with those! She looked back at the bed and could just make out her husband. Fast asleep and unlikely he could get it up again so soon. She bit her lip. She did want a cock! Outside the light next door was still on. Was Mr Canning shaking it; or was Mr Lewell shaking it; or were they shaking each other!
Dear oh, dear! Thinking of Mr Canning’s cock – and Mr Lewell’s. Who knew where they had been – though she could guess. Were they big? She shook her head. What was she thinking? Big or not they were not for her and would not be big if she were there! No getting to sleep now. She walked out of the bedroom with a vague idea of sitting downstairs and looking at the moonlit garden. It did look very pretty. As she descended the stairs it seemed to her, she was descending into mist. It floated around her and she stood puzzled at the bottom of the stairs. She walked slowly towards the back of the house; it was as if up to her knees there was a blanket of cloud or fog; wisps floated up to her as she undid the patio doors and stepped out into the moonlit night. No mist there but she was now sure she was dreaming. A lovely dream as she stepped out into the moonlit monochrome and so still garden.
And she danced, danced as if an orchestra was playing, round and round she went with her nightie swirling around her. In her mind the thought of the frost fairies, yes female and male. Between her thighs a further running of hot wetness, she was imagining dancing with the fairies and the male fairies having the most perfect, nay beautiful, erect penises. She closed her eyes imagining a dance, a close dance, a dance where partners were exchanged again and again. Penis after penis for her. Touching her. The mist seemed to creep out of her house and flow out into the garden and around her feet.
A sudden feeling of cold and she opened her eyes. The men next door were watching her. She could see them looking out of the window. Two men, Mr Canning and Mr Lovell – of course. Mr Canning beckoned.
Mrs Settle walked back in and through her house, out of the front door and into the street in her nightdress. The mist floated around her knees and then up to her thighs as she approached Mr Canning’s door. It was unlocked. Her dream had taken an unexpected twist. The two old men were waiting for her.
“You’re cold, let’s us rub you to make you warmer. Come into the lounge it’ll be warmer there.”
Their hands were upon her, rubbing her body through her nightdress and not just her hands and feet. They were taking what her mother would have called ‘liberties.’
“I’m a married woman,” she said rather pointlessly in protest. Dreams did not worry about such things.
“We can see that.” Mr Lovell had taken more of a ‘liberty’ than Mr Canning. He had rubbed her between her legs and upon his fingers was stickiness, evidence of her earlier sexual intercourse with her husband.
“Mine,” she said and playfully sucked upon his fingers. It was a dream after all. She could do what she liked. And so, also, it seemed could the old men as Mr Lovell whisked off her nightie, up and over her head. It made it easier to rub and warm her body. Flushed and enlivened by her dancing but nonetheless cold. Her feet were a little blue.
“I was dancing,” she said.
“We could see.” Mr Canning turned and reached for a plastic bottle.
Mrs Settle could see the label, even in her dream she could read – ‘Ed McCaffrey’s Enervating Lotion.’ The logo upon the bottle was stylised, yet it seemed to her as if the upright penile shape at its bottom and the upwards ‘Y’ of ‘McCaffrey’s’ immediately above looked remarkably like the sort of ejaculation she had coaxed from Mr Settle in their courtship, a fountaining up from the rounded shape below. Dreams are such strange things. Nonsensical, absurd or strangely warped things from reality abound. The bottle read, ‘Ed McCaffrey’s enervating lotion – finger lickin’ good. Semen flavour.’ What nonsense!
A squeeze upon the plastic bottle from Mr Canning, right between her breasts, the contents came out like the sexual squirting of an erect penis, a rope of lotion and then another. What? The plastic neck so reminiscent of a cock and the now unsheathed knob at its top so rounded and bulbous like… the knob of a cock. Another squirt and another and hands were rubbing it all over her, spreading the creamy lotion over her breasts making her nipples tingle. They had been hard from the cold – or had they already been hard? He smoothed the lotion down her body, over her hips and down her legs before two pairs of hands stroked upwards, gliding upon the lotion towards the junction of her legs.
The lotion was soothing, the finger rubbing warming, she could feel her skin reacting, a spreading warmth. A warming in her dream.
“Come dance again. It’ll warm you the more.”
Indeed, warm carpet beneath her toes, a warm room, and a waltz upon the record player, Mrs Settle really began to feel warm again. Very warm. Hot even. And it was not just she who danced. Mr Lovell proved a more than competent dancer. Just as well as he had shoes on his feet and her toes were vulnerable and bare – very much like her whole body. She frowned as they whirled around the room to the strains of a Viennese waltz, had Mr Lovell expected to dance – he seemed very formally dressed. The peculiarity of her being stark naked, not in a dress at all, and Mr Lovell in dinner suit confused her. But, of course, it was only a dream. She smiled for Mr Canning’s camera. She hoped Mr Lovell did not mind her unrestrained breasts wobbling all over the place: such a contrast to his neat and controlled body clad in his dinner suit. Another waltz and then another. “I feel exhausted,” she said, “I need to lie down.”
The two men smiled at each other.
Without her nightie, naked as sin, she was ushered up the stairs and into a bedroom. She threw herself on the bed and turned. Across the room a mirror and she could see herself. What did she look like! A trollop! Her dark hair dishevelled and spread out, her skin shining with lotion and perspiration and her thighs lolling open revealing the thick and swollen lips of her sex, more than poking out through her dark curls. Her slightly ‘rolly polly’ body looking more like a courtesan than the respectable wife of Mr Settle. That she was his wife was very clearly evidenced by the white stuff she could see leaking out of her. Her husband’s semen.
Wonderful to feel so sexual in her dream. But the frustration. A sexual dream with a couple of old queers for company and she so in need of a cock or two. Mr Canning and Mr Lovell came back into her dream, came into the bedroom and, all at once, they did not look so gay anymore. Clothing removed they stood there, very much men, two lovely cocks at the ready looking down at her. Was she about to be well and truly fucked after all, in her dream? Or was it going to be one of those so frustrating dreams where what she wanted did not happen or she could not make it happen. Would they have sex together and leave her out of it?
Mrs Settle licked her lips and opened her thighs further, in invitation. She wanted cock – and plenty of it. She needed to entice them in – and she most definitely meant ‘in.’
Not frustration after all, as the two old queers seemed happy to oblige. Perhaps they were a little ‘bi’ after all. Happy to oblige her with a continuously hard cock in her vagina – not like Mr Settle who had dribbled and gone soft in her. And Mr Canning and Mr Lovell were good with their hands, keeping various erogenous zones nicely touched and stroked. Mr Settle had certainly sucked upon her nipples but only one at a time. Together Mr Canning and Mr Lovell could attend to right and left at the very same time.
Nice penises to be sucked, even if they tasted so very much of her! Firm, meaty knobs for her to suck. She allowed herself to become rather abandoned. It was a dream after all. In reality she had never had sex with two men. Indeed, only had sex with Mr Settle and one other man – and that was, of course, before she had met her future husband. Never in reality had she had one man inside her whilst she sucked upon another cock – but she did that a lot in her dream upon Mr Canning’s bed.
What a dream. What an orgasm or two. And she really felt both Mr Canning and Mr Lovell ejaculating inside her. Dream comings. The idea!
Mrs Settle ascended her stairs feeling tired. She blinked wondering how long she had sat downstairs staring at the garden. She had been dreaming. She could remember some of it. Some of it very clearly. It had been very odd, but dreams were like that. Not at all something to relate to Mr Settle in the morning. Frost fairies indeed – and other fairies – as if!
A trickle down her inner right thigh and then her left. Mr Settle must have produced a lot when he came. She was running with the stuff. It did not matter. She was going to change the sheets in the morning anyway.
Her skin felt lovely and soft but she could not recall putting any lotion on it yet, it seemed as if she had rubbed her whole body with a smooth lotion. A nice smell; she licked her arm, but a funny taste. It reminded her of when Mr Settle came in her mouth. Something he liked to do. The taste of semen. She could not remember putting on the lotion but no sooner had her head touched the pillow than she was asleep. Down between her thighs, semen seeped from her. Mr Settle’s, Mr Lovell’s and Mr Canning’s. She had been well fucked that evening.
It was one of those stupid things – one of those really stupid things; and Mrs Doreen Settle just so knew it, at the very moment the latch clicked. She had known moments before, had known as she did it that it was foolish, but it was one of those things you do despite knowing it is stupid. It won’t matter that the safety guard is not in the right position on the chain saw or it won’t matter not wearing gauntlets because it is just a small task you want to do with the chain saw… just a quick one – and indeed it was – and, as you see a couple of fingers lying there on the ground, you know very well it was not sensible, not even foolish but down right stupid. Well, it was nothing so serious for Mrs Settle, no fingers were sawn off or anything horrible like that but… well, it really had not been a good idea to just nip out with the rubbish bag and put it in the wheely bin behind the house, mere feet from the back door, without a stitch of clothing on. The wind had blown the door to, and the Yale latch had clicked.
Doreen Settle was outside in the early morning light, a little after seeing Susan and her husband off at the front door and half-way through having a shower and getting dressed. She had had the shower and had been in a dressing gown, only she had put that in the washing machine (now into its cycle) and had seen the rubbish needed emptying. Her idea just to get the rubbish out of the way and then go upstairs and put knickers and brassiere on and other things – warm things! Instead she was outside in the cold in bare feet – well, bare everything. A cold day and she was stark naked behind her house.
What could she do? There was only one thing to do. She could not go out in the street like that – she would die of embarrassment; no way was she going to reveal her stupidity to Elspeth Sargent the other side of her house and garden – not to her; the only recourse was to call out to Mr Canning for help.
It was, of course, embarrassing. Not as much as if Alf Sargent had seen her. He of the roving eye and equally wandering hands. Doreen Settle shivered. No, she would not want that neighbour helping: better gay Mr Canning saw her.
“Coo-ee!” Doreen Settle called across the fence but there was no response. She tried again but no. Yet, there was a light on in the kitchen and clearly Mr Canning was up and about. Could she perhaps get over the fence into his garden and knock on the door? It was a low fence. Not a six-foot panelled fence, but quite a modest wooden fence with a painted top rail. If she hooked one foot over and then slowly let it down the other side she could probably, sort of, step over it. It was, she found, rather taller than her inside leg measurement, she could not just rock over it, momentarily sitting astride, but perhaps she could if she balanced herself with one foot upon an upended brick her side and then let herself down the other.
There was a brick lying there, by the fence. An upended brick, resting on its ‘header’ end is nine inches high and that gave Mrs Settle enough extra height to swing her leg over, momentarily rest upon the top of the fence and then let herself down the other side – or would have done had she not done another stupid thing – the second of the morning – she managed to push the upended brick over with her foot. Suddenly she found herself not just naked outside on a cold morning but astride a fence with the cold rail running right between her thighs – very much resting upon her labia, her sex squashed by her weight beneath her, her pubic hair giving very little cushioning to her ‘bits.’ It was rather uncomfortable, the wood cold, indeed the air around cold – and she was stuck.
Doreen Settle might not have known anything about such things, but Mr Canning certainly did. His surprise on opening his back door was considerable. The sight that met his eyes was of his neighbour strangely astride the fence rather as if it was a wooden ‘pony’ used in BDSM sex play with the woman or girl bound and riding a bar, or even a tapering, triangular shaped ‘horse,’ a mock punishment with the bar or edge very much pushed by the woman or girl’s weight against her soft sex. Apparently sexually arousing for women who like that sort of thing.
Mr Canning had heard Mrs Settle’s call, had peeped from an upstairs window and seen the unexpected sight of his neighbour naked in the garden. It was not something he had caused, it had not been a suggestion he had implanted in her mind but that did not mean advantage could not be taken. He made a very quick telephone call and then, to his surprise and delight had found Doreen Settle in a bit more of a predicament. Sexual pleasure could and would be taken by him and Mr Lovell.
“Doreen, what on Earth are you doing?”
Mr Canning’s sudden appearance left Doreen Settle speechless with just her mouth opening and closing. She was so conscious just what Mr Canning was seeing, not least her dark bush pressed down against the white fence rail, her ample thighs spread and her feet dangling. Instinctively she covered her ample breasts with her arms, feeling the rush of blood to her face. Utter embarrassment – even though she knew Mr Canning was not at all interested in her rather roly-poly female body.
“Do you like doing that?”
It was worse, Mr Canning seemed to think she was doing what she was doing as some sort of sexual thing. The idea!
“It’s cold,” she said, and it was, the wooden bar could not have been that much above freezing temperature. She dropped her other hand to cover her bush, leaving an arm across her breasts. “I’m stuck,” she added.
“So I see, but why? Why are you there – like that?”
Mrs Settle rather thought the old gentleman should offer help rather than ask how she had got into that situation, but she explained about the rubbish and being locked out; about her calling out and then seeing the brick and it overbalancing and her becoming stuck.
“It must be very uncomfortable. I mean, you ladies…” He did not elaborate on the differences between men and women.
“It’s a little like riding a bicycle with a rather thin saddle but a very cold one!” She explained, “Can you help me down?”
“I don’t know, Doreen, Mr Lovell will be here in a mo and I’m sure together…”
It was worse. Doreen Settle swallowed. Mr Lovell would see her as well. The rail was cold and the air was cold; under her protective arm she could feel her nipples were hard like dried peas or even beans. They were not that small. They were as hard as they had been with Mr Settle in bed the night before when they had had sexual intercourse.
“Couldn’t you just… support my weight or find something to put under my foot?”
Mr Canning looked at the foot dangling his side of the fence. Mrs Settle had painted her toes with red nail varnish. He looked around his neat garden for something to put under her foot but he did not have a low stool or a brick. Further up the garden a set of chairs but they would be too high.