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The Organist Part One

The morning sun sent shafts of warm light through the wooden slats and across my naked body as I lay on top of the twisted, rumpled sheets. We had both forgotten to close the blind properly before going to bed while comfortably drunk on the mead Christine had brought home. A bee knocked itself between the open window and the blind, then found its way into the room where it passed over our bodies and through the open door to the hallway. As its buzzing faded I heard Christine’s breathing pause, then resume. I turned onto my side and saw her grey eyes open, the skin around them wrinkling as she smiled. I felt pleasantly drowsy and only slightly hungover. I leaned across and kissed her sunburned cheek.

“You really caught the sun yesterday,” I noticed.

She raised her hand to her face and saw the red streak across her arm.

“Oh, great,” she said, letting it fall back lazily. “Dr Lobster’ll see you now.”

I giggled and teased, “Always wear sun block, Doctor.” I kissed her again, on the lips, then down to her neck.

“Hm, it’s OK for you,” she said, caressing my coffee-colored skin.

I pulled the sheet from her small breasts, licked her nipples until they were hard between my lips, then tongued my way over her round belly to her dark curls. She opened her legs while I licked the full lips of her pussy and tasted her sweetness, reminiscent of the golden liquid we had sipped from glasses the night before. With the point of my tongue I lifted the hood to expose the tip of her button. I blew on it gently and felt her squirm in anticipation. I pursed my lips and gently touched them to the small bump, sucked and felt it slowly begin to stiffen in my mouth. My hands reached up to squeeze her boobs and pinch the now completely engorged nips.

By now I was nicely aroused too. I raised myself, took her right leg, placed it against her body so that her instep rested against my cheek and pressed my hot pussy lips against hers for a few moments. Our quims kissed passionately and exchanged fluid and heat. I leaned back and made her wait for the next kiss. I saw the hole opening up like the mouth of a hungry baby waiting to suck on a mother’s milky nipple, the soft skin around the hole parting to reveal the darkness of her love tunnel. Then I pushed into her again and began rubbing my hair against her clitty until every curl was glistening with love honey. She bit her lip, groaned, and I gazed lovingly down at her heart-shaped face. I rocked gently back and forth against her as we moaned a duet of mutual pleasure. I kissed the soft flesh at the side of her foot, then rubbed my cheek against it. I fingered her clitty and felt more juices trickle across my labia and into the opening of her vagina. Our bodies grew hotter and we panted in unison.

Hours seemed to pass and the movement of my tribbing was so easy I felt I could continue like this all day and would happily have done so, but then I felt her slacken against me a little. She looked me straight in the eye and shook her head.

“No?” I asked, saddened, while she closed her eyes and continued to shake her head. “What can I do?” I asked.

She raised herself to kiss my mouth and we embraced, fondling each other’s backs and breasts.

She said, “Lie down, honey,” and I obeyed.

She positioned herself over me, just as I had over her, splaying my legs really wide and joining our pussies together. She held onto my legs and began to brush herself back and forth across me, taking my breath out of me with each gentle stroke. Each brush caused my pussy to twitch, pulse and send little shock waves outwards across my whole body. She sucked hard on my breasts and drew the warm milk from them. She knew I enjoyed the little stabs of pain this gave when coupled with the pleasure of lovemaking. Then she resumed tribbing and I gazed up at the heavy-lidden look of longing in her eyes and the white line running down the side of her chin. More experienced than me, she expertly drew the sweetest orgasm from me, making me clutch at her hands and squeeze her slightly plump body between my legs. She smiled until I had finished cumming against her, then she bent down to give me a long, gentle snog. Mingled with her saliva, my milk tasted sweet.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t cum, Chris,” I said as we relaxed in each other’s arms.

“Doesn’t matter, honey,” she said, smiling sadly. “It was still good.”


She nodded emphatically with her small lips pressed together and rose from the bed. I sadly watched her leave me for the shower and I lay for a while listening to her splash about before she returned to the bedroom to get dressed. As it was the height of summer, she wore, unusually for her, a short-sleeved white blouse and a skirt, dark and quite tight around her bulging midriff.

While combing her short bob in the mirror she asked, “So what’ll you do today?”

I sat up and stuck a couple of fingers through the blind. It was another lovely, balmy summer day.

“Paint by the lake.”

She nodded, put on her rimless glasses, clopped in her high heels across the wooden floor, bent down, cupped my face in her hand and planted an affectionate kiss on my cheek. A little make-up hid the worst of her sunburn.

“You smell nice,” she said. It was an odd compliment, I thought, seeing as I hadn’t worn any perfume. I hadn’t even showered yet.

A couple of minutes later I heard the car start. Dressed in just my nightie I raised the blind and waved to her as she backed away from the house, returning my wave though the windscreen. As she drove up the narrow gravel path to the country road that passed our cottage she continued waving until the BMW had disappeared behind the hedge. Once, I would have ran to the road behind her, waving madly all the way, and the moment she had disappeared from sight I would have begun counting the hours down until her return in the evening. Sadly, it occurred to me that I now looked forward more to being alone during the day than being with her in the evenings. I showered, put on pink underwear, stepped into a pair of black shorts and a blue T-shirt, tied my dark, curly hair back, then stood at the window again, looking at the empty driveway.

The sun shone over the valley to the right and on the left the road curled away up the hill. What I could see of the garden was a beautiful, tangled mess of red roses and green bushes with hollyhocks sprouting up between them like frozen jets of multi-colored water spouted by happy whales. Before me, sitting in a row on the chest of drawers by the window, were my five dolls. I straightened each one, making them all sit up comfortably, then took a comb from the top draw and tidied their hair.

First, Amelia, the redhead with her freckles and green eyes; then Beatrice, vampiric with her jet-black hair and blood-red irises; the blonde Lorelei with her huge, grey anime eyes and tiny mouth; Suzuka, the Asian princess in her golden dress and flashy accessories; and lastly, Persephone, chocolate-skinned and plumply pretty in her jeans and Bardot top. I took Persephone in my arms, held her to my chest and shuffled off to the kitchen for breakfast.

Christine had stopped eating breakfast recently, save a bacon sandwich on the way to her surgery, and I was sure this was the reason she had gained a little weight recently. Her increasing workload, bad diet and drinking were making me more and more concerned for her health. I ate a little muesli and plenty of toast with Persephone in my lap. The doll helped stave off the feeling of loneliness that would sometimes creep up on me at this time. While rinsing my plate and bowl I noticed two damp stains on my T-shirt.
“Damn,” I whispered and went back to the bedroom to wipe myself and change. The leak had already stopped but the aureolae were smeared with milk. I raised my full breasts to my mouth and licked it away, enjoying the beautiful, tingling sensation. Both nipples were incredibly sensitive but Chris never, ever hurt me too much when sucking them. She understood my body so well.

The phone in the hall rang and, still topless, I ran to answer it, thinking it might be her to say she’d forgotten something important, but it was my mother, and she was crying.

“Hi, Mummy,” I sighed, knowing already why she was phoning.

“He’s left me again,” she sobbed. “Your father walked out on me again.”

“He’s not my father.”

“You never gave him a chance.”

“Look, Mummy, he’ll be back like he always is because he has nowhere else to go. No one else wants him.”

“I think he has someone else.”


“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” she said pitifully.

“He’s no good, Mummy. How many times do I have to say it?” I heard my mother snivel and cough.

“You’ve never liked any of them.”

“No, I haven’t,” I asserted, glad that I had made the point clear to her over the years, “seeing as most of them had no time for me except the ones that were abusive.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And that’s why I don’t phone you as much as you’d like.”

“Linda, don’t be like this. I feel so sad.”

I sighed, took the phone into the bedroom and sat down.

“I’m sorry, Mummy, but you’ve never understood. All I wanted was a decent father. He didn’t have to be my real father, just someone I could look up to.” I heard my mother wipe her nose. “Are you OK, Mummy? I mean, should I come over?”

I heard my mother sigh.

“No, it’s alright, sweetie. I’ll be OK. Are you OK?”

“Yeah, OK, I suppose.” I looked around the room, at the still unmade bed, and smelled Christine’s odour.

Just at that moment the cat, Honey, a fourteen year old brown tabby with white socks, came prowling in after a night out, looking up at me expectantly.

“When are you going to find a boyfriend?”

“Mummy! Don’t start that again, please,” I said hotly, and bent to stroke the cat, hoping that would calm me.
“You should give me some grandchildren. Why can’t you find a nice boyfriend?”

“I’m hanging up now, Mummy. Thanks for calling.”

“I see. No time for your poor old mother as usual.”

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