Charley Rising:Ten Years On

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I was having a really shitty day. My job can be really shitty. Most of the time I enjoy it, but that day, I had been up to my neck in shit. Like most engineers I spend most of my time in front of a computer, but some days you have to get your hands dirty. Shit happens, and Victorian sewers burst and collapse. Shit certainly happened that day. The River Thames is one of the cleanest, capital city, rivers in the world, and part of my job is to keep it that way. I had not meant to fall in, and my crew whipped me out pretty fast, before I swallowed any. I came out with a loud squelch, my expensive wellies lost forever. But I was covered. It was in my hair, my nose and my ears, and I suspected, my pussy.

I didn’t cry. My major blubbing days are, mainly, behind me. I stripped naked, despite the bitter wind, and ten men watching me, and got under the “shit shower”, attached to our mobile unit. A thin screen offered me a tiny bit of dignity. When covered from head to toe in shit, being naked is simply not an issue. The boys, bless them, formed a defensive wall in front of me. They were totally inured to the stink. I was not quite so, and Georgia would probably not touch me for days. I have a supply of really cheap T shirts, and knickers, for shitty jobs, and a clean change were waiting in the van.

The breach was plugged, and a million fish did not die. Job done.

As I stood on the bus, I could hear sniffing and shuffling behind me. I bet I still had some sewage, in one of my ears. I got off, a mile from home, and walked in the icy rain.

Shit, I thought, and stifled a giggle, she’s home early.

“Hi, honey. You looked like a drowned rat.”

Georgia hugged me, and stepped back, nose wrinkled.

“And smell like one. Unclean. Dirty bitch. Don’t move.”

She rushed to the kitchen and returned with a bin bag, and the Sunday paper.

“Strip, bog monster.”

“But, I just need to redo my ears. My body’s OK…ish. You are not throwing out my favourite suit. Get a separate bag. It can go to the dry-cleaners.”

Georgia walked up the stairs in front of me, dropping sheets of newspaper, and heaving.

As I got into the shower, I invited her to join me. I still love shower sex.

“No fucking way, Shitgirl. And get that pussy clean; you know where we are going tonight.”

Slightly deaf and raw, I emerged five minutes later.

“Touch your toes.”

And she sniffed me, like a dog.

“Now, who’s the dirty bitch?” I asked coyly. I was getting moist.

“Get back in the shower, Charley, and turn it cold. We are not going out with you on heat.”

“I’m supposed to be on heat, stupid.”

I was trying to distract myself, from what was going to happen later. I was scared and just a little humiliated, and the animal images kept going through my head. Georgia was going to take me to be inseminated; made pregnant; knocked up. Like a prize mare.


We arrived at the clinic early.

I had a sudden pain, in my right side. I winced and Georgia frowned.

I just smiled. “Mittelschmirz. A good omen.” I get ovulation pain most months. Georgia never has.

Two other women were waiting, at the clinic. I guessed that the crop haired woman, who glared at us, aggressively, wasn’t the hopeful mum. Or maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Georgia knew them somehow, istanbul escort but not in a friendly way. She does a lot of pro bono work, for a charity that supports victims of domestic abuse.

Georgia couldn’t help herself, and glowered back.

The plain, slightly plump, woman, started to cry, and I waited for the earth to swallow me.

I had surprised myself, when Georgia had asked me what I wanted for my 27th birthday.

“A baby.” I blurted out.

And so, nine months later, here we were, for my second intrauterine injection of donor sperm. Kindly provided by Georgia’s gorgeous brother; Michael Clarke, QC. We had seriously considered being “done” together. Obviously Georgia would need somebody else’s sperm, and I didn’t have a brother. Her career trajectory was becoming stratospheric, and she would likely be called to the bar, in the next twelve months. Georgia, two years my senior, had overcome enormous prejudice, as an openly gay, barrister, and would have loved to appear in court; as a gowned lesbian, with a bump.

She wasn’t ready for motherhood. She was going to find parenthood difficult. I was ready. I had grown up. Dr Charley Matthews. I have a PhD in hydraulic engineering, and work, for a large water company. Mainly in sewage. Well someone has to.

It was soon our turn. I put on my gown, got on the couch, and put my feet in the stirrups. Georgia had returned to goddess mode, and held my hand, gently crooning in my ear. The procedure took minutes, and was painless. Then we were driving home. I could feel the fear grow.

As soon as we got in, Georgia grabbed me and kissed me, fiercely. But it was not enough to prevent the flashback. To my first insemination. I was, again, an eighteen year old virgin; raped in a Swedish hotel room; mounted like an animal; too petrified to resist. I must have dissociated, as next thing I knew, I was in bed, in a nightie, with my head on Georgia’s bounteous chest.

“That was a long one kid.”

“Sorry.” I whimpered. “I love you so much. Make love to me Gorgeous.”

“Will it be safe?”

“Yes. I asked, this time. As long as you don’t poke anything inside my cervix, it’ll be fine. Given your freakishly small hands, that won’t be a problem.”

“Better than your two great shovels. No wonder you’re a shit slinger.”

I so hoped that the millions of sperm, were doing their thing. I wanted to remember that night fondly. I hoped that remembering Georgia, and me, entangled, would block the bad memory.

The Gorgeous One was of course naked. I flicked off the duvet and admired her body. She had barely aged, in ten years, or so it seemed. Some pretty wrinkles around her eyes, older woman’s elbows and knees, and a slight tummy, which I loved to nuzzle. We both still swam, almost daily. Georgia’s 36C breasts were still of pornographic excellence. She put her arms up, and stretched. I slowly licked up the side of her left breast, and tickled her left armpit, with my tongue, tasting the slight salt there. We both had a hang up over body smells, which always made early morning sex less than spontaneous, in that it always occurred in the shower. Or rather started there. It could end anywhere. I simply adored Georgia’s clean smooth armpits. I moved over to a long, stiff nipple, and rolled it around, with my tongue. She moaned and stroked my untidy, curly blonde hair. beylikdüzü escort Slowly; almost sending me to sleep. This was going to be languorous loving, not slammed against the shower wall, urgent kissing, hard finger thrusting, love biting, back clawing, desperate sex, that was our morning routine.

I moved over two Georgia’s right nipple, and shamelessly groped her left breast. She liked to have them squeezed hard; much harder than I could ever tolerate. My left hand drifted downwards to Georgia’s soft bald mound. Her pelvis rose, as a reflex action, but I moved up to her belly, stroking and feeling the muscles quiver. Her pussy was going to have to wait.

I sat up and peeled off my nightie. Georgia smiled, then bared her teeth, and hissed at me; feral now. She sat up and I tilted my head to the left. I shivered slightly; that little bit of fear, which never left me. Ever so gently Georgia bit me on my neck, sucking my longest scar into her mouth. This was an exercise in trust. The skin was both slightly numb, and extra sensitive. Too light a touch hurt as much as too hard. Just the right amount sent little electric shocks, dancing up into my face. Pleasure, which only Georgia could give to me. When I touch my neck, it always hurts, and Georgia has been my one and only lover, so I do not know if anybody else could do it. Nor do I intend to find out. She then moved up and did the same to my face. I have six pale scars on my right cheek. They could have been drawn on by a small child. I refuse to hide them, with either my hair, or make up. Nor would Georgia let me.

Finally she nibbled my tiny right earlobe. My right ear had been sliced off completely, and sewn back on; and has the least sensation of all. I shivered when she poked her tongue gently into my ear hole. Later she would do the same to my left ear, which would turn on a mysterious tap in my pussy, and I would flood. My right ear was no longer connected, to there, unfortunately. I gently pulled away.

“What about when I’m fat and ugly?”

“You’re incapable of ugliness, Charley.”

“I’ll soon be a whale, with piles, varicose veins, stretch marks, and tits around my knees. And somebody else will have first call on those tits.”

“I certainly hope so. I’ve seen how people stare at your face. They often ask me. The better ones admire you. But they still don’t see what I see. Charley, it was you who changed me from a very naughty girl, into a slightly naughty woman. You’ll be a fantastic mum. And so will I.”

Tears were running slowly down Georgia’s sculpted cheeks; a very rare occurrence indeed.

It had taken me a long time to realise that being a goddess was a gift, and a curse.

I leaned forward and kissed her lightly. Forehead. Nose. Lips. My tongue was invited in, and made its customary inspection, of its little friend’s wet, warm home. Everything seemed in order, and Georgia’s tongue gracefully accepted the offer of a dance. We had named them. My tongue was Ginger; Georgia’s was Fred, and they slipped into their familiar routines, ones they never tired of. Fred was soon keen to check Ginger’s domestic hygiene, and I hope he was satisfied. Especially as he had visited but a few hours earlier.

I was happy to leave my tongue to its own devices, semi autonomous organ that it was, and get to grips with my favourite part of Georgia’s body.

Georgia, esenyurt escort being a goddess, could read my mind, and was letting me take the lead, sensing my need.

Georgia had taught me the tongue in ear trick (well, who else would?) and she responded in exactly the same way. That night there was no need. Her quim was soaking. Pity that I had changed the sheets that morning. She snorted, as I stroked, up and down her slit. I was tempted to ask Fred and Ginger to stop dancing, but decided against it. Ginger would be performing a different dance pretty soon. I soon found Georgia’s hard pierced clit, and rolled it with my thumb, and finally slipped two, apparently huge, fingers into my lover’s pussy. She snorted, even louder. Fred bowed, to applause, and went home. Our lips parted.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Charley, your fingers are like a cock. Only better. Fuck me harder. Stick three in. Yes. Yes, oh my God, I’m gonna burst.”

I slipped down the bed and settled between Georgia’s powerful thighs, seasonally pale and interesting. Ginger had changed out of her dancing clothes, and donned her wetsuit, in preparation for some hydraulic engineering. Georgia had clearly sprung a leak, and three fingers in the dyke, were just making it worse. She did not seem to notice my massive snort, at my own bad pun.

Ginger Rogers went to work with gusto, presumably thinking that Georgia’s clitoris was some sort of stop cock. She was evidently turning it the wrong way. I think my tongue should really be named Fred, as its reaction to Georgia’s vaginal tidal wave was, like a man, just to persevere with its failed strategy.

Georgia’s back arched and her pelvis bucked hard, squashing my nose, and making me sneeze. Her pelvic floor contracted so hard that my fingers were ejected, with a slurpy pop.

Georgia flopped back down, then grabbed my hair and yanked me, roughly, back up the bed. She gripped my head, with both hands, and kissed me fiercely. Fred had also changed, and was ready for a vigorous game of tonsil tennis. This always made me gag, a bit. Ginger finally sent him home, and shut the door.

“I thought you were the one having the baby?” said Georgia.

“Are you going to take me, then, like a big butch dyke? Shaft my delicate fem muffin?”

I pushed my knees firmly together, and crossed my arms, over my small boobs.

“Please don’t be rough with me, George.”

The goddess just laughed, her eyes twinkling. Georgia has never used toys with me. What she did with other women, was her business. She has got more faithful, if anything, over the years.

Georgia loved arse play. And tribbing. She was a tribbing athlete.

Within seconds we were locked; bald, wet pussy, to bald, wet pussy, lips squelching against each other. Georgia maintained that our labia were mirror images of each other. I didn’t care, as I sucked on her big toe, and ground to Georgia’s rhythm. I had a brief twinge of fear, as if a flashback was approaching, but it was actually a fucking enormous orgasm, rolling in from some distant shore, gaining height, and crashing over me. I had to let go of Georgia’s toe.

“Yes, you fucking goddess. You’ve fucked me good. I’m going to have our baby.”


And so I am. Damned soon. I don’t have varicose veins, but I do have piles, stretch marks and cartoon sized breasts. I feel like a whale.

The contractions are now five minutes apart.

Georgia has just gone downstairs, to let the midwife in.

Home birth? Yes.

Water birth? I’m a hydraulic engineer. No way. Leave that to the whales.

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