Delia realised that, though deeply in love with Johnnie, she worshipped the hard conquering cock inside her with an insatiable and joyous lust. She felt no remorse – indeed she felt elated – as the waves of sexual relief had swept through her body twice. She turned onto her side with a satisfied smile and slept like a baby not caring that Pierre’s offering was trickling into her nightie.
The following day the two French pals, laden with luggage, were seen off at the station, Delia and Pierre exchanged gentle kisses and an appreciative squeeze of the hands. They never met again.
That evening, after her mother – in an unusually happy mood – had retired to bed, Delia, with a touch of guilt, allowed Johnnie an exploratory penetration of her, providing that he remained quite still, making no attempt to copulate. She relived the magical moments of the previous evening, relishing the sensations inside her rather than remembering the youth himself. After all, he had only been the carrier of the God in his cock. The youth was unimportant. After a quiet orgasm, she asked Johnnie to withdraw, before she took his handkerchief to manipulate him to his own spluttering climax before her father returned home from his late shift.
There was a murmur of approval from the company as Julie’s tale ended.
‘And did she and Johnnie become engaged?’
‘Why, of course. It’s what everyone expected. And society would allow no other course! But she never forgot that French youth’s mystical fuck. She decided, indeed, that she would seek out other discreet men to frolic with, to share her feminine delights.’
‘And what about Johnnie?’
‘Him too! Several mistresses. On the quiet, of course.’