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All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters Who Are 18+ Years Old
Arlene Hart woke up snuggled into Ted Trotter’s ribs. She peered in the darkness, across his regularly rising and falling chest, at her sleeping eighteen-year-old daughter, similarly curled up against Ted’s left side. Looking past Cynthia’s disheveled brunette hair, she saw the luminous face of her Big Ben alarm clock. “Ten to eleven,” she thought to herself, “is this a fairy tale? Will everything end at midnight?”
She traced her ruby red right index fingernail, in a light zigzag under the covers, over Ted’s torso. Crossing his hard pectorals and flat stomach, she twirled the tip in his navel, like water swirling down a drain. He moaned. His head rolled in her direction on the pillow, but he remained asleep.
Not so, his cock. When she left his belly button, and tickled her way through the narrow coarse path of curly hairs leading to his groin, it lifted its head and greeted the explorer. Arlene rubbed the engorged plum’s chin, then closed her hand soft around Ted’s hard thickness. She smiled and kissed his closed lips. His eyes fluttered and his dick flexed.
Ted opened his mouth and breathed, “Arly.” Turning over onto his right side, he disturbed Cynthia only slightly. She cooed in her sleep and flattened her placid face against Trotter’s broad bare back as she settled back into her dreams. Her left arm rested on his side; her elbow at his hip and her hand tucked in his armpit.
“Right here, Tickler,” Arlene whispered back, squeezing his erection while she slid herself fractional inches closer. “Just waiting for you… to wake up.” She pressed her nose to the side of his and kissed him slowly and deeply. He groaned in the back of his throat. She opened her hips and guided him to her.
With minute scrunching adjustments, Ted and Arlene connected. His prick pushed past her outer guard and eased carefully into her hall. She sighed and squirmed until his stout staff was caught. “Don’t move… let me,” she said, sotto voce, breaking their kiss. Ted closed his eyes as her cunt muscles tightened and relaxed, coaxing and soothing his bone.
Arlene slowly rotated her hips while she tugged on Ted’s tool. He could not help but flex excitedly in her channel. His left hand slid up from her waist and covered her full mature right breast as it compressed against his chest. Worming his thumb along the soft under tissue, he played with her rubbery plump nipple. Arlene mewled her appreciation and sought his mouth again.
Their lazy external movements belied the flashing turmoil in their bodies. Arlene’s stomach churned, her heart yearned, and her pussy burned around Ted’s torch. Every squeeze, every flex, every grating grind of their pubic bones lifted their spirits and raised their tension. Arlene chirred and Ted gnarred. She bit his lip when she came. Ted tightened and lunged. He poured himself into her ewer and growled.
Ted’s rumbling echoed through his back and woke Cynthia. While he lay fixed in her mother, filling her with his hot essence, Cynthia moved her hand to his taught ass and then between his legs. Holding his tightened tennis-ball scrotum firmly in her palm, she pressed her fingertips hard against the root of his root. “Save something for ME, Mr. Trotter,” she hissed into the back of his neck.
Surprised, but already satisfied and not angry, Arlene flopped onto her back and disengaged Ted’s rock-hard dick. Reaching to her bedside table, she grabbed a Trojan packet and said, “Yes, Tickler, ‘save something’ for Cynthia. You can put it in THIS!” She laughed, sat up and swiftly applied the sheath to his sword.
“Hooray!” Cynthia exclaimed as Trotter rolled left and faced her. She threw the rest of the blankets off the bed entirely and hugged him. Trotter pulled the excited nymph upward and latched onto her proud puffy left areola. His tongue teased her marble and raced circles around the swollen crown in his mouth.
Cynthia tossed her head and clasped him to her tit as he rolled her further left. Spreading her legs, she raked his bowed back with her nails until he found and speared her. She exhaled her deep satisfaction as her brunette bush merged with his curly forest and her teenage cunt gripped his void filling erection.
Sliding his hands behind Cynthia’s back, Ted traded off tits and pulled her hard to his sucking maw. She locked her legs behind his butt and he straightened up, sat back on his heels and drove his cock to her depths. Her bottom bounced on his stretched quads while he pounded up into her pussy.
Arlene, turned on by the show and her daughter’s non-stop squeals and whimpers, stuffed her hand in her dripping cunt and plundered herself in concert. Trotter seized up and froze with a renewed powerful ejaculation. Cynthia hollered at the ceiling, and her mother howled with her, as they all came within split-seconds of each other.
Three hours, two more fucks, and another condom güvenilir bahis later, Trotter tottered from the Hart duplex, worn out and weary. He drove home in a daze and dragged himself into his own brass bed beside his wife, Mary. Still in a stupor from the barbiturates Dr. Sparks gave her, she mumbled, in a long low decrescendo, “‘Zatchew… Eli…Papa…Freddy?”
Trotter crossed his tired eyes and knit his brow. He waited to hear more of the nearly inaudible, half-coherent muttered murmur. When nothing further came, and Mary returned to her deeper drugged sleep, he pondered the names he thought he heard. “Poor dear,” he thought. “Searching her dreams for the important men in her life.” He fell asleep misunderstanding and thinking that his name was the last one she uttered.
Somewhere, in the surrounding countryside, a farmer’s cock crowed the dawn. At 1024 Oak Avenue, in the McGuinness master bedroom, Jock’s cock crowed its own alarm as it rose, hard and ready, beneath the hem of Isabel’s flannel nightgown and between the soft cheeks of her broad bottom. “Arthur be damned,” Jock said to himself as he hugged his burly chest against his wife’s warm back.
Extending his hug, he hefted her heavy right boob and fiddled her nub until it plumped and throbbed between his thumb and forefinger. Isabel woke slowly and pushed her ass responsively against him. “G’morning,’ she said into her pillow as her body’s jangling nerves roused her. Completely forgetting that her visiting grandson was sleeping, within earshot, just across the hall, she spun slowly in her husband’s arms and kissed his bristly wrinkles on her way to his mouth.
Disbelieving the good fortune of her cooperation, Jock still eagerly sought to reinforce it. He pulled Isabel closer and probed her lips with his tongue, exactly as he had done five hours earlier in Greta Van Der Molen’s pink-and-yellow pussy. Isabel moaned and sucked his tip deeper while she raised her left leg over his thigh.
Thirty years of marriage, and countless extracurricular fucks, did nothing to curb Jock’s loving lust for his bride, whom he still saw in his mind’s eye as a virgin in a white muslin nightdress at the Wheeler Hotel. His fat dick slid happily, easily, into Isabel’s warm wet cunt. She squeezed him with all her might as he clasped her to him.
They rocked as one, moaning into each other’s mouths, while the bed springs creaked their accompaniment. Jock took his time, enjoying the strong fibrous muscles milking his sliding bone. Isabel slowly rose to a bubbling soft boil and then suddenly flared. Her orgasm erupted. Clenching her fists, she grabbed handfuls of Jock’s pajama top and beat upon his back. Her toes curled and her temples pounded. Jock stiffened inside her and out. His ultimate thrust secured her while he burst his nuts and sent his best love.
As they lay glowing and recovering, Arthur knocked politely on their bedroom door, unaware of anything specific, but knowing his grandparents were awake. “Grandma? Grandpa? I’m hungry. Can I have a bowl of cereal? It won’t spoil breakfast, I promise.”
Isabel and Jock grinned, despite the interruption, at the nine-year-old’s sweet plaintive pledge. Isabel called back through the door, “Yes, Sweetie. There’s Wheaties in the cupboard and milk in the refrigerator.” She kissed Jock nose. “I’ll fix us all pancakes in a little while.”
A high girlish voice answered back, “Yay! PANCAKES, Artie! With strawberry preserves, Mama?”
“If there are any left, Cecie, then yes… Check the pantry and set out a jar if you find one. Strawberry season is only a few weeks away and we’ll be able to can more, soon,” Isabel replied to her nine-year-old daughter. “Now, go get some cereal. We’ll be out in a little bit.”
After Mass, Father Logan stood on the steps of St. Luke’s and greeted his departing flock. When the McGuinness-Trotter clan stepped into the May sunshine, he shook Ted’s hand. Knowing he was only there as a courtesy to his more devout mother-in-law, the priest said a quiet quick prayer, as he always did, for the enlightening salvation of the non-Catholic.
Mary seemed far away and sadly preoccupied. The priest touched her arm and said softly, “I am always here for you, my child, if you need anything.” These bland words almost always saw him through any situation with unknown particulars. Mary smiled and replied with a reedy voice, “Thank you, Father.” Then she turned away to join her husband, who already was halfway down the steps.
Isabel, however beamed and twittered, “What a wonderful sermon, Father. You always know how to touch me, it seems.”
Logan smiled outwardly, hiding his lascivious inner gloat, as he thought of how many times he had touched himself while listening to Isabel’s confessed sexual romps disguised as impure dreams. He would gladly fuck her himself but for his commitment to celibacy, which he did not believe extended to prohibit his masturbatory fantasies about the women of türkçe bahis the parish.
“You’re very kind, Mrs. McGuinness,” he said sincerely, as he memorized the way her ample mature bust pressed itself through the thin fabric of her dress. He counted its buttons so he could accurately mentally strip her when he returned to the rectory and jacked off. “Bless you for coming.” Turning to Jock, he shook his hand and said sternly, “I haven’t seen you in the confessional for some time, Mr. McGuinness. Please don’t lapse on The Lord!”
Jock grimaced at the chastisement and mumbled, “Alright, Father.” He shook his head slightly as he walked toward Mary and Ted, who were holding Arthur’s and Cecilia’s hands while they waited for him and Isabel. They all climbed into the Trotter’s Ford, with Cecie in the back, between her folks, and Arthur, up front, wedged between his mother and the passenger door. Piling out at Oak Avenue, the kids raced up to the garret to continue their critical dissection of Walt Disney’s ‘Pinocchio’ while the adults divided to other rooms in the bungalow.
Isabel tied on her Sunday Apron and fussed in the kitchen, appreciating, but refusing, Mary’s offered assistance with the mid-afternoon main meal. In the parlor, Jock and Ted began a cribbage game, while Mary leafed through the May ‘McCall’s’ issue. She hoped the new Phyllis Duganne serial would distract her from Eli Farragut’s death. It did not.
After being skunked twice, nearly double-skunked in the second game, Jock tossed in his cards. He was not angry, but he was tired of losing. “Thanks for the lessons, Ted,” he said, good-naturedly. “Think I’ll read some more ‘Roughing It’ until Isabel calls us to dinner.”
Ted looked at Mary and asked, “What about you… want to play some crib, Sugar Beet?”
Putting down her magazine, Mary replied, with a nice smile, “No thanks, Teddy. I think I’ll go upstairs and spend some time with the kids.” She stood, stretched and went into the hall.
“OK, then,” Trotter said to himself, under his breath. “I guess I’ll see what’s cooking.” He ambled easily from the parlor, leaving Jock to his book. Following his nose, he passed through the swinging kitchen door and saw Mary in front of the window, peeling potatoes over the sink.
Her bottom danced below her apron bow as she spun a spud in her left hand and pushed the peeler with her right. Periodically she crooked her elbow and dug an eye out. Her heavy right breast would then jiggle, in three-quarter profile, behind her bib-front. She hummed a nondescript tune. Ted’s cock thickened as he watched her move.
Slipping up behind her, he announced himself far enough away not to startle her, but too close for her to avoid his contact. “Hey there, Izzy,” he said softly. His hands squared up on her firm haunches while his swelling package nestled against her ass. His breath was warm and prickled her nape. “What’s in your… oven?”
Before she could answer, his left hand raced behind the bib, hefted her left boob and squeezed it back onto itself against her heart. Just as swiftly, he slipped his right hand under the apron’s drape and pushed her thin frock up, between her thighs. Grabbing her pussy’s lips, through three layers of cloth, he pressed his palm’s heel hard onto her hidden clitoris.
Isabel sucked in a deep breath, filling his palping left hand as her lungs inflated. She reflexively pulled away from his groping right hand, but only to shove her butt, even harder, onto the full-fledged boner in his trousers. He exerted extra force at all three pressure points and grinned over her shoulder as she gasped and panted.
“SSS-TOP it!” She hissed, even while her body demanded otherwise. “Jock could…”
“…come in here any moment?” Ted finished her protest with a question mark and then answered her for himself. “He’s reading Mark Twain. I bet that YOU will COME… in here… before he finishes his chapter.” Trotter nuzzled his mother-in-law’s neck and kissed her soft cheek. He rumbled in his throat, “What do YOU bet?”
Isabel fell back against Ted’s chest, dropped the peeler and potato into the sink and gripped the edge of the drain board with both hands. She groaned as Trotter’s hands manipulated her while he dry-humped her rear end. She did not want to violate her promise to God, certainly not so soon after making it, but she could not help the powerful urges Ted released.
Pushing back and locking her elbows, she spread her legs and stood rigid. Ted worked her brassiere’s lower edge up over her breast and tugged on her marble and halo, which now were guarded only by her flimsy slip and thin dress. She sucked her lower lip to quiet her whimpers as she felt her pussy drain beneath his crushing hand.
Ted released her cunt only for so long as it took him to crab the front of her dress and slip up her thighs. Diving below the material, he thrust his fingers sideways through her panties’ right leg seam and into her soaking wet hole. güvenilir bahis siteleri Her rayon briefs held him firmly in place, though he had nowhere else he wanted to be.
Breathing short rapid panting breaths, Isabel squeezed her vagina tightly around Ted’s probing digits. He knew he had her going when he felt the strong suction tugging his slicked knuckles. Extending his thumb, he rubbed her little man’s bald head and sent her into paroxysms. Isabel shook in the throes of her climax and collapsed. Ted whispered huskily, “Take a break, Izzy, I’ll tell the family that dinner will be a little late.”
Isabel nodded, and smiled wanly, as her son-in-law assisted her to a chair at the kitchen table. Mary, swinging through the door, saw Ted hovering solicitously about her mother’s shoulders, and exclaimed, “Mama! Is something the matter?” She rushed to the older woman’s other side and leaned down, peering into Isabel’s flushed face.
Ted shrugged and made a face, as if he knew nothing. “She seemed to FAINT… at the sink… I helped her…” He strategically trailed off his voice and words, letting Mary fill in the blanks.
Isabel raised her head and said, in a weak voice, which grew stronger as she spoke, “Just one of those hot flashes.” She said, truthfully, “It took my breath… away.” Patting her daughter’s hand she clarified, falsely, “It’s all part of The Change… I’ll be alright, really I will, honey.” Her facial color returned to normal as she dabbed small perspiration beads from her hairline with a napkin.
Mary and Ted had just straightened up when Jock, closely followed by the children, walked into the kitchen. “The ham smells terrific, Isabel,” the cuckold complimented. “No wonder everyone’s in the kitchen! When do we eat?”
“Thirty minutes, if you all will just get out of here and let me finish,” Isabel replied with a light laugh and a strong look at Ted. She pushed back her chair and stood, glad of the excuse to smooth her dress, and gladder still that her apron bib concealed the lines of her twisted bra, serpentined over the top of her left breast.
Isabel turned toward the sink as the family exited the room. Staring thoughtfully out the window, she juggled her loose boob back into its holster, picked up the last potato and peeler, and returned to her interrupted task. “I’m sorry, Father Logan. I’m such a weakling,” she thought with a sigh. Then, as an orgasmic aftershock twinged her twat, she smiled and mused, “I guess, if I have to risk perdition for another week, I might as well enjoy it.”
After coffee and chocolate cake, Jock and Ted set up the folding card table and chairs in the parlor while Arthur and Cecilia helped the women clear the dining room of the desert dishes. Jock called into the kitchen magnanimously, “LEAVE THE DISHES, Isabel… I’ll help you wash and dry them later. Let’s play BRIDGE!”
Mary, however, stepped into the parlor with another plan. Putting her arm around Ted’s waist, seeking his support, she said, “Mr. Farragut’s passing was so SUDDEN, Papa… I’m quite unable to concentrate.” She looked into her husband’s face. “Can’t we just go home? I’m so very tired.”
Chagrined, Jock immediately empathized. “Of course, Mare! You worked for the gentleman. I was forgetting how CLOSE you were to him… By all means, Ted, take Mary home. We’ll have our bridge game NEXT week.” He moved to Mary’s side and kissed her cheek sweetly. “I love you, Mare,” he said warmly. Then, turning to Arthur, he instructed, “Don’t forget your beanie, boy! I think I saw it on your Grandma’s sewing table.”
Back at 46 1/2 Garvey Street, Mary Trotter kissed her son and husband and bid them goodnight. Ted offered to make her another cambric tea and apologized that Dr. Sparks had not given him additional pills to help her sleep. “That’s OK, Teddy,” she said. “I’m so tired I’m sure I won’t need anything like that.” She patted Arthur’s towhead brush-cut and said sweetly to both of them, “Don’t wake me. Not even if the house is on fire! Fend for yourselves, I’m sure you both can get to school in the morning without me.”
Ted dropped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and guided him up the hall to the front room. “Come on, Champ. Give me another lesson in checkers, will you?” Mary watched them walk away and then closed the bedroom door. Reaching into her wardrobe, she pulled out the slate blue silk night gown Eli had given her at Christmas and laid it across the bed.
Stripping quickly, she put away her church clothes and then opened the top of Farragut’s last gift: A bottle of ‘Eau de Joy’ perfume, famously worn, according to Eli, by Joséphine Baker of the Folies Bergère. Mary daubed herself behind her ears, under her chin and, impulsively, she streaked two more large drops down her naked breasts and pinched her nipples. The perfume’s alcohol warmed them and her head swam with the rich fragrance.
Mary closed her eyes and slithered slowly into the slinky negligee. As she ran her hands, top down, across the sheer open-worked lace breastworks of its plunging V-neckline, she imagined the thin strong fingers of her oldest and favorite lover. She tweaked herself, then smoothed the bias cut gown over her tummy and hips.
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