MOTHER I WANT TO FUCK YOU ~"Mother, I want to..."~ --'The End', The Doors "Stop it, Chad!" Wilma whispered hotly. Chad was standing behind her in the kitchen. His arms around her narrow waist, he pulled her ass against his groin. She felt the moist, velvet soft warmth of his mouth on the nape of her neck. She could feel the hardness of his cock against the firm curve of her buttocks. This was a game that had gone to far. It had to stop. "Stop it, Chad!" she whispered again, more hotly. But his grip tightened. His tongue made a moist line up the side of her neck. She felt his teeth nip her earlobe lightly. She shivered as tingling sensations coursed her spine. Damnit! She felt like a puppet, and he was pulling all the right strings. "Your father's in the next room." She exhaled all the words in one sharp gush; he could feel the sides of her breasts rise then fall against his bulging biceps. Chad lifted his mouth from her neck where a moist, pale-brown curl clung to the skin. "He's watching the ball game. He can't hear anything." "Let me go, Chad! I mean it, now!" Her small, soft hands found his and tried in vain to loosen their grip. Her ass ground against his erection as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. "Kiss me like last time, and I'll let you go," he said. "Noooaah," she moaned. Arching her back, she strained against his grip, but he was too strong for her. "Just one kiss, then I'll let you go, " he cajoled. Why had she kissed him before? Now he expected it as a matter of course. She sighed. He turned her so that her back was against the refrigerator. He lifted her slightly to her tiptoes. She closed her eyes. His mouth touched hers. She neither resisted nor responded. She remained outwardly aloof. His tongue parted her lips. She let it. His tongue entered her. She felt herself giving back...slightly. His hand pulled at her short skirt, drawing it up. How far was he prepared to go? she wondered. How far was she? "Honey, get me another beer," a voice called out from the living room. Where the hell's Chad; he's gonna miss the game if he doesn't get his butt back in here." I'm coming, dad," Chad called out hoarsely. And he almost had been. He released his mother. She turned to the sink, away from him, where she had been grating carrots. Chad got a beer out of the frig and went into the living room. * * * Friday night was barbecue night. Out on the back lawn, porterhouse steaks were broiling on a gas grill, looked over by Chad's father who periodically basted the meat while downing an occasional beer replenished from an ice-filled tub. "Damnit, don't use fork tines to turn'em, Bill," uncle Charlie, called out from the patio, where he was dancing with Chad's mother. "You'll let out all the juices. Shouldn't turn'em but once anyway." A medley of oldies filled the star-filled night air: Rock Around the Clock; The Girl Can't Help It; La Bamba; Mixed with some slow numbers: Donna; True Love Ways; Teen Angel; etc. Chad sat in the padded couch swing under and elm tree and watched the partying antics of his relatives and friends of the family while sipping on a beer uncle Charlie had smuggled to him. There was plump aunt Alice, Charlie's wife, feet propped up on the lounger, sipping ice tea with a slice of lemon and a generous portion of Kentucky bourbon. His cousins, Jake and Carol, were on the patio dancing, also, with children of his father's truck-driving buddies: Bruce with his good-looking wife, Sheena; and David with his slender wife, Helen. All of whom were sitting around in lawn chairs, smoking and talking while waiting for their steaks to get done. Chad wasn't sure how many beers he'd had, but enough, for things were beginning to turn fuzzy. Sound and sight were beginning to mesh uncontrollably in those crazy trackings that foretell drunkenness. He didn't feel sick, though. In fact he felt great. His mother had her light-brown hair fixed up in a swirl at the back of her head. She was easily the best looking woman there. Petite, shapely. She was wearing an ankle length peasant dress that left her shoulders bared. Her full breasts jiggled provocatively under the thin fabric. A narrow elastic band held the dress up over her breasts. There was another band drawing in her waist. She was barefoot. It was dark except for the flickering lights of several flambeaux stuck into the ground like spears. Cigars and cigarettes made their tiny meteoric flashes through drifting unctions of smoke. Words came and went without any discernible meaning. Laughter would spill out, then die. The world was a meaningless jumble of nonsense. At some point, Chad thought he saw uncle Charlie palm his mother's bare tit, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe a trick of light. They were dancing slow and close. Uncle Charlie had his hands on her ass, pulling her to him. They moved back into the shadows of a dogwood next to the patio. Were they kissing? Chad grew hot, jealousy singed him. Then there was anger: Him? Why not me? There was a space of time when he must have dozed, for suddenly he was aware of someone sitting in the swing next to him. A warm thigh touched his. A cool hand touched his cheek. He smelled talc and whiskey and the faint fragrance of skin cream, perfume, all swirled deliciously together. Some of the party--the men--had moved downstairs to the rec room to watch a ball game. Aunt Alice was snoring on the lounger. Sheena and Helen were sitting at the picnic table still eating. His two cousins were out of sight, probably playing video games in the living room with the other kids. "I see Charlie's been up to his old tricks," his mother said, studying him. She brushed at a lock of hair that curled over his forehead. "He gets a kick out of getting you drunk. I'm going to have to get on him about this." Sheena and Helen chuckled. "That's Charlie for you, Wilma," Sheena said. "C'mon," she said. nudging him up. "I'd better get you to bed." She put his arm around her shoulders and guided him toward the patio doors. Dozens of moths circled the outdoor light. She waved them from her face and hair as she helped her tottering son inside. In the dining room, she made a left through the kitchen, avoiding the living room where she could hear the buzzing, binging sounds of a video game in progress. In the hallway, leading to the bedrooms, male laughter and muffled conversation reverberated up the basement steps off the laundry room. When she had Chad in his darkened bedroom, she started to flick on the light switch, but as she did so he suddenly pushed her up against the wall holding her by her wrists and began kissing her hungrily on the neck and shoulders. "Chad, stop it," she cried out softly. "You're drunk." "Mother, I want to..." he muttered. She heard the word that he whispered in her ear. "No...no..." Before she could stop him, he released her wrists and jerked her dress completely down where it piled on the floor around her ankles. She was naked but for a pair of bikini panties. She made tiny shrieking sounds in her throat as he dragged her suddenly toward his unmade bed. They stumbled together and fell onto it. Clumsily, he crawled on top of her grabbing her wrists and forcing them above her head. Her gold watch band snapped and fell to the rug. He kissed her face frantically as she jerked her body beneath him in a futile attempt to buck him off. In time she exhausted herself. Too weak to resist, she lay passively beneath him as he began to kiss her breasts, licking and sucking on the nipples, which began to grow firmer with each flick of his tongue. "Stop," she moaned. "Someone might come." He reached down into her panties. She could feel the palm of his hand brush the hairs of her cunt. Then she gasped sharply as his fingers found her clit. Delicious sensations suddenly raced through her. Her body tensed with ecstasy. He stood up by the side of the bed and quickly took off his clothes. "No," she whispered, but it was futile. She no longer wanted him to stop. He pulled her panties off. She lay naked before him. She stared at his cock in the semi-darkness. It seemed huge. The bedroom door was open. At any moment someone might come. He positioned his youthful, hard-muscled body over her. She moved her legs apart, then bended them. She took his cock in her hand and held it against her cunt. For a moment there was breathless anticipation, then she felt his cockhead begin to slide into her. She was wet and took all of him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into her, holding him in her. She pulled his face down to hers, forced her tongue into his mouth, sucking it as deeply into her throat as she could. She was wild with sensations. She flexed her cunt muscles, milking him. She wanted his cum in her, filling her. He tensed; his muscles grew as taut as steel. He began ramming his hips into her hard and fast. His cock spewing his cum into her with that gushing, intense force only the young can muster up. Then they lay still together; their sticky bodies locked together. And from the living room came the buzz-bing sounds of a video game. "C'mon! c'mon!" Carol was crying out. "Let me have it! My turn now. Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it to me!" Sister Caroline by Willailla Young Matthew Burke was in his room, lying on his bed, propped up on two pillows, whacking off. He had the radio set low on the Christian Broadcasting Station. Patty Jane was preaching a sermon about the redemptive power of God's divine lovaaaah. Matthew was holding a copy of Slut magazine open to page 39 which had a picture of a gorgeous blonde, butt naked. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever whacked off to. Her face was in profile; the forehead nicely rounded, the nose just slightly curved up. Pert is what he would have called it. There was a hint of blue in the eye, but it was hard to tell due to the angle of the shot. Her thick, wavy hair was fixed up on her head, really sexy. She was sitting on her doubled-up legs with her round, firm ass resting on a pair of purple, spiked heels; her back was arched seductively, her small but shapely tits thrust out to a pair of hairy male hands. The rest of him was off camera. Matthew tried to imagine himself in the man's place, reaching for those ripe, firm tits. His dick swelled harder in his hand just thinking about it. A tormenting tingle in his cock told him he'd better be careful and not squeeze too hard if he wanted to prolong his ecstasy awhile longer. He slacked off, pacing himself. He didn't want to blow this feeling. He could hear the muffled voices of the family downstairs reading passages of scripture out of the Bible to each other. It was a mandatory family ritual always held at the dinning table after dishes had been washed and put away. His sister, Caroline, the oldest of the siblings, was down there, back from Appalachian State for a weekend visit; he could hear her gay laughter and bright voice reach up the stairwell. His brother John, the second oldest, with that deep baritone voice, was down there along with his two other brothers, Mark and Luke, the third and fourth born respectively. He should have been down there, too, but he had pleaded to not feeling well, and his mother had felt his head and said she thought he might be coming down with a fever. He had a fever all right, and it was burning out of control right between his legs. His rod was reaching critical mass; a complete melt down was imminent. He squeezed once more -- too tightly he suddenly realized. If he loosened his grip even slightly he would cum all over the place. He knew from the intense pressure in his balls that it would be a squirter. The last time he had shot off, with that much pressure, his cum had hit the ceiling over his bed, a good eight feet. He was hurriedly searching for something to wrap over his dick when he heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs and a gentle rap at his door. He only had time to pull a sheet over his naked body before his mother walked in. She was holding a glass of water in one hand and two tablets of ground willow bark in the other. "Here," she said with a guilty smile, holding the glass out to him. "But don't let your father know about the willow bark; you know how he is about medicines, even if they are of nature." He reached for the glass with his left hand, clinging fiercely to his cock with his right. But you can't beat the Lord. For at the same time she held out her hand with the willow bark, an expectant look on her mature, pretty face, an older version of his sister, Caroline. "I shouldn't be giving you these, but I worry sometimes that prayer may not be enough." Matthew opened his mouth and made an gah, gah sound. "Oh, you big baby; I thought you had gotten over your aversion to swallowing these a long time ago. Matthew smiled shyly and shrugged his bare shoulders. "Well," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting his thigh, squeezing it just below his crotch. "They won't kill you; and maybe they'll knock that fever before it gets any worse." She patted his stomach, a motion which drew the sheet tighter over the head of his cock. It was all he could manage to keep from cuming. She popped one tablet in his mouth and waited for him to wash it down, then the other. She took the glass from him and set it on the night stand, then touched her hand to his forehead. It was soft and cool against his feverish brow. Her eyes searched his as if looking for a name to place on his illness. She brushed her finger tips through his short hair. Tingling sensations raced down his spine straight through to his dick. It stiffened even more painfully. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled of wash soap. Her soft, full breasts touched his chest. Her soft, cool hand moved down his chest, pushing the sheet down. She rubbed the palm of her hand over his belly; the motion sent shock waves to his cock. It was more than he could bear. His body shook; she drew back and, as she did so, the heat of their lips touched briefly. He could feel cum spewing out of his cock, cradling into a warm, wet goo in the sheet. She leaned over to the night stand and flicked off the lamp. "Better try to get some sleep," she said softly, then she kissed his forehead as if he were still a little child. When she was gone he got onto his knees by the bed and prayed for two hours to be forgiven for giving into temptation, promising, as he had so many times before, that he would never do it again and begging the Lord to take away this hunger in the flesh. But a persistent itch in his crotch made him wonder if anyone had been listening. . Early the next morning he heard the bustling sounds of everyone getting ready to leave for Sunday morning services at Mount Pentecostal Church of Our Divine Lord and Savior. His mother came in, at one point in the hurly-burly, dressed in a long, conservative summer dress, and began fussing over him, praying for a healing, then making him drink a glass of fresh herbal juice that tasted like cow dung and vinegar. "Caroline will stay with you just in case," she said, fluffing his pillows as if he were an invalid. "Aw, mom, I'll be OK." He was already thinking about the blonde on page 39. If everyone was gone he could whack off without fear of interruption. But it was not to be. As soon as the sound of the family car had faded in the distance, Caroline sashayed into his room. "Alone at last, huh, Matt?" she said, reaching out playfully and tousling his hair. Being at college had given his sister more maturity. She was prettier now, much prettier than those fancy, secular girls-- even without their make-up. Her thick, wavy, blonde hair hung halfway down her back where her waist seemed unbelievably narrow. He had already achieved another fierce erection before she came in, and, in desperation, he held it pressed flat against his belly, with the palm of his hand, where it squirmed defiantly as if with a will of its own. "Praise the Lord! What a glorious morning!" she enthused, going to the window. She placed her palms on the sill and leaned forward peering out, her pert nose almost touching the glass. She was wearing a long-sleeved, white blouse with a pilgrim collar and over it a brown, shoulder-strapped, ankle length dress. On her feet she wore a pair of low heeled pumps with white socks. As she leaned there, looking out, Matthew found himself examining her profile. She had a beautifully curved forehead and what would have been a straight Roman nose but for a very slight upward turn. Her lips were not what one would call full but were nicely shaped and puffed out slightly as if begging to be kissed. Her breasts were small but pressed enticingly against her blouse. The waist, as noted, was firm and narrow; the back had a proud arch below which a round, perfect ass jutted seductively. With a shock, Matthew suddenly realized that his sister, Caroline, looked like the girl on page 39 without all the make-up. And with that realization came a revelation as to why he had found the girl on page 39 so particularly appealing. She was the embodiment of all the suppressed, incestuous fantasies that he had ever had for his sister but would never admit to himself for fear of incurring God's divine wrath. He felt his dick do a rapid series of flips into an unbearable, aching hardness. God! He wanted to fuck his sister! Shame washed over him but could not replace the flaming lust the thought had kindled. He moved his legs apart to lessen the pressure on his balls, and, with horror, he heard the unmistakable sound of a magazine falling onto the hardwood floor. He had placed his copy of Slut under the sheet when he heard her coming up the steps. He grimaced, sucking in his breath through clenched teeth. His cock died in his hand as his sister bent over. She straightened slowly, her solemn face as unreadable as the Sphinx's as she held the magazine before her with both hands and stared at the cover: a green-haired midget giving head to a superbly hung black man, cum flowing copiously from the corners of her mouth. "I think I see the source of your fever now, Matthew," was all she finally said in a deadened tone. She started flipping through the pages, and, naturally, it opened to page 39 out of habit. Insentient things have a memory, too. As if mesmerized, she wandered, around the foot of the bed and sat down at his feet, crossing her legs and smoothing 39 out against her lap. She cleared her throat, and what she said next surprised him; he had expected a tirade; instead, she merely asked him a question. "Do you think she is pretty, Matthew?" She tapped at 39 with a slender finger. Her question seemed sparked by a sincere desire to know and not by malice. Then, "With all that whorish make-up, the painted lips and cheeks, the false eyelashes?" she added, primly. Matthew didn't know how to answer. He sensed a trap. Was there a volcano shimmering behind those glowing, blue eyes she fixed on him? Was she waiting for some sign of contrition on his part before she exploded in a righteous fury? He was dead meat. She would tell his father, and it would be the woodshed. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' He sensed that begging would not reduce the severity of his punishment. "Would you not feel ashamed if your sister posed in such a magazine knowing that all manner of men would be gazing upon her naked flesh with unbridled lust?" "I wish it were you!" Matthew blurted out without thinking, and was almost certain he could hear Satan and all his minions rejoicing. "Oh, your ass is gonna fry, boy," Satan whispered gleefully in his ear, while waving a huge, purple-veined prick in front of him. "Maybe I wouldn't measure up to your fantasies," she said, as if challenging him. "When I saw you," he stammered, feeling his cock stir, "leaning at the window just now, I realized how much I wanted to see you naked; how much I wanted to --" "Wanted to what, Matthew?" "You know . . . . . . . . . . . . . do it." In for a penny, in for a pound. Dead meat for sure. He thought he detected a faint redness forming on her cheeks. Her breasts rose as she took a deep breath. "What if --" She placed a trembling hand on his thigh, just above the knee. He could feel his cock regaining its former rigidity. He was unable to hide the fact as the sheet rose like a tent over his crotch. She meditated on this resurrection for a long moment, then turned her back to him. "Unzip me," she ordered, raising her hair up with both hands. He sat up, dizzy with need, unable to believe what was happening was really happening; it had to be a dream. He was hesitant to touch her, afraid the spell would be broken. His sister; Jesus God, his sister! He gripped the plastic tab between the flaps of her collar with trembling fingers. She didn't move. She waited. He heard a faint gasp as he tugged at the zipper. When he had taken it down as far as it would go, he dropped his hand, waiting, his heart pounding, to see what would happen next. She released her hair, letting it cascade down to the small of her back. Matthew wanted to bury his face in the thick, fleecy waves as desperately as a man dying of thirst in a desert would want to plunge himself into a cool, glittering waterfall. She stood and let the dress fall about her ankles, then turned and faced him. There was a cool, proud look on her face. Her blue eyes were fixed on his. Slowly, so very slowly, she began to unbutton her blouse starting with the bottom button first. Matthew stared at her bare legs; he had never seen his sister's legs bared before. Her striptease was like some exotic mystery of life finally being revealed to him; like some miraculous event about to occur. The blouse came off and joined the dress on the floor. All she had left on besides her pumps and socks were her bra and panties. Matthew froze, his breath caught in his throat, as she reached behind herself and loosened the bra. He was beside himself as her twin globes of perfection became visible. She let the bra slide down her arms and drop to the floor. Her eyes seemed to be hot pools of blue, glowing with an inner heat, her cheeks scarlet flames. She slowly moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. It was all Matthew could do to keep from cuming. He didn't dare touch his throbbing cock: his fuck would cut through the sheet and cover the ceiling. His eyes roved wildly over the body of his almost naked sister. Soon, she would be totally naked; he would see it all. Nothing would be hidden from him. The anticipation was killing him. He caught his breath as his sister began pushing her panties down. He was as entranced as a grasshopper before a praying mantis and as helpless. He had no idea what he was to do or how he would do it, but he did know for certain that the answer to all his earnest prays, after all these years, was here, at last, lying between his sister's thighs. And then came the revelation: her pussy. He could see it. The hairs were as blonde as those on her head. The flaxen mound rose up from the flat plain of her belly like a tempting oasis. He could see the faint, pink line of her pussy lips through the bush, tight and swollen looking. The hairs along this byway were wet and glistening. He had learned from his readings, in other journals of depravity, that this meant a woman was eager for sex. Was it possible that his sister was as turned-on as he was? It couldn't be; and yet, would she be standing before him naked otherwise? Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly, while her face had the wanton, benumbed look of someone who is under the influence of a strong potion. Matthew had never seen a real woman aroused, but he was certain these were the signs. Caroline kicked off her pumps, then -- standing first on one leg then the other -- with the nimble grace of a dancer, peeled off her socks. She pulled the sheet covering her brother down to the foot of the bed and, straddling his thighs, raised his rock hard cock off his lean belly; bending down she licked the tip with her velvet tongue. "I'm going to cum," Matthew groaned. It was far too soon for it to be over, but he couldn't wait a second longer. Caroline murmured something unintelligible as she lowered her mouth onto his rigid pole. "Oh, God!" Matthew exclaimed, squirming. Feeling her sweet tongue laving his love tube within the tight confines of her warm, wet mouth was too much to bear. A wild tingling sensation caused a sudden eruption of hot sperm from his swollen cockhead into his sister's throat. He could feel her working it like crazy as she swallowed load after load into her belly. When she had milked the last drop, she raised up and positioned her cunt directly over the head of his cock. Then slowly lowered herself. The soft pussy hairs were like tiny feathers stroking the tender head, bringing his cock back to life, harder than before. As she sank onto him her body quivered uncontrollably. "Oh-oh-oh," she murmured softly. As their bellies met, she leaned forward so that her cheek was against his. Her skin was hot with a tantalizing woman smell that was impossible to describe. Suddenly emboldened, Matthew placed his hands on her asscheeks, amazed at how soft and pliant they were and pulled her tight against him. An impulse to kiss her arose in him. The thought of kissing one's sister, of actually doing it, instead of just fantasizing, was exciting. Kissing one's sister on the mouth. It seemed almost more sinful than fucking her, more intimate, more perverse, and that made him want to do it all the more. But would she want to? He took a handful of her hair and raised her head up until their lips were barely touching. She looked in his eyes with wanton need and moistened her lips. He pulled her to him; their lips touched softly, then as their lust mounted, the kisses became more passionate, more crushing, more desperate, more wildly abandoned. Tongues slipped past lips building a raging heat that shot straight to their grinding centers. They hammered their naked bodies against each other, frantic for release. And when it came, like a thunderbolt, they collapsed, insensate, against each other; their mouths, wet with kissing, touched slightly, breathing in each other's breath. When Matthew woke, Caroline was fully dressed as before, leaning against the window sill looking out. He shook his head. Had he been dreaming? Had he only imagined having had sex with his sister? Turning, she saw that he was awake, and she came and sat on the bed beside him. A commotion downstairs signaled the family's return from church. My, God, had it all been a dream? His sister, a model of cool efficiency, pressed the palm of her hand against his forehead. At that moment his mother entered the room. "Well, how's the patient?" "He doesn't seem to have a fever anymore, praise the Lord," Caroline said. "It's the power of prayer," the mother said, with a knowing smile. "We all prayed for you in church for a healing." She turned and headed back out the door, then paused. "Lunch will be ready in a little while, Matthew. And say goodbye to your sister; she has to leave in a few minutes to go back to college." When his mother was gone, Matthew looked up at his sister who was standing now. "Did we -- ? Did we -- ?" "Did we what, silly?" she answered, with a playful tousle of his hair. "You know." She sighed tolerantly, then smiled. "No, my little brother, I don't know." She bent over and hugged him. "I'll see you in the fall," she called out cheerfully as she disappeared out the door. Alone, Matthew found his Slut magazine underneath the sheet and opened it, but the girl on page 39 was gone. MOTHERFUCKER by Willailla Connie had just finished putting away the last of the groceries and was turning to go into the living room to relax when she felt hands on her waist turning her. It was Jarred, her son's best friend. He pulled her close. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest flex against her breasts beneath the white T-shirt. At first she thought he was playing around with her. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth. For an instant, there was the moist warmth of his tongue in her, then he was gone, out the patio door, yelling back over his shoulder to Deek, her son, down the hall in his bedroom, that he'd see him tomorrow. She wandered into the living room and sat down on the sofa, placing her hands together in her lap and turning her head, unconsciously, from side to side.. Had it happened, she wondered? It seemed unreal. She must have imagined it. Jesus. "Hey, babe, get me another beer, okay?" Her husband Burt, ensconced in his recliner, glanced briefly at her over the sports section, then resumed reading. As she opened the refrigerator door, she heard the sound of Jarred's chopper throttle up and roar off. * "He kissed you?" Ruth asked incredulously. She set a fresh cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of Connie. "You're kidding, right? Jarred?" Ruth had been Connie's best friend for years. A divorcee with two failed marriages under her belt and presently dating a variety of men trying to find her Mr. Right again. Connie nodded. "It was...out of the blue. I still have a hard time believing it actually happened," she said, then added in a perplexed tone, "but I know it did." She added some cream to her coffee from a silver server and took a sip. "Did he give you any tongue?" Ruth teased. "I'm serious," Connie replied. "This is embarrassing. Deek's best friend. How am I going to handle this?" Ruth slowly drew a Tijuana Slim from a teak box on the table and lit it with a heavy, chrome lighter in the shape of an Aladdin's lamp. She peered at her friend, for a moment, through heavily-shadowed lids, letting smoke drift out between her teeth in slow, curling tendrils. What she saw was a fresh-faced woman in her early thirties who looked ten years younger. Shoulder-length blonde hair, cut straight across at the bottom and pulled back at the sides leaving her ears visible. Her eyes were wide and blue and the expression of innocence on her face truly mirrored her soul. She was, Ruth knew, naive about her sexual attractiveness. Raised by strict, God-fearing parents who had forced her to attend church every Sunday morning and evening and every Wednesday night, she had grown up lacking the opportunity to date many men, and, as a result, had not developed a sense of who she really was. She was taught to be the dutiful daughter who waited hand and foot on her father, then, later, on her husband; it was the only role, besides that of being the caring mother, she had ever known. And here she sat in her sleeveless, summer dress with her characteristically calm, demure manner, radiating subtle, sensual allure; her oval face serene, her breasts full and firm above a narrow waist and nicely calved legs. Ruth sighed. What a waste. "I think the best thing you can do is to ignore it," Ruth said. "Pretend it never happened." Ruth knew Jarred very well. Star quarterback, but a bad reputation. Gossip was that he had knocked up a cheerleader after beating her up and raping her. The girl's family had moved rather than bring charges against him and embarrass their daughter by making the affair public. Connie huffed faintly, puffing out her cheeks. "And how is that possible?" she said, with a resigned sigh, raising her hand, then letting it drop back into her lap. "Or you could play it out," Ruth offered, archly. "What do you mean?" She gave her dark-haired friend a quizzical look. "Simple. What I mean is, when he kissed you, did you like it?" Connie sank back into the sofa, crossing her legs, then stared at Ruth, raising a hand slowly to the hollow of her throat. For a moment she stroked the soft, white skin there with her fingernails. "It happened so suddenly...I ...I can't recall feeling anything...really...." "But something, yes?" Ruth prompted. "Maybe a little," she lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt where it had risen over her knees. "Well, why not go with your feelings--whatever they are. Let your feelings be your guide." "Are you suggesting that I--" Ruth held her hands up, palms toward Connie as if she were fending off an invisible dart. "I'm not suggesting anything. Just that you be in touch with your real feelings, then whatever you do will be right, no?" Connie didn't answer. Her gaze had suddenly taken on an unfocused, far-off look. * The blonde was naked, wrists and ankles taped securely to a straight-backed chair. A red ball gag was buried in her mouth. Leather thong straps cut cruelly into her cheeks. Her blue eyes were wide with terror as they focused on something off-camera. "Man, I'd like to fuck that," Deek said, clicking his mouse to enlarge the picture on his monitor. Jarred, standing behind him, glanced out the window above the monitor to where Deek's mother was hoeing in a small vegetable and herb garden. She was wearing blue shorts, red, sleeveless blouse and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Beyond was a vista of rolling meadows and woods scattered randomly. Fluffy white clouds drifted majestically through the brilliantly blue sky. "You know who she reminds me of?" Jarred said, distractedly. "No, who?" "Your mother." "No." "Oh, yeah. Pretty much so; only Connie's prettier." Jarred motioned out the window with a jerk of his head. "D'you ever think about what it would be like to fuck her?" "Do you with your mother?" Deek answered sarcastically. "I've done more than think about it." Deek turned to look up at his friend half curiously, half cynically. "Have we got a little bullshit piling up around here?" Jarred shrugged. Deek formed a mental image of Peggy Mercer, Jarred's mother. A pretty woman with long, wavy-brown hair. She and Jarred's father had been separated for years. He pictured Jarred on top of her. Both naked. Writhing hungrily. It was an unsettling image. "How did you get her to do it?" Deek asked, he knew his friend too long not to know when he was telling the truth. "Didn't have to do much; she wanted it as bad as I did. One evening, while we were talking about various things, she asked me if I'd ever smoked grass. I told her I had, and she asked me if I had any. Said she had done some in college. She was cool then, I guess. I got out my stash from the bottom drawer of my dresser. After we'd done a couple of joints; I turned the lights down low and the stereo up. It was like she was no longer my mother but just my best girl friend who was willing to do anything with me. Somewhere along the way we got naked and spent the whole night doing it." "Damn," Deek said, under his breath. "Damn." * Connie saw Deek and Jarred come out onto the patio. Jarred climbed on his sleek, black chopper and roared off. Deek waved at her and called out that he was on his way to the drive-in theater were he worked nights. Then he climbed in his Nova and barreled off, much to her annoyance. Gravel for the driveway wasn't cheap. She'd remind him of that tomorrow. She was wet with sweat as she entered the house. She closed the patio door behind her and took off her clothes in the laundry room, off the kitchen, and stuffed them into the washer to do later. She went to the bathroom and filled the tub and turned on the portable stereo sitting on the hamper. She lay with her head against the back of the tub, submerged in the warm, soapy water. She was faintly aroused, yet feeling guilty, remembering Jarred's kiss and the feel of his hard body against hers. What was it that Ruth had said? "Let your feelings be your guide." She moved her hand down her slippery belly to where her pubic hair began. There was a tingling sensation. She touched herself more deeply and trembled from a heady rush. She began to move against herself, closing her eyes, letting her fantasies run wild. The phone was ringing. She let it ring, hoping it would stop, but when it didn't, she realized it might be Burt who was doing a long-haul up to Canada. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the tub and wrapped a cheap, thin towel--one of the many Burt had taken from the anonymous motels he had stayed in--hurriedly around herself. She padded into the living room and glanced at the caller ID. It wasn't Burt's number; it was Jarred's. Why would he be calling when he had just left? "Wanna go for a ride?" Naked on the back of his motorcycle? She put the phone down and went into the dining room. Through the patio door she could see him straddling his motorcycle, parked on the patio. She hadn't heard him returning. When he saw her, he folded his cel-phone and put it in a holder on his monkey bars. She moved closer to the patio door, holding the towel pressed to her breasts. She realized she hadn't placed the Charley bar in the bottom groove of the door. He could come in anytime he wanted. But he made no move to do so. Instead, to her shock, he leaned back casually and unzipped his pants, taking out his cock. He began to masturbate slowly. His cock was big and uncircumcised. As he milked it harder, the foreskin slid back over the swollen, purple head. When he was fully hard, he jerked his cock rapidly until gray squirts of cum shot from the pee hole and onto the flag. When he was finished, he shook his cock off against his thigh and put it back in his pants. He started his bike and roared off. When the sound of the engine was no longer audible, she dropped the towel and stepped out onto the patio feeling a cum spot with her bare foot. Kneeling down on her hands and knees, almost as if she were mesmerized, she began to lap up his cum like a dog. It as still warm with the faint odor of bleach. She came suddenly, without warning. Her head slipped beneath the soapy bath water causing her to awake instantly; she rose up gurgling, her heart racing, her breathing labored; her climax had been so intense that her head throbbed with pain. * Sunday morning she put on her red, linen shirt-dress with a belt of leather tabs linked by colorful glass beads and a spaghetti-straps tie hanging down in the front. Carrying a pair of taupe high-heeled pumps with open toes, she set out across the meadow from the back of her house, as she usually did through the summer when the weather was nice, and walked to church, two miles distant. She hadn't bothered trying to get Deek to go with her. Since he rarely got in from work before 3am. And like his father, he didn't have much use for religion anyway. That always bothered her a little, but not enough to stifle the enjoyment of her solitary walks, listening to the birds chirping, feeling the sun warm on her skin, the fresh air, the breeze gently caressing her hair. These were the days that filled her with exuberance, an unbridled joy of being alive. She waded Miller's stream under a clump of piebald sycamore's and paused in the middle to stare down through the crystal clear water at her red-nailed feet wavering against the multi-hued, sandy bottom. Small minnows darted here and there over golden grains and speckled pebbles, like tiny birds' eggs, for the cover of smooth, mottled rocks the size of softballs. A dragonfly hovered for a moment about her face, sheening iridescently in the light, then zipped off, while long-legged water spiders skied jerkily by her calves. Nearer to the shore larger rocks peered above the water, their surfaces covered with splotches of green and white lichens. Dead, gray, branches of the sycamores--black and shiny where they had sunk into the water--lay nestled among clumps of Queene Anne's Lace, golden rods and dusty, tall grasses She made her way up a familiar path through the trees, brushing away a silvery spider's web, and finally came out into a meadow near an orange tube gate across a narrow, paved road from a brick church. In front, people were milling about socializing. Men in plain, short sleeves; women in colorful summer dresses. After the peace and quiet of her walk, Connie was reluctant to enter this preening gaggle of humanity. Holding onto the gate for balance, she slipped on her pumps, then waved at Peggy Mercer and Ruth, who were standing in the shade of a small maple talking, and joined them. As she did so, she saw Jarred astride his motorcycle, at the edge of the parking lot shaded by the church. The center of attention, it seemed, among a younger group of male and female admirers. Both Peggy and Ruth were with their current male suitors, so Connie separated from them and took a seat near the back when everyone filed into the church. The air conditioner wasn't working very well and several women began fanning themselves with circulars that were always stuck in the racks along with the hymnals. After the Sunday school classes were over and everyone had filed back in for the main service, Jarred startled her by sitting down next to her. They were the only ones seated toward the back. A few rows down, a little boy of four or five, with buck teeth, was standing, next to his mother, on the seat of his pew, staring backwards at Connie, his chubby hands gripping the scrolled top of the back rest. Spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth and there was a vacant, idiot look in his eyes. It was the Scott boy who had been born retarded. The mother was a fat, pear-shaped woman, with huge breasts and scraggly hair; semi-retarded herself. The father was a drunk who only worked when he needed another bottle. One of the elders got up to announce the page number of a hymn. There was a shuffling sound as people reached for their hymnals and pages were flipped. They remained seated for this one. Someone cleared his throat, and almost as if it had been a signal, the singing began, wavering slightly off key at first, then getting on track. "Precious Jesus..." Connie had sung the familiar words a thousand times. She was no longer even conscious of the words. They had become merely one, long, drawn-out sound. Jarred leaned toward her, pretending to share her hymnal. But the words he sang were not the ones in the hymnal" "Precious Jesus bring me ass / Precious Jesus make it fast." She felt the heat of his thigh against hers. He reached his hand out and touched her knee cap with the tip of his finger and slowly traced a circle. Softly he kneaded the flesh letting his fingertip follow every dip and hollow of the bones. He pressed, creating a white spot, waited, then pressed gently again. The tip of his finger felt unnaturally warm to her. She could get up and leave, but she knew she wouldn't. Besides he might follow her. Was he crazy enough to cause a scene? What had come over him all of a sudden? He moved the hem of her skirt up slightly and stroked his fingers lightly down the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. She pretended not to notice. She sang, keeping her eyes focused on the words, until they became blurred jumbles of nonsense as impossible to decipher as a secret code. Her voice faltered as he released the bottom button of her dress. The widening slit revealed more of her thighs. His fingers played along the tender flesh with a light, almost feathery touch. Her eyelids drooped. It was an effort not to become completely absorbed into the seductive touch of his hand. He squeezed the inside of her thigh and pushed the skirt farther up. Releasing another button. His hand was halfway up her thigh now. She gritted her teeth, without realizing, and trembled with each touch. Were they being watched? She didn't dare open her eyes to see. She heard a giggle. Was the idiot child staring at her? Drooling slobber down his chin? Was he enjoying the show? Was the child possessed by a demon sent to mock her? She pictured idiot eyes leering at her with evil intent. Suddenly, she found herself standing, unsteadily. The congregation was singing the final hymn posted on the escutcheon hanging on the wall next to the dais. There was a concluding prayer by Brother Orin and everyone started shuffling out. She had retreated too far within herself to stay focused on individual faces as people streamed by. In a few minutes she was alone. The sounds of cars starting and muffled voices reached her ears as if she were separated from the real world by a labyrinth of tunnels distorting every sound. * When she got home, Connie put her shoes on top of the washer and began unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. She paused at the doorway. Farther down, on the opposite side of the hall, Deek's door was slightly ajar. For a moment she stood there, then slowly raised her hand to her throat, pressing her palm to it with her thumb on one side of her neck and her fingers on the other. She stroked the delicate skin lightly, then lowered her hand and went to the door, pushing it open gently. Deek was in his bed lying on his back naked. He had kicked the covering sheet to the side in his sleep. His cock was hard and arched up over the hard muscled stomach. Connie took a few hesitant steps into the room. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Almost without thinking, she unbuttoned her dress and loosened the belt, letting them both drop to the floor. Her breathing became more shallow and rapid as she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. After this had joined the dress on the floor, she resolutely pulled her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. She moved several steps closer to the bed, reaching out to take the large cock in her hand -- then froze. There was the sudden, familiar sound of an air horn giving off it raucous baritone and gears catching as a 500 horsepowered diesel tractor slowed and turned off the highway onto their long, gravel drive. Burt! Connie wheeled around and hurried into her bedroom, hastily throwing on her terry bathrobe. She stepped hesitantly onto the patio barefooted as Burt pulled his rig to a stop about fifty feet from the house in a graveled lot he had made especially for it. After a minute or two, he shut the engine off, opened the door and stepped down off the running board. As he approached, she could tell by his lumbering gait that he was exhausted, and, as he came nearer, she saw that new lines had been etched in at the corners of his eyes. He gave her a weak smile and a quick kiss. "Want something to eat, honey?' she asked. "Naw, hon; right now all I want is a quick shower and hit the sack. Been up for the last twenty hours. I'm done in." He sat down at the dinning room table and emptied his pockets while she got him a beer and sat down adjacent to him, observing him quietly. She had never seen him as rung out as this. His face was pasty, and he looked ten years older. Yet he was only thirty-six, five years older than herself. He'd already lost most of his hair. Only a few, thin wisps remained on top. His jowls were beginning to sag, there were bags under his eyes, and in the last three or four years, he had developed a noticeable paunch. Driving a truck was hard on a man, she knew. Long hours behind the wheel; layovers; the fast food and, above all, the loneliness took their toll. She got up and hugged him from behind. "You take your shower; then I'll give you a good, long massage. Make you feel a whole lot better." He looked around at her and grinned. "Maybe something else make me feel better, too." "Hmm, and maybe you're not as tired as you look, huh?" "Maybe," he grinned. He got up and made to slap her on the butt, then ambled on down the hall to the bathroom, sipping on his beer. Next to his wallet, keys and some loose change was a black 35mm film container. She popped off the plastic lid. It was half-full of small, white pills. Pep pills to keep him from nodding off on the road. She snapped the lid back on the cylinder and placed it back on the table. * She took off her bathrobe and straddled his buttocks, then moistened the palms of her hands with scented oil from a wooden bowl on the nightstand to began massaging him. He wasn't a tall man, about medium height, but his shouders were broad and muscular. They were also hairy. She moved her hands down the ridge on either side of his spine, spreading her fingers and kneading the fleshy love handles. She moved off his buttocks and continued to knead down the cheeks of his ass, gripping them tightly, then releasing slowly, letting her oiled fingernails scrape lightly over the warm flesh. She knew he was becoming aroused when his asscheeks squeezed taut and he began to move against the matress with a subtle motion. Slowly, he turned onto his back and, gripping her thighs, pulled her up to his hard cock. With one hand he placed the head against her cunt, then placing his hands on her hips, he pulled her resolutely down onto the thick staff. He gave her several quick thrust, then arched his back up off the mattress as he shot off into her. Cum dripped from her pussy as he settled back onto the bed with a sigh of relief. He patted her thigh and closed his eyes. After a moment, Connie went to the bathroom, cleaned herself up, then took a warm, wet washcloth into the bedroom to clean his dick. He was fast asleep and snoring when she finished. * "Let's go cruising," Jarred said. "Get some beer at Gertrude's; see if we can't pick up some bitches; get a little." "Yeah, right; fat chance," Deek replied. "Never know; might get lucky, bato." Jarred was sitting in front of Deek's computer surfing porn sites. Deek lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. Both youths were barechested, wearing faded jeans and joggers. "Besides ain't got no money," Deek said. "Don't get paid till Friday." "Hell, you gotta have some, workin' at the drive-in and all," Jarred said, peevishly. "Yeah, but I put mine in the bank for college, asshole; I don't have a fucking football scholarship like you," he retorted. Jarred tapped on his mouse, unruffled, and waited for another picture to appear. Well, uh, I'll tell yuh what; why don't we head over to my place, and I'll get some money from Peggy. Deek hadn't seen Jarred's mother since he'd told him about fucking her. He tried to picture her naked and began to be aroused. "OK," he said, finally. "What the hell; beats lying around here." "I gotta take a piss," Jarred said, as they started out. When Deek had gone on out to his Nova to wait, Jarred walked quietly into the living room and saw Connie asleep on the sofa. The TV was on low. She was wearing a pale blue shift with a zippered front; the hem had risen halfway up her thighs. Her shoulders were bare except for thin straps. She lay on her side, knees drawn up, her pink lips slightly parted, her blonde hair fixed into a pony tail. After a moment he went out and told Deek to go on; he would follow. "I gotta get some gas at Pete's; I'll meet you at home." After Deek was gone, Jarred went back into the house. He knew Burt was gone, but he didn't know where or for how long, but that only made him more excited as he thought about what he had decided to do. He went back into the living room and took off his shoes and jeans. Quietly, he pushed the coffee table out of the way and got on his knees before the sofa. His cock was fully hard; so hard that it hurt. He reached up to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. Her eyelids fluttered, but she remained lost in sweet dreams. His fingers found the zipper tab and tugged at it gently. * Peggy and Ruth were lounging by the rectangular swimming pool when Deek strolled around to the back of the impressive stone and glass house. Both women were wearing thong-backed bikinis with skimpy triangular tops. Oak and maple trees, neatly manicured hedges and a wide-ranging lawn separated them from any would-be prying neighbors. On a round, glass-topped table, between them, sat two old-fashioned glasses full of a golden liquid and ice. "Hi, Deek," Peggy said, giving him a warm smile, her smooth, white teeth brilliant against her tanned face. Ruth gave him a wave, one of her Tijuana Slims caught between her lips. "I thought Jarred was over at your place?" "He's comin'; had to get gas at Pete's." "Want a beer?" "Deek grinned and nodded. Not quite ever being able to get over how Peggy always treated him as if he were an adult and how his mother always treated him like a kid. She would never have offered him a beer. She picked up a cel-phone off the table. "Maria. Una cerveza, por favor." She set the phone down. "I'll tell you something, if you don't repeat it," Peggy said. "What?" Deek asked, taking a seat in a padded chair nearby. The crystal clear water of the pool refracted angular bands of light against its blue-tiled sides and bottom as it sparkled in the sunlight. He stared at the well-formed body of the woman and wondered if Jarred had been bullshitting him. "I think Maria likes you. She told me the other day that you were cute." Deek smiled self-consciously and glanced down for a moment. When he looked back up, Maria was placing a long-necked bottle of dark lager on the table before him. She gave him a shy smile. She wasn't hard to take. Long, dark hair and wide, dark eyes; smooth caramel skin. Lips and nails painted a deep, ripe red. Fresh with the flush of youth. Standing next to him, she smelled faintly of locust blossoms when they bloom in early May. "Thanks, Maria," he murmured. He looked into eyes that spoke back to him better than words could have. She said something softly in Spanish, then was gone. Peggy and Ruth chuckled. "Maybe she'll teach you the horizontal lambada, if you get lucky," Ruth teased. "He's already lucky," Peggy said, leaning toward him and tousling his hair playfully. Her full breasts swelled against the small triangles of yellow cloth covering her nipples and Deek felt his cock becoming stiff as her long fingernails tickled his scalp. Leaning closer she whispered, "Aren't you?" Her eyes were also speaking to him. He could smell Bacardi on her breath and the fragrant scent of vanilla tanning oil baking on her near naked body. * Jarred pulled the tab down to her belly, then pressing gently on her thighs, he moved her legs down until they were straight and finished pulling the tab down to the guide, slipping it off. He separated the front of her shift. She was naked underneath, not even panties. Her cunt hair was as blonde as the hair on her head. The real McCoy. His need to have his cock in her was overwhelming. Lightly, he touched her breasts with trembling hands, pressing his thumbs on the nipples. Her mouth opened a little; she sighed, but her eyes remained closed. Slowly, very carefully, he positioned her onto her back, then spreading her legs, he got on his knees between her thighs. Leaning over he kissed her softly on the mouth, running the tip of his tongue along the furrow of her parted lips until they glistened wetly. He could wait no longer. He placed the head of his cock against her cunt and, as he shoved it in, thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. His cock entered her fully before her blue eyes snapped opened, bewildered, staring into his. He grabbed her wrists, forcing them against the arm of the sofa above her head. He pushed hard into her, pinning her hips down. She was powerless beneath his muscular body. She twisted her face to the side. "No!," she gasped harshly. "No! No!" He ignored her. "Staaaahhpiiit, Jaaarred! Staaahhpiiit! uummeeee! --" Her words broke off into a whine as she tried to wriggled from beneath him. But her struggling only made him more excited. His cock swelled inside her; there was a sucking sound as he moved in and out; his hard belly slapped rhythmically against hers. The rhythm picked up; his body grew taut. Connie stopped struggling. Her body gave beneath him. She closed her eyes, turning her wet lips away from his. His breath was hot and rapid against her cheek. He came hot and fast, thrusting into her roughly, groaning loudly. As he sat up and began putting on his pants, she turned on her side to face the back of the couch and curled up. Minutes later there was the throbbing beat of his chopper, then a diminishing roar. * Jarred and Ruth danced awhile to cumbia coming from a portable stereo. Then Ruth took off her top and dove into the pool. Jarred dove in after her. A moment later she squealed excitedly as Jarred tousled with her from underwater, then surfaced; with a huge grin, he tossed her red thong onto the edge of the pool. Deek was on his fourth beer. He wasn't a big drinker, like Jarred, and he was feeling a little light headed -- and definitely uninhibited. He had a raging hard-on that threatened to bust the seams of his pants. He couldn't take his eyes off Peggy in her skimpy swimsuit. He wanted to fuck her more than anything he had ever wanted. The four beers made him feel heady enough to think it was a definite possibility. And when Peggy sidled up to him and suggested a walk, he was feeling certain. They walked away from the pool and the house over a smooth lawn around hedges and under sheltering maples and oaks. As they walked, she moved closer to him and placed her arm around his waist. Her bare hip moved against his. When they were secluded behind a thick clump of lilacs, she stopped and undid her top, then pushed down her bikini and stepped out of it, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. She didn't say anything as she reached out and squeezed the head of his cock with her thumb and forefinger. He hadn't realized until then that the head was sticking up out of his waistband. She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down. He wasn't wearing underwear. There was heat in her glance as she sank to her knees and gripped the base of his cock in one hand while she scraped the foreskin back over the head with her teeth. Her other hand she placed on his asscheek, playing the tips of her fingers up and down the crack, inserting the tip of a finger in his hole. Mesmerized, Deek stared down at the perfect globes of her tits and asscheeks; both quivering firmly as she moved back and forth on him. "Give it to me, baby," she said, taking his cock out of her mouth for a moment. "I want to swallow all of you." It struck him that she kept her eyes on his face while she sucked him, like all those women in the porn flicks he and Jarred had watched. It made him feel tremendously powerful. He no longer felt like a boy; he was a man with a woman, a woman 'doing' him. So. This is what it's like, he thought. He was on top of the world. When he came she swallowed every drop; then, with a dreamy expression on her face, she lay back on the grass, spreading her legs and held her arms up to him. Beckoning wantonly. * "What's the matter, mom," Deek asked. She had just come to his bedroom door and stood, trembling, between the jambs, her face struck and pale, her fingers pressed to her throat. "That was the coroner's office on the phone; your father had a heart attack; the state police found his rig parked on the side of an exit. He's dead." * Many had come to view the body at the funeral home. Fewer had come to the burial service, no doubt due to the incessant drizzle that fell from a mournful sky. "We come into this world with nothing..." the preacher, a tall, broad-shouldered man, was saying, "and we leave again as we came. Life is but the blink of an eyelid. The swift dart of the sparrow. Only the fool covets it. The wise man puts his store in the Lord, who is our only salvation...." Deek stood close to his mother, their hips touching, holding a black umbrella over them. No tent had been set up. The soil was soggy; the grass wet. She had taken her pumps off, holding them in her hand. Some of the women glanced at her with somber disapproval. Before leaving the house that morning he had seen his mother take two shots of whiskey. He had never known her to drink before. He could smell the bourbon on her breath and her perfume and the more pervading smell of fresh cut hay lying wet in the fields all about. . . . Then it was over. People, relatives, passed by, nodding their condolences. Among them, Peggy and Ruth. Then he and Connie were alone, waiting for the others to leave. The Nova wouldn't start. "It all right," she said. "We can walk back over the meadow." They skirted the edge of Miller's field, concealed between the woods and rolls of cylindrical, 600 pound bales of hay that had been left over from last year. Black and gray, they bore no resemblance to the freshly cut green lines of hay lying in the field, needing to be turned and dried before they could be gathered. They had left the umbrella in the car. The rain increased its tempo, plastering their hair against their scalps and clothes against their bodies. Connie's wet summer dress, navy back with small white dots, clung revealingly to every curve. Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks; legs spread, back arched, she raised her face to the sky and brushed the rain from her oval face with the heels of her hands, then wobbled slightly, extending an arm out to her son for balance. A sudden flash of lightning made tributaries across the face of the gray sky. There was a sharp report. A stiff wind gushed in from across the field, lowering the tops of trees. Rain began pelting down mixed with pearl-sized hail. There were several more flashes of lightning followed by the loud booming of thunder. Deek placed his arm around her waist and hurriedly guided her into the woods. He could feel the firmness of her body and its heat through their wet clothes as she leaned tottering against him. They were both thoroughly soaked. They leaned up against the thick trunk of an oak that sheltered them somewhat from the force of the wind and rain. Deek held her close, feeling her soft breasts against his chest. Her mouth was against his neck; her breath warm, moist; her lips brushing. She moved her head back. Her blue eyes stared up into his; her lips bright red with beads of rain; her blonde bangs were flat against the rounded forehead. Vaguely, he remembered waking and, dream-like, seeing her standing naked beside his bed; her clothes lying on the floor; the blonde triangle of hair between her thighs; the thin outline of her slit. She had wanted him then, and she wanted him now. He felt his cock swelling against the clinging fabric of his crotch. He felt her hand touching, stroking, him there. Squeezing gently but firmly; communicating a need that had to be fulfilled. His fingers found the zipper tab and pulled it down to the small of her back. As he undid the hooks of her bra, he heard her sharp intake of breath. She moved closer, grinding her pelvis into him. He pulled the dress down off her shoulders, along with the bra, letting them fall to her feet in the mud. He pulled the panties down her smooth, white hips. She clung to him naked, her face buried against his chest. Then one of her hands reached for his buckle while the other continued to massage his fully erect cock through the cloth of his pants. Quickly, as if she'd performed the action many times, she unzipped and pulled his pants down along with his shorts. He felt the soft palm of her hand move around the swollen staff of his cock, pumping him. She tore open the front of his shirt and eagerly began kissing the muscular chest, murmuring hot, smothered words. Kicking off his shoes, Deek stepped rapidly out of his pants, sweeping them aside with his foot; then, picking his mother up, he carried her to a patch of tall grass and placed her down on her back. She kept her arms around his neck smothering his face with lustful kisses, nipping at his lips with her teeth, sucking on his tongue and moaning hungrily. Wildly, she writhed against him as he kneeled between her thighs. She gripped his cock with both hands and guided him into her. As he slid in, her hands frantically gripped his asscheeks, pulling him deeper. His belly touched hers. He was deep inside. She was tight. Her fingers squeezed his asscheeks; the tips of her nails trailed tantalizingly over his balls, shooting tingling sensations up and down his spine. Then she gasped loudly as he buried his cock deep in her belly with a sharp, quick thrust and emptied his creamy load. They lay together, unmoving, for a long time, oblivious to the rain that washed their flesh; their mouths locked together in a sated kiss, the sounds of thunder receding in the distance. * The phone rang. Connie rolled over on the bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes and picked up the receiver. "Yes?" she murmured sleepily. "Wanna take a ride?" "Yes," she said, after a moments hesitation. "All right. I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't wear anything." Connie hung the phone up and glanced at her son sleeping in the nude next to her. She would be back before he awoke. Naked, she stood in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. Turning sideways, she placed her palm against her tummy. She was beginning to show. She wouldn't be able to hide it much longer. Her breasts were becoming larger; the pink nipples were super sensitive. She was sexually aroused all the time. Insatiable. She stood on the patio and waited. Her heart racing. He had been cruel last time. Maybe a bit too? But she had been excited. He would be that way again, she knew. More so, maybe. Her heart beat faster. It was in his nature. She heard the low rumble of his motorcycle approaching in the distance, becoming louder. She felt herself becoming wet. ~ fini ~
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