All Sexual Activity Is Between Characters Who Are 18+ Years Old
******
Edward Trotter walked along the empty corridor leading to the main office of George Washington High School. He was homeward bound after having just deflowered young Cynthia Hart in his last period Algebra class, which, coincidentally, she was failing. He gave his armpits a quick sniff and was relieved that his body odor seemed no different than at the end of any other long humid day of teaching math in the stuffy old building.
In the office he waved to Miss Thompson, the spinster secretary to the Principal, Mr. Fowler. "Good night, Miss Thompson," he called cheerfully, knowing she kept tabs on the teachers' comings and goings and was quick to report delinquencies. "Have a nice weekend."
He was turning toward the faculty mailboxes when Miss Thompson gratuitously reminded him, "Check your messages, Mr. Trotter... your wife called nearly forty-five minutes ago."
"Cheese Louise," Trotter thought to himself, "thank goodness the old biddy didn't take it upon herself to BRING it to me!" He waved again and pulled the paper slip from his pigeon-hole. "Thanks! Got it..." he replied as he left the office.
Once again alone in the hall, he opened the note and read, "Pick up son at home and meet wife at White Star Café at 6 p.m. Don't be late!" Ted did not know what Mary actually said, but he was certain Miss Thompson had appended the command herself. Shoving the note in his trousers, he consulted his silver Elgin pocket watch and noted he had exactly one hour to collect Art and get to the café. "Plenty of time, Pal," he said to himself, "but you won't be able to shower or shave."
Trotter stroked his five o'clock shadow and smelled his shirt front. "No tell-tale scents," he mused, "and she'll not mind my scratchy face, so long as I shave before we fuck tonight. Exiting the building, he pondered what occasioned dinner out. "Must have burned the chicken," he muttered with a chuckle as he pushed the door's crash bar and stepped into the sultry mid-May late afternoon.
At 46 1/2 Garvey Street, Arthur Trotter was in his room, between his parent's bedroom and the front parlor, building play forts out of dominoes, on a Samson folding card table. When he heard Ted come in the front door, he ran into the hall and called, "Hey, Pop! Is Mother with you? She wasn't here when I got home from school."
Ted picked the boy up in his arms and skyed him up to the ceiling in the entry way, exclaiming, "Hey, there, Champ! How's my boy?" Putting him back on the wooden floor, he continued, "Yeah, son, I don't know... something came up, I guess... I got a message at school that WE are supposed to MEET her at the White Star." He playfully Dutch-rubbed Arthur's towhead brush cut. "Grab your cap and let's take a hike!"
"Hooray!" Arthur shouted gleeful approval of the idea and scampered back to his room. When he re-appeared with his favorite green felt beanie, Ted took his hand and led the way to the alley. They laughed over nothing as they went. Trotter strolled while the boy he thought was his own skipped beside him.
A block-and-a-half later they reached the café at 105 Central Avenue on the corner of Flint Street, where Jock's thirteen-year-old maroon-and-red REO sedan was parked at the curb. Arthur waved through the restaurant's painted plate-class window at Cecilia McGuinness, while Ted held the café door open. Katy Oleson greeted them heartily and led them to the last two open chairs at the big table, already populated with Cecie, Mary, Isabel and Jock, who bellowed, "HERE'S the rest of the 'fam-damily' at last! Bring on the Blue Plates, Katy!"
After a hearty meal, including big slabs of hot apple pie, the jubilant family set out for the Bijou Theatre, two blocks away, at 220 Dorchester Avenue. They were early for the 7:30 p.m. showing of 'Pinocchio', which was a good thing. The popular animated film was ending its run that night and the ticket line was longer than they had expected. While the rest of the family chattered about this and that, Jock noticed a familiar feminine form ten feet ahead of him in the crowd. Excusing himself, he stepped forward.
The good-looking, mid-thirties, brunette woman who had attracted Jock's attention was conversing with a younger, darker-haired, girl and did not notice his approach. She turned, slightly startled, when Jock touched her shoulder and asked, "Arlene? What are YOU doing here? I thought you were sick."
Arlene Hart coughed and replied, "Oh, good evening, Mr. McGuinness... well, YES, I WAS ill... this MORNING." Her black straw fedora brim tilted as she cast her eyes to the pavement and lowered her voice, "Umm, you know... women's, er, issues. I'm sorry I couldn't come to work, but I'm feeling much better, now." She looked Jock in the face and smiled apologetically.
"Huhn!" Jock snorted and felt helpless. He took in Arlene's shapely figure, wrapped lightly in an open-back pale green cotton dress with huge sunflowers all over it. The gold metal buckle of her wide black belt, high at her waist, accented her full top while the dress skirting hugged her hips before flaring out to her knees in shallow pleats. "Well, I MISSED you... I had to get someone else to come and deal with the payroll reports for the home office."
"Oh gosh," Arlene said, "I AM sorry about that, really. Can I make it UP to you at all?"
While they talked, Trotter walked over. He recognized the girl beside the unknown woman and was moderately concerned about the conversation's potential. Jock introduced him, "Ted, this is my accounting clerk, Arlene Hart... Arlene, this is my son-in-law, Ted Trotter." Ted smiled warily, and made surreptitious eye-contact with the girl beside Arlene. She smiled back at him with twinkly brown eyes.
"Trotter?" Arlene asked with arched eyebrows, showing surprise. "How INTERESTING." She indicated to her right with an open palm. "I KNOW you know my DAUGHTER, Cynthia, from your Algebra class, but WE have never met." She swung her hand toward Ted and added, "What a pleasure, Mr. Trotter. I have some concerns about my daughter's, umm, FUTURE... perhaps we can talk later?"
Ted shook Mrs. Hart's black cotton-gloved hand and replied, "How nice to meet you, Mrs. Hart." His voice was steadier than his nerves. Nodding to Cynthia, he said, "And what a coincidence, Cindy, that we should all be in the same movie line." Relieved that neither the freshly fucked eighteen-year-old virgin's facial expressions, nor her mannerisms, gave anything away, Ted started a turn to go back to Mary and the others.
"Yes," said Cynthia to Trotter, interrupting his pivot. "Ma wanted to see 'Rebecca' at the Town, but I WON when I reminded her this was the last day for 'Pinocchio' and I hadn't SEEN it."
Arlene reached out and touched Trotter's elbow as she explained to the men, "I was so happy to be feeling stronger." She gave Ted a strange sharp look as she continued, "and Cynthia got some welcome news... so I thought we should have a 'girls' night out', so to speak." She let go of Ted and hugged her daughter. "DIDN'T I say just THAT, Cynthia?" Looking again at Trotter, Arlene asked, "Perhaps you could telephone me, tomorrow morning, Mr. Trotter? Arbor one-two-two-one... after nine?"
Ted blinked. "Certainly, Mrs. Hart. I look forward to it." Hoping the prickly heat on the back of his neck did not show in the evening shadows and marquee lights, he said, again, "Nice to meet you." Cynthia still gave no outward sign of their intimacy, but inside, her tummy turned over and her cunny clenched involuntarily on itself.
Turning away to follow his son-in-law, Jock breathed, sotto voce for Arlene's benefit only, "Meet me in the loges a few minutes after the show starts... if you want to 'make it up to me' for playing hooky." He wondered, as he left the women alone, if she would keep the appointment.
Over dinner, Arthur and Cecilia had agreed, and gotten the adults' permission, to sit by themselves in the very first row, closest to the screen. As soon as Jock handed the tickets to the doorman, they bolted to claim the best seats still available. Luck was with them and they landed dead center, beating out three other competing children for the prime spots.
Chuckling as they watched the kids scuffle for positions below them, Artie's and Cecie's parents, and Trotter, were satisfied to take left-side seats halfway down and just under the balcony. Mary sat first with Ted next to her. Beside him sat Izzy while Jock settled into the aisle seat. The remaining four seats, between Mary and the wall, were vacant and never claimed throughout the film.
As Jiminy Cricket flipped open the Pinocchio storybook, after finishing his song, 'When you wish upon a star', Jock whispered in Isabel's ear, "I'm going to get something to eat... be right back. Can I bring YOU something?"
Isabel smiled in the dark. Turning her face, she kissed her husband's nose and replied, barely audibly, "You're sweet, but NO... I'll be OK, dear... you go ahead."
Jock slid silently from his seat and walked up the aisle. On the other side of the theater, Arlene Hart saw him stand, silhouetted against the bright screen. Leaning in to her daughter, she quietly excused herself, "Powder room... be right back." Cynthia, already deeply engaged in the Disney story, paid no attention to her mother's departure. Walking up the aisle, ahead of, and parallel to, her boss, Arlene entered the lobby and waited for him.
When Jock stepped through the heavy velvet curtains and turned right, up the sweeping stair to the mezzanine, Arlene copied him, on her side of the lobby. Upstairs, she followed Jock into a set of enclosed box seats, which were on this particular evening, as was often the case, otherwise unoccupied. Jock impetuously swept her into his arms and ground his lips onto her mouth. She clutched his shoulders and returned as good as she got, moaning into the back of his throat as her body turned on within his embrace.
"Oh, GOD!" Arlene exclaimed, when Jock gave her a chance to breathe. "I felt so CRAPPY this morning... goddamned cramps! I COULDN'T even STAND UP, let alone get to work, Jock..." She plastered herself against him and kissed him hard once again, before concluding, "THANK you for being such an understanding boss!"
"Oh, I 'understand' alright," Jock growled. Her heat was taking away the surliness he had felt when he saw her in line, but it was creating a conflict. "So how are you going to 'make it up' if you're having your, you know... monthly THING going on?"
Arlene rapidly opened the buttons on his shirt and scraped her red painted fingernails through his matted chest thatch. Kissing him lightly while she talked, she buzzed, "We don't have to FUCK, you know." She lowered her right hand and grabbed Jock's stiffening cock through his trousers. "I could just KISS you to death, COULDN'T I?"
Working her fingers, while her lips cruised over his chin and down his throat, she freed his thick erection and slid her hand to its base. Squeezing and tugging, she asked in a sultry voice, "Why don't I just turn this wooden puppet into a REAL boy? The 'Blue Fairy' isn't the ONLY magical woman in this theater, you know."
Without waiting for an answer, Arlene dropped to her knees and stuffed Jock's joint in her cheeks. He gripped the seatbacks on either side of his hips as he stood in the row. She did not need a map to know her boss's sensitive spots and she went straight for them. As she puffed her jowls in and out, her busy fingers tugged his nuts in their bag while her thumb pressed with steady pressure on the base of his root.
When Jock was ready to shoot they both knew it. He pulled Arlene's head to his crotch, and swung his pelvis forward, forcing his cock deep to the back of her mouth. She gargled unintelligibly as she bobbed on the bone. With a stifled protracted groan, Jock opened his hips and swayed back, thrusting himself that much further into her throat while he ejaculated. Unfazed by the powerful spurts, Arlene guzzled every gob. His meat muffled her moans as she happily sucked him to completion.
When he knew he had no more to give, Jock let go of his clerk's wavy brunette hair and pulled out of her salivating maw. He grinned and said, huskily, "Well, I GUESS I can forgive you, Lena." Patting her cheek, he asked, "Will you be... all WELL... by Monday?"
Arlene smiled and stood. When she heard him use her pet name she knew everything was as it should be. "Absolutely, Jock," she assured him. "My... er, problem... NEVER lasts longer than three days. Do you think you will WANT me... earlier than usual... you know, to 'make up' for the lost time? I could COME... anytime."
Jock laughed as he buttoned his pants and straightened his shirt and tie. "As you wish, Lena," he said. "You've worked under me long enough to know what the Monday load is like." Giving her a quick peck, he turned to the curtained exit and advised, "Wipe your mouth. You're drooling." With a wink, he disappeared.
As soon as Jock McGuinness stood up and left for his rendezvous, Ted Trotter draped his arms around the shoulders of both his wife and his mother-in-law. Taking advantage of the theater's darkness, he hugged them to his sides, chuckling in a low voice, "Don't fret, ladies... I'M still here to protect you." He demonstrated his guardianship with two quick soft simultaneous squeezes on each woman's outer breast.
Isabel's heavy left boob was squashed into Trotter's ribs above the seats' dividing armrest. Her thin cotton dress afforded no protection for her plump right nipple against his groping pinches and her slip-sliding rayon lingerie traitorously aided and abetted the tickling tormenting tease. She dared not move or speak, however, so she sat staring at the on-screen antics in Geppetto's workshop, as if nothing was happening. Her blind pussy had no such distraction to save it. It tingled from Trotter's bold move and turned on the taps.
Mary, on the other hand, recoiled instantly to her left and pulled her husband's mitt from her tit. "Be-HAYYYVE yourself, Teddy!" She hissed as he grinned in the dark and squeezed her bare bicep instead. "I MEAN it! I REALLY... want to SEE... the MOVIE!" Realizing Ted did not intend to stop his rambunctious rogue rubbing, Mary got out of her seat and scooted two seats away to the left in a huff.
While Trotter continued gently palping Isabel's breast, he thought merrily to himself, "Oh well, Pal, 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'!" Izzy, however, did not want her bush ignored and, as her fire spread, her thoughts were on a bird of a different sort. Wordlessly, she twisted her torso toward Ted, slipped his arm over her head, and laid his hand in her lap.
Pressing Ted's cooperative palm to her pussy, Isabel slid his hand to her hemline and returned, dragging her slip up with the cotton dress. Adding two plus two, the mathematics teacher curled his fingertips and scratched her moistening slice through her cotton briefs. Insinuating his knuckles under a leg seam at the crotch, Ted burrowed through her beaver. Isabel moaned low in her throat and separated her knees on the theater seat.
Having gotten her son-in-law started in her nest in earnest, Izzy moved her right hand over the armrest. Unbuttoning Ted's linen slacks, she foraged in his underwear until his cock was happily in hand and growing in strength. It was Ted's turn to groan. He shifted on his seat and canted his hips toward Izzy. She ran her thumb around his prick's velvet nose. When his pre-cum oozed, she smeared the tacky viscous drops lightly on the sensitive top. Ted hopped involuntarily in his seat, driving his stiff staff through Isabel's loose fist.
While Izzy stroked slowly from rim to root, Ted actively slid between, and along, her soaking cunt's slippery lips. She bit the inside of her cheeks to contain her delighted cries while he tweaked her clit in its hood and pushed through her gate. Her pelvis rocked against his wriggling fingers. Her theater seat squeaked, and she did, too.
The discovery danger of their public masturbation, and particularly Mary's close proximity to the scene of the crime, was gasoline on an already hot flame. Isabel's hand flashed up and down, squeezing as she went. Ted's fingers rapidly plunged as far as his awkwardly bent wrist allowed, which was far enough. Izzy sucked her lips over her teeth, squinched her eyes tight and flooded around the driving digits. Ted lunged in his seat. Its back creaked from the sudden stress as his semen flew out of his cock like a geyser.
Isabel swiftly covered the spewing spout with her hand and drew her fingers up the pulsing shaft's sides, eliciting more manly milk into her palm as the spurts subsided. When he relaxed back into his seat and his prick finally quit pumping, she brought her hand to her mouth and cleaned herself. Ted, too, withdrew, and savored Izzy's essence before parking his penis and re-buttoning his trousers.
No sooner had they realigned in their seats and resumed watching the film, than Jock appeared and sat down. Noticing the distance between Mary and Ted, he leaned across Isabel and asked, "What's going on? Did you get in a fight with Mare?"
Trotter shook his head and answered, "No, I was just bothering her... too much chit-chat, I guess... didn't realize cartoons were so engrossing." He laughed quietly. "But, you know what? IZZY and I REALLY got into it! You better sit back before she bites YOU for blocking her VIEW!" Jock grinned, squared himself in his seat and adjusted his shriveled satisfied stump in his boxers while Isabel glared warning daggers at the daring cuckolding younger man.
After the movie, the Harts caught a trolley home. Walking along to the corner streetcar stop, Arlene noticed Cynthia's sash bow, after an hour-and-a-half in the theater seat, needed tightening. "Wait a second, Sweetie," Arlene said, pausing on the sidewalk. "Your waist needs to be retied." When she remade the bow, she saw a gap, and a missing red button, just above the sash knot. "Sweetie, you've lost a button!" Mrs. Hart exclaimed. "We must go back to the Bijou and look for it."
"Oh, Ma," Cynthia replied, "I noticed that earlier. It wasn't at the theater, though I don't know WHERE I lost it. I'm sorry... first thing tomorrow I'll go to Woolworth's." She had not known her button was torn away, but, of course, she knew exactly when, where and how it must have happened. "If I can't MATCH it, I'll get all new ones and sew them myself." Showing her mother lots of teeth, she swore, "I PROMISE!" Then, pointing to the corner, Cynthia added, "LOOK, Ma! There's the CAR... HURRY!"
On board with fares paid, Mrs. Hart changed the subject to her more pressing concern. "Mr. Trotter seems a nice man, but I've seen the quarterly warnings he has included with your grades. I must find out more about how it is your Algebra has improved so much." She patted her daughter's knee as they sat on the trolley bench, rolling up Edison Street toward Arbor Heights. "Of course, I'm DELIGHTED... but, it IS a worry. What if he mistook YOU for another student when he told you this afternoon you were in no danger of failing?" She squinted thoughtfully.
"MA!" Cynthia insisted. "I TOLD you already... there IS no mistake." She wiggled her bottom on the wood slats as she remembered Ted's driving dick deflowering her, against the classroom wall, and filling her virgin cunny with his semen, as if she was an Ă©clair. Thinking of it now, she could still scarcely believe how much pink-tinged cum she had laved from her ravaged pussy in the girls' bathroom. "He said I was a 'natural problem solver' and then he gave me something REALLY HARD and watched me WORK it... right in FRONT of him." Cynthia grinned and said, wide-eyed, "HONEST, Ma... he was VERY satisfied with the result."
Arlene said nothing to indicate any disbelief. However, for the rest of the ride, she stared out the window and considered how she would tackle the issue of ensuring her daughter was not misinformed. Debarking at Locust Avenue, they strolled in the comfortably cool late Spring evening to Number 639 and entered their rented duplex.
Meanwhile, the Trotters, with much the shorter walk home, were already in their cottage and preparing to retire. Ted was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, when Arthur entered to use the toilet before going to bed. "Hey, Champ," Trotter greeted him. "You all set? Dominoes put away?"
"Yeah, Pop," Arthur replied. After finishing his business, he said, "Thanks for taking me to the movie."
"You're welcome, but remember to thank GRAMPA again," Ted reminded him, as he stepped aside to let the boy wash up. Handing him a towel, he moved back to the basin and said, "I'm still not clear on why he treated us all... but it WAS very nice."
Mary floated into the room on the tail-end of the conversation. Leaning over, she kissed Arthur on his forehead as he stood near the towel rack. "It was actually his way of thanking ME for COMING, on such short notice, to SUBSTITUTE for Arlene Hart after she called off sick this morning."
Arthur saw, but paid no attention to, his mother's voluptuous figure, shrouded in a pearlescent rayon negligee and silhouetted behind her pink chiffon peignoir. He did, however, comment on her white marabou collar and cuffs. "Those feathers are really soft, Mother," he said, rubbing his nose. "They tickle when you bend down and kiss me like that. What are they called again?"
"Marabou, Arthur... they come from a stork in Africa." She pivoted and hugged Trotter at the sink, enfolding him with the fluffy cape collar. Her son neither noticed, nor cared, that her full breasts, in the flimsy pockets of her plunge-front nightgown, flattened against Ted's back. She shimmied slightly, sliding his cotton pajama top across his hard back muscles. "This was an anniversary gift from your father," she lied, unknowingly. Kissing the back of Trotter's neck, while she drug her fingertips across his smooth, freshly shaved face, she said, "He's SO romantic."
"Yuck!" Arthur rendered his verdict in no uncertain terms. "If you're going to get all MUSHY, I'm getting out of here!" He pushed past the adults and called over his shoulder, as he entered his bedroom, "Good night, Mother! Good night, Pop! Love you!"
Ted gave out a small chuckle, turned in Mary's arms and embraced her. "What's a nine-year-old know about 'romantic', Baby?" He smooched her firmly and coursed his hands over her soft, matronly, but still firm, curves. Pulling the alluring material away from her body, he asked, "Does THIS mean I'm out of the doghouse? You were kind of SORE at me in the theater."
Mary dry-scrubbed his back with her knuckles as she pulled herself closer to Trotter's torso. "I couldn't believe you were so BLATANT... with Mama right there BESIDE you!" She kissed him and pulled back. "Anyway, there's a TIME... and a PLACE." Stepping away and pulling his sleeve, she said, in a low soft voice, "I have the PLACE... do YOU have the time?"
Ted felt his cock thicken while he allowed her to drag him to their bedroom. Grinning, he kicked the door shut. Mary spun and body-slammed Ted against its walnut panels and turned the skeleton key in the lock. "That'll keep the urchin at bay, Mister Trotter," she announced, pulling him with her as she walked backward to their brass bed.
Trotter pushed his pajama bottoms down and walked out of them as Mary fell to the mattress with her arms upraised. His sprung erection waved wildly while he came in for a landing on her sumptuous chest. "You'll never keep MY 'urchin at bay' Baby," he growled, as his hands slid along her outer thighs and drug her shiny pink slinky to her belly, baring her demi-bald peach and round navel.
She cupped her hands behind Trotter's neck and hugged him tight while his tongue explored its way from her shallow dry well to her deep wet grotto. She squirmed under his teasing torture as her tension rose with the heat from the fire in her cunny. Gasping and panting, she came quicker than Ted expected. While she squirted his nose and feasting lips, he pulled her hips and tightened his seal.
When the last wave washed back from the beach, Mary sat up and pushed Trotter away. As he stood, knees bumping the mattress edge, she clutched his taut ass and said, brusquely, "It's MY turn to taste." Her mouth closed over his rigid pole as she sat on the edge of the bed and reeled him in. Fervently, she sucked his nob and pushed her face down the staff as far as she could without suffocating.
Pulling back, and off his erection, Mary swiftly raised her negligee and peignoir, as a unit, over her head. Then, scooting forward, leaning in and arching her back, she captured the throbbing cock between her tits and squeezed their mass around it. Grinning, while she inhaled and increased the pressure on the imprisoned prick, she said, "We haven't done it THIS way... for a LONG time." She bent her head and kissed the shiny velvet head at the top of her cleavage. "Do you REMEMBER our first date after you made me a woman? I certainly do."
Trotter did not know that Mary's first fuck from her father, after he discovered her silk chemise, soiled with Ted's fresh cum, was the reason their titty-fuck ten years ago was so memorable. However, he knew what she needed here, tonight.
Lunging, Trotter thrust upward and bumped his glans on her chin. Retreating he pulled his prick to the base of her canyon before returning. She yipped and tried playfully to nip his reappearing tip as he stroked. He closed his strong palms over the backs of her hands and squeezed her as she squeezed him. Nearing hyperventilation, Mary puffed while Ted chugged powerfully in her deepest groove. When he came it was a gusher. His derrick blasted past her chin and shot spunk up her nose. She laughed with delight as she watched the gray grease spout, land, and drizzle her cheeks.
When he was finished, she split her lips around his tired nozzle and drew him deep into her mouth. Her tongue, gleaning the last gobs, induced a latent spit of semen, which she gobbled as well. Popping him free, she bladed his jizz from her face with her fingers and licked them clean. Mary tipped her head back and smiled with satisfaction at Ted's happy face. "THANK you, Mr. Trotter," she said in her best imitation of her own schoolgirl's voice from a decade past. "That was SWELL!"
Trotter patted her head and answered, "It pleases me to no end that you still like my 'curds and whey', Miss Muffet." He pulled her from the bed into a nose-to-toes hug and breathed, "I'm ready for beddie. What about you?"
While Ted Trotter was pulling down the covers in the master bedroom at 46 1/2 Garvey Street, Jock McGuinness was tucking nine-year-old Cecilia into her iron single bed in the garret of their bungalow at 1024 Oak Avenue. "Goodnight, Potato Bug," he said tenderly, as he kissed his youngest daughter's cheek. "Sweet dreams."
"G'night, Papa," she said, hugging his neck. She rubbed her face on his bristles and complained gaily, "Your whiskers are SHARP! Are you turning into a fox, like Honest John?" She kissed him quickly and fell back on her bed. "I don't care if you DO. I love you, Papa!" Rolling over she closed her eyes and missed her father's sad guilty look.
As he left Cecilia's bedroom, he wished, for the umpteenth time, that he could find a way to move the family to another house. For three months, from Mother's Day until her marriage, when she moved in with Ted, he had fucked his eighteen-year-old daughter, three times a week, in that very same bed while Isabel, unknowing, and pregnant with Cecie, slept downstairs. He knew it was bad. He knew it was beyond his control. "If only we could move, I wouldn't be so haunted," he thought, yet again.
Of course, moving would not stop the fucking. Both he and Mary looked forward to whatever time they could find for that. He exclaimed to himself, as he walked down the half-flight of stairs to the main house, "God, TODAY, she was as hot as a pistol!" The mere memory made his balls itch. When he idly rubbed them through his trousers, his dick swelled, too.
Isabel was just pulling her lilac charmeuse nightgown on over her head when Jock walked into the master bedroom. He watched from the rear as she shook its down past her hips. Her elbows were akimbo while she settled her mature heavy jugs into the nightie's lace pockets. Isabel looked over her bust at her slightly bumpy tummy. She frowned at Ted's cum stains splashed across the shiny bias-cut fabric. Unaware her husband was in the room, Isabel was lucky that she thought, rather than said aloud, "I better get at those stains first thing in the morning, before they set up for good."
She was startled when Jock slipped up behind her, wrapped his big forearms across her gut and squeezed. "Hhmmmm, I LIKE it," he said throatily as he slid his arms, and Isabel's nightgown, over her abdomen. Splitting his hands, he dropped his right to her groin and raised his left under her full right breast. Grabbing her pussy and hefting her tit at the same time, he growled, "If you're wearing THAT for ME... its WORKING." He laughed and added, "If you're NOT... I don't want to KNOW!"
Isabel leaned back against his brick-hard barrel chest, covered his hands with hers, and answered, softly, "You idiot, Jock! Who would I wear this for, if not YOU?" She pushed his fingers deeper between her legs and opened her knees. "YOU'VE been my man for thirty years, HAVEN'T you?" After regularly fucking her son-in-law for ten years, and possibly even bearing his child, Isabel was an expert at implied fidelity. Once more, she silently rationalized, "and it's BECAUSE Ted keeps me young, that YOU can HAVE me whenever you like."
Jock buzzed her left ear and whispered, "THAT'S what I like to hear. Give me two shakes to get out of my duds and I'll be right with you." Releasing Isabel, he turned to the wardrobe and began undressing. With an inaudible sigh of relief, Isabel quickly got under the covers, reducing the chances that Jock might see the evidence of his cuckolding.
Jock was caught up in his own dilemma. Walking into the bedroom with a hard-on from memories of Mary, he was overcome by his wife's fancy nightie, which she seldom wore anymore. Now, after an afternoon of heavy sex and a blow-job to top it off, he was genuinely concerned that a poor performance on his part might raise questions he had successfully avoided for years. "Help me come, Jesus," he prayed irreverently, under his breath, as he slid naked between the sheets.
"Did you just say 'help me come'?" Isabel asked, with a gleam in her eye, as she curled her left leg over Jock and grabbed his fat firm penis. "You KNOW I will." Jock groaned as she slipped her fingers softly up and down his boner and cooed sweet nothings into his face. Her warm breath and hot hand made him forget about his concern as they stirred up his nuts and lit fires in his chest.
Jock gathered Isabel to him and kissed her tenderly while he slowly rubbed her curved back though her charmeuse. The fabric rode up and his broad palm covered her ample bare backside. She scooted forward and hiked her bottom under his strong fingers. Her cunny melted. Jock moved to meet her as her tugging fist guided him, below the covers, to her nest. His cock's nose rooted through the roots of her thick thatch and glided past her lubricated gate into her cunt's courtyard. She sighed and kissed her husband sweetly as he filled her.
Slowly, lovingly, as only the most practiced intimacy allows, they kissed, hugged and fucked with endless delight. Even the slowest ovens cook fully with enough time, and so it was for Jock and Isabel. Their tandem thrusts, choreographed across three decades, brought them each to their crisis. Isabel clenched Jock's prick tightly with her pussy while she clutched his back and butt with her hands. With a long wailing cry, she came. Jock hitched his hips and locked himself to her pubes. Pulling her down by her shoulders onto his stake, he shoved himself upward to his limit. His rushing seed burst from his pods and joined her flood.
"Oh, JOCK!" Isabel exclaimed, with a long satisfied exhalation, after she fully calmed from her orgasm. She would have said more, but she saw her husband's eyes were closed. His regular soft breathing was a true indicator of the soundness of his sleep. Leaving him lodged deeply in her vagina, she caressed his softening slumbering penis with gentle contractions until she, too, drifted off.
******
Edward Trotter walked along the empty corridor leading to the main office of George Washington High School. He was homeward bound after having just deflowered young Cynthia Hart in his last period Algebra class, which, coincidentally, she was failing. He gave his armpits a quick sniff and was relieved that his body odor seemed no different than at the end of any other long humid day of teaching math in the stuffy old building.
In the office he waved to Miss Thompson, the spinster secretary to the Principal, Mr. Fowler. "Good night, Miss Thompson," he called cheerfully, knowing she kept tabs on the teachers' comings and goings and was quick to report delinquencies. "Have a nice weekend."
He was turning toward the faculty mailboxes when Miss Thompson gratuitously reminded him, "Check your messages, Mr. Trotter... your wife called nearly forty-five minutes ago."
"Cheese Louise," Trotter thought to himself, "thank goodness the old biddy didn't take it upon herself to BRING it to me!" He waved again and pulled the paper slip from his pigeon-hole. "Thanks! Got it..." he replied as he left the office.
Once again alone in the hall, he opened the note and read, "Pick up son at home and meet wife at White Star Café at 6 p.m. Don't be late!" Ted did not know what Mary actually said, but he was certain Miss Thompson had appended the command herself. Shoving the note in his trousers, he consulted his silver Elgin pocket watch and noted he had exactly one hour to collect Art and get to the café. "Plenty of time, Pal," he said to himself, "but you won't be able to shower or shave."
Trotter stroked his five o'clock shadow and smelled his shirt front. "No tell-tale scents," he mused, "and she'll not mind my scratchy face, so long as I shave before we fuck tonight. Exiting the building, he pondered what occasioned dinner out. "Must have burned the chicken," he muttered with a chuckle as he pushed the door's crash bar and stepped into the sultry mid-May late afternoon.
At 46 1/2 Garvey Street, Arthur Trotter was in his room, between his parent's bedroom and the front parlor, building play forts out of dominoes, on a Samson folding card table. When he heard Ted come in the front door, he ran into the hall and called, "Hey, Pop! Is Mother with you? She wasn't here when I got home from school."
Ted picked the boy up in his arms and skyed him up to the ceiling in the entry way, exclaiming, "Hey, there, Champ! How's my boy?" Putting him back on the wooden floor, he continued, "Yeah, son, I don't know... something came up, I guess... I got a message at school that WE are supposed to MEET her at the White Star." He playfully Dutch-rubbed Arthur's towhead brush cut. "Grab your cap and let's take a hike!"
"Hooray!" Arthur shouted gleeful approval of the idea and scampered back to his room. When he re-appeared with his favorite green felt beanie, Ted took his hand and led the way to the alley. They laughed over nothing as they went. Trotter strolled while the boy he thought was his own skipped beside him.
A block-and-a-half later they reached the café at 105 Central Avenue on the corner of Flint Street, where Jock's thirteen-year-old maroon-and-red REO sedan was parked at the curb. Arthur waved through the restaurant's painted plate-class window at Cecilia McGuinness, while Ted held the café door open. Katy Oleson greeted them heartily and led them to the last two open chairs at the big table, already populated with Cecie, Mary, Isabel and Jock, who bellowed, "HERE'S the rest of the 'fam-damily' at last! Bring on the Blue Plates, Katy!"
After a hearty meal, including big slabs of hot apple pie, the jubilant family set out for the Bijou Theatre, two blocks away, at 220 Dorchester Avenue. They were early for the 7:30 p.m. showing of 'Pinocchio', which was a good thing. The popular animated film was ending its run that night and the ticket line was longer than they had expected. While the rest of the family chattered about this and that, Jock noticed a familiar feminine form ten feet ahead of him in the crowd. Excusing himself, he stepped forward.
The good-looking, mid-thirties, brunette woman who had attracted Jock's attention was conversing with a younger, darker-haired, girl and did not notice his approach. She turned, slightly startled, when Jock touched her shoulder and asked, "Arlene? What are YOU doing here? I thought you were sick."
Arlene Hart coughed and replied, "Oh, good evening, Mr. McGuinness... well, YES, I WAS ill... this MORNING." Her black straw fedora brim tilted as she cast her eyes to the pavement and lowered her voice, "Umm, you know... women's, er, issues. I'm sorry I couldn't come to work, but I'm feeling much better, now." She looked Jock in the face and smiled apologetically.
"Huhn!" Jock snorted and felt helpless. He took in Arlene's shapely figure, wrapped lightly in an open-back pale green cotton dress with huge sunflowers all over it. The gold metal buckle of her wide black belt, high at her waist, accented her full top while the dress skirting hugged her hips before flaring out to her knees in shallow pleats. "Well, I MISSED you... I had to get someone else to come and deal with the payroll reports for the home office."
"Oh gosh," Arlene said, "I AM sorry about that, really. Can I make it UP to you at all?"
While they talked, Trotter walked over. He recognized the girl beside the unknown woman and was moderately concerned about the conversation's potential. Jock introduced him, "Ted, this is my accounting clerk, Arlene Hart... Arlene, this is my son-in-law, Ted Trotter." Ted smiled warily, and made surreptitious eye-contact with the girl beside Arlene. She smiled back at him with twinkly brown eyes.
"Trotter?" Arlene asked with arched eyebrows, showing surprise. "How INTERESTING." She indicated to her right with an open palm. "I KNOW you know my DAUGHTER, Cynthia, from your Algebra class, but WE have never met." She swung her hand toward Ted and added, "What a pleasure, Mr. Trotter. I have some concerns about my daughter's, umm, FUTURE... perhaps we can talk later?"
Ted shook Mrs. Hart's black cotton-gloved hand and replied, "How nice to meet you, Mrs. Hart." His voice was steadier than his nerves. Nodding to Cynthia, he said, "And what a coincidence, Cindy, that we should all be in the same movie line." Relieved that neither the freshly fucked eighteen-year-old virgin's facial expressions, nor her mannerisms, gave anything away, Ted started a turn to go back to Mary and the others.
"Yes," said Cynthia to Trotter, interrupting his pivot. "Ma wanted to see 'Rebecca' at the Town, but I WON when I reminded her this was the last day for 'Pinocchio' and I hadn't SEEN it."
Arlene reached out and touched Trotter's elbow as she explained to the men, "I was so happy to be feeling stronger." She gave Ted a strange sharp look as she continued, "and Cynthia got some welcome news... so I thought we should have a 'girls' night out', so to speak." She let go of Ted and hugged her daughter. "DIDN'T I say just THAT, Cynthia?" Looking again at Trotter, Arlene asked, "Perhaps you could telephone me, tomorrow morning, Mr. Trotter? Arbor one-two-two-one... after nine?"
Ted blinked. "Certainly, Mrs. Hart. I look forward to it." Hoping the prickly heat on the back of his neck did not show in the evening shadows and marquee lights, he said, again, "Nice to meet you." Cynthia still gave no outward sign of their intimacy, but inside, her tummy turned over and her cunny clenched involuntarily on itself.
Turning away to follow his son-in-law, Jock breathed, sotto voce for Arlene's benefit only, "Meet me in the loges a few minutes after the show starts... if you want to 'make it up to me' for playing hooky." He wondered, as he left the women alone, if she would keep the appointment.
Over dinner, Arthur and Cecilia had agreed, and gotten the adults' permission, to sit by themselves in the very first row, closest to the screen. As soon as Jock handed the tickets to the doorman, they bolted to claim the best seats still available. Luck was with them and they landed dead center, beating out three other competing children for the prime spots.
Chuckling as they watched the kids scuffle for positions below them, Artie's and Cecie's parents, and Trotter, were satisfied to take left-side seats halfway down and just under the balcony. Mary sat first with Ted next to her. Beside him sat Izzy while Jock settled into the aisle seat. The remaining four seats, between Mary and the wall, were vacant and never claimed throughout the film.
As Jiminy Cricket flipped open the Pinocchio storybook, after finishing his song, 'When you wish upon a star', Jock whispered in Isabel's ear, "I'm going to get something to eat... be right back. Can I bring YOU something?"
Isabel smiled in the dark. Turning her face, she kissed her husband's nose and replied, barely audibly, "You're sweet, but NO... I'll be OK, dear... you go ahead."
Jock slid silently from his seat and walked up the aisle. On the other side of the theater, Arlene Hart saw him stand, silhouetted against the bright screen. Leaning in to her daughter, she quietly excused herself, "Powder room... be right back." Cynthia, already deeply engaged in the Disney story, paid no attention to her mother's departure. Walking up the aisle, ahead of, and parallel to, her boss, Arlene entered the lobby and waited for him.
When Jock stepped through the heavy velvet curtains and turned right, up the sweeping stair to the mezzanine, Arlene copied him, on her side of the lobby. Upstairs, she followed Jock into a set of enclosed box seats, which were on this particular evening, as was often the case, otherwise unoccupied. Jock impetuously swept her into his arms and ground his lips onto her mouth. She clutched his shoulders and returned as good as she got, moaning into the back of his throat as her body turned on within his embrace.
"Oh, GOD!" Arlene exclaimed, when Jock gave her a chance to breathe. "I felt so CRAPPY this morning... goddamned cramps! I COULDN'T even STAND UP, let alone get to work, Jock..." She plastered herself against him and kissed him hard once again, before concluding, "THANK you for being such an understanding boss!"
"Oh, I 'understand' alright," Jock growled. Her heat was taking away the surliness he had felt when he saw her in line, but it was creating a conflict. "So how are you going to 'make it up' if you're having your, you know... monthly THING going on?"
Arlene rapidly opened the buttons on his shirt and scraped her red painted fingernails through his matted chest thatch. Kissing him lightly while she talked, she buzzed, "We don't have to FUCK, you know." She lowered her right hand and grabbed Jock's stiffening cock through his trousers. "I could just KISS you to death, COULDN'T I?"
Working her fingers, while her lips cruised over his chin and down his throat, she freed his thick erection and slid her hand to its base. Squeezing and tugging, she asked in a sultry voice, "Why don't I just turn this wooden puppet into a REAL boy? The 'Blue Fairy' isn't the ONLY magical woman in this theater, you know."
Without waiting for an answer, Arlene dropped to her knees and stuffed Jock's joint in her cheeks. He gripped the seatbacks on either side of his hips as he stood in the row. She did not need a map to know her boss's sensitive spots and she went straight for them. As she puffed her jowls in and out, her busy fingers tugged his nuts in their bag while her thumb pressed with steady pressure on the base of his root.
When Jock was ready to shoot they both knew it. He pulled Arlene's head to his crotch, and swung his pelvis forward, forcing his cock deep to the back of her mouth. She gargled unintelligibly as she bobbed on the bone. With a stifled protracted groan, Jock opened his hips and swayed back, thrusting himself that much further into her throat while he ejaculated. Unfazed by the powerful spurts, Arlene guzzled every gob. His meat muffled her moans as she happily sucked him to completion.
When he knew he had no more to give, Jock let go of his clerk's wavy brunette hair and pulled out of her salivating maw. He grinned and said, huskily, "Well, I GUESS I can forgive you, Lena." Patting her cheek, he asked, "Will you be... all WELL... by Monday?"
Arlene smiled and stood. When she heard him use her pet name she knew everything was as it should be. "Absolutely, Jock," she assured him. "My... er, problem... NEVER lasts longer than three days. Do you think you will WANT me... earlier than usual... you know, to 'make up' for the lost time? I could COME... anytime."
Jock laughed as he buttoned his pants and straightened his shirt and tie. "As you wish, Lena," he said. "You've worked under me long enough to know what the Monday load is like." Giving her a quick peck, he turned to the curtained exit and advised, "Wipe your mouth. You're drooling." With a wink, he disappeared.
As soon as Jock McGuinness stood up and left for his rendezvous, Ted Trotter draped his arms around the shoulders of both his wife and his mother-in-law. Taking advantage of the theater's darkness, he hugged them to his sides, chuckling in a low voice, "Don't fret, ladies... I'M still here to protect you." He demonstrated his guardianship with two quick soft simultaneous squeezes on each woman's outer breast.
Isabel's heavy left boob was squashed into Trotter's ribs above the seats' dividing armrest. Her thin cotton dress afforded no protection for her plump right nipple against his groping pinches and her slip-sliding rayon lingerie traitorously aided and abetted the tickling tormenting tease. She dared not move or speak, however, so she sat staring at the on-screen antics in Geppetto's workshop, as if nothing was happening. Her blind pussy had no such distraction to save it. It tingled from Trotter's bold move and turned on the taps.
Mary, on the other hand, recoiled instantly to her left and pulled her husband's mitt from her tit. "Be-HAYYYVE yourself, Teddy!" She hissed as he grinned in the dark and squeezed her bare bicep instead. "I MEAN it! I REALLY... want to SEE... the MOVIE!" Realizing Ted did not intend to stop his rambunctious rogue rubbing, Mary got out of her seat and scooted two seats away to the left in a huff.
While Trotter continued gently palping Isabel's breast, he thought merrily to himself, "Oh well, Pal, 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'!" Izzy, however, did not want her bush ignored and, as her fire spread, her thoughts were on a bird of a different sort. Wordlessly, she twisted her torso toward Ted, slipped his arm over her head, and laid his hand in her lap.
Pressing Ted's cooperative palm to her pussy, Isabel slid his hand to her hemline and returned, dragging her slip up with the cotton dress. Adding two plus two, the mathematics teacher curled his fingertips and scratched her moistening slice through her cotton briefs. Insinuating his knuckles under a leg seam at the crotch, Ted burrowed through her beaver. Isabel moaned low in her throat and separated her knees on the theater seat.
Having gotten her son-in-law started in her nest in earnest, Izzy moved her right hand over the armrest. Unbuttoning Ted's linen slacks, she foraged in his underwear until his cock was happily in hand and growing in strength. It was Ted's turn to groan. He shifted on his seat and canted his hips toward Izzy. She ran her thumb around his prick's velvet nose. When his pre-cum oozed, she smeared the tacky viscous drops lightly on the sensitive top. Ted hopped involuntarily in his seat, driving his stiff staff through Isabel's loose fist.
While Izzy stroked slowly from rim to root, Ted actively slid between, and along, her soaking cunt's slippery lips. She bit the inside of her cheeks to contain her delighted cries while he tweaked her clit in its hood and pushed through her gate. Her pelvis rocked against his wriggling fingers. Her theater seat squeaked, and she did, too.
The discovery danger of their public masturbation, and particularly Mary's close proximity to the scene of the crime, was gasoline on an already hot flame. Isabel's hand flashed up and down, squeezing as she went. Ted's fingers rapidly plunged as far as his awkwardly bent wrist allowed, which was far enough. Izzy sucked her lips over her teeth, squinched her eyes tight and flooded around the driving digits. Ted lunged in his seat. Its back creaked from the sudden stress as his semen flew out of his cock like a geyser.
Isabel swiftly covered the spewing spout with her hand and drew her fingers up the pulsing shaft's sides, eliciting more manly milk into her palm as the spurts subsided. When he relaxed back into his seat and his prick finally quit pumping, she brought her hand to her mouth and cleaned herself. Ted, too, withdrew, and savored Izzy's essence before parking his penis and re-buttoning his trousers.
No sooner had they realigned in their seats and resumed watching the film, than Jock appeared and sat down. Noticing the distance between Mary and Ted, he leaned across Isabel and asked, "What's going on? Did you get in a fight with Mare?"
Trotter shook his head and answered, "No, I was just bothering her... too much chit-chat, I guess... didn't realize cartoons were so engrossing." He laughed quietly. "But, you know what? IZZY and I REALLY got into it! You better sit back before she bites YOU for blocking her VIEW!" Jock grinned, squared himself in his seat and adjusted his shriveled satisfied stump in his boxers while Isabel glared warning daggers at the daring cuckolding younger man.
After the movie, the Harts caught a trolley home. Walking along to the corner streetcar stop, Arlene noticed Cynthia's sash bow, after an hour-and-a-half in the theater seat, needed tightening. "Wait a second, Sweetie," Arlene said, pausing on the sidewalk. "Your waist needs to be retied." When she remade the bow, she saw a gap, and a missing red button, just above the sash knot. "Sweetie, you've lost a button!" Mrs. Hart exclaimed. "We must go back to the Bijou and look for it."
"Oh, Ma," Cynthia replied, "I noticed that earlier. It wasn't at the theater, though I don't know WHERE I lost it. I'm sorry... first thing tomorrow I'll go to Woolworth's." She had not known her button was torn away, but, of course, she knew exactly when, where and how it must have happened. "If I can't MATCH it, I'll get all new ones and sew them myself." Showing her mother lots of teeth, she swore, "I PROMISE!" Then, pointing to the corner, Cynthia added, "LOOK, Ma! There's the CAR... HURRY!"
On board with fares paid, Mrs. Hart changed the subject to her more pressing concern. "Mr. Trotter seems a nice man, but I've seen the quarterly warnings he has included with your grades. I must find out more about how it is your Algebra has improved so much." She patted her daughter's knee as they sat on the trolley bench, rolling up Edison Street toward Arbor Heights. "Of course, I'm DELIGHTED... but, it IS a worry. What if he mistook YOU for another student when he told you this afternoon you were in no danger of failing?" She squinted thoughtfully.
"MA!" Cynthia insisted. "I TOLD you already... there IS no mistake." She wiggled her bottom on the wood slats as she remembered Ted's driving dick deflowering her, against the classroom wall, and filling her virgin cunny with his semen, as if she was an Ă©clair. Thinking of it now, she could still scarcely believe how much pink-tinged cum she had laved from her ravaged pussy in the girls' bathroom. "He said I was a 'natural problem solver' and then he gave me something REALLY HARD and watched me WORK it... right in FRONT of him." Cynthia grinned and said, wide-eyed, "HONEST, Ma... he was VERY satisfied with the result."
Arlene said nothing to indicate any disbelief. However, for the rest of the ride, she stared out the window and considered how she would tackle the issue of ensuring her daughter was not misinformed. Debarking at Locust Avenue, they strolled in the comfortably cool late Spring evening to Number 639 and entered their rented duplex.
Meanwhile, the Trotters, with much the shorter walk home, were already in their cottage and preparing to retire. Ted was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, when Arthur entered to use the toilet before going to bed. "Hey, Champ," Trotter greeted him. "You all set? Dominoes put away?"
"Yeah, Pop," Arthur replied. After finishing his business, he said, "Thanks for taking me to the movie."
"You're welcome, but remember to thank GRAMPA again," Ted reminded him, as he stepped aside to let the boy wash up. Handing him a towel, he moved back to the basin and said, "I'm still not clear on why he treated us all... but it WAS very nice."
Mary floated into the room on the tail-end of the conversation. Leaning over, she kissed Arthur on his forehead as he stood near the towel rack. "It was actually his way of thanking ME for COMING, on such short notice, to SUBSTITUTE for Arlene Hart after she called off sick this morning."
Arthur saw, but paid no attention to, his mother's voluptuous figure, shrouded in a pearlescent rayon negligee and silhouetted behind her pink chiffon peignoir. He did, however, comment on her white marabou collar and cuffs. "Those feathers are really soft, Mother," he said, rubbing his nose. "They tickle when you bend down and kiss me like that. What are they called again?"
"Marabou, Arthur... they come from a stork in Africa." She pivoted and hugged Trotter at the sink, enfolding him with the fluffy cape collar. Her son neither noticed, nor cared, that her full breasts, in the flimsy pockets of her plunge-front nightgown, flattened against Ted's back. She shimmied slightly, sliding his cotton pajama top across his hard back muscles. "This was an anniversary gift from your father," she lied, unknowingly. Kissing the back of Trotter's neck, while she drug her fingertips across his smooth, freshly shaved face, she said, "He's SO romantic."
"Yuck!" Arthur rendered his verdict in no uncertain terms. "If you're going to get all MUSHY, I'm getting out of here!" He pushed past the adults and called over his shoulder, as he entered his bedroom, "Good night, Mother! Good night, Pop! Love you!"
Ted gave out a small chuckle, turned in Mary's arms and embraced her. "What's a nine-year-old know about 'romantic', Baby?" He smooched her firmly and coursed his hands over her soft, matronly, but still firm, curves. Pulling the alluring material away from her body, he asked, "Does THIS mean I'm out of the doghouse? You were kind of SORE at me in the theater."
Mary dry-scrubbed his back with her knuckles as she pulled herself closer to Trotter's torso. "I couldn't believe you were so BLATANT... with Mama right there BESIDE you!" She kissed him and pulled back. "Anyway, there's a TIME... and a PLACE." Stepping away and pulling his sleeve, she said, in a low soft voice, "I have the PLACE... do YOU have the time?"
Ted felt his cock thicken while he allowed her to drag him to their bedroom. Grinning, he kicked the door shut. Mary spun and body-slammed Ted against its walnut panels and turned the skeleton key in the lock. "That'll keep the urchin at bay, Mister Trotter," she announced, pulling him with her as she walked backward to their brass bed.
Trotter pushed his pajama bottoms down and walked out of them as Mary fell to the mattress with her arms upraised. His sprung erection waved wildly while he came in for a landing on her sumptuous chest. "You'll never keep MY 'urchin at bay' Baby," he growled, as his hands slid along her outer thighs and drug her shiny pink slinky to her belly, baring her demi-bald peach and round navel.
She cupped her hands behind Trotter's neck and hugged him tight while his tongue explored its way from her shallow dry well to her deep wet grotto. She squirmed under his teasing torture as her tension rose with the heat from the fire in her cunny. Gasping and panting, she came quicker than Ted expected. While she squirted his nose and feasting lips, he pulled her hips and tightened his seal.
When the last wave washed back from the beach, Mary sat up and pushed Trotter away. As he stood, knees bumping the mattress edge, she clutched his taut ass and said, brusquely, "It's MY turn to taste." Her mouth closed over his rigid pole as she sat on the edge of the bed and reeled him in. Fervently, she sucked his nob and pushed her face down the staff as far as she could without suffocating.
Pulling back, and off his erection, Mary swiftly raised her negligee and peignoir, as a unit, over her head. Then, scooting forward, leaning in and arching her back, she captured the throbbing cock between her tits and squeezed their mass around it. Grinning, while she inhaled and increased the pressure on the imprisoned prick, she said, "We haven't done it THIS way... for a LONG time." She bent her head and kissed the shiny velvet head at the top of her cleavage. "Do you REMEMBER our first date after you made me a woman? I certainly do."
Trotter did not know that Mary's first fuck from her father, after he discovered her silk chemise, soiled with Ted's fresh cum, was the reason their titty-fuck ten years ago was so memorable. However, he knew what she needed here, tonight.
Lunging, Trotter thrust upward and bumped his glans on her chin. Retreating he pulled his prick to the base of her canyon before returning. She yipped and tried playfully to nip his reappearing tip as he stroked. He closed his strong palms over the backs of her hands and squeezed her as she squeezed him. Nearing hyperventilation, Mary puffed while Ted chugged powerfully in her deepest groove. When he came it was a gusher. His derrick blasted past her chin and shot spunk up her nose. She laughed with delight as she watched the gray grease spout, land, and drizzle her cheeks.
When he was finished, she split her lips around his tired nozzle and drew him deep into her mouth. Her tongue, gleaning the last gobs, induced a latent spit of semen, which she gobbled as well. Popping him free, she bladed his jizz from her face with her fingers and licked them clean. Mary tipped her head back and smiled with satisfaction at Ted's happy face. "THANK you, Mr. Trotter," she said in her best imitation of her own schoolgirl's voice from a decade past. "That was SWELL!"
Trotter patted her head and answered, "It pleases me to no end that you still like my 'curds and whey', Miss Muffet." He pulled her from the bed into a nose-to-toes hug and breathed, "I'm ready for beddie. What about you?"
While Ted Trotter was pulling down the covers in the master bedroom at 46 1/2 Garvey Street, Jock McGuinness was tucking nine-year-old Cecilia into her iron single bed in the garret of their bungalow at 1024 Oak Avenue. "Goodnight, Potato Bug," he said tenderly, as he kissed his youngest daughter's cheek. "Sweet dreams."
"G'night, Papa," she said, hugging his neck. She rubbed her face on his bristles and complained gaily, "Your whiskers are SHARP! Are you turning into a fox, like Honest John?" She kissed him quickly and fell back on her bed. "I don't care if you DO. I love you, Papa!" Rolling over she closed her eyes and missed her father's sad guilty look.
As he left Cecilia's bedroom, he wished, for the umpteenth time, that he could find a way to move the family to another house. For three months, from Mother's Day until her marriage, when she moved in with Ted, he had fucked his eighteen-year-old daughter, three times a week, in that very same bed while Isabel, unknowing, and pregnant with Cecie, slept downstairs. He knew it was bad. He knew it was beyond his control. "If only we could move, I wouldn't be so haunted," he thought, yet again.
Of course, moving would not stop the fucking. Both he and Mary looked forward to whatever time they could find for that. He exclaimed to himself, as he walked down the half-flight of stairs to the main house, "God, TODAY, she was as hot as a pistol!" The mere memory made his balls itch. When he idly rubbed them through his trousers, his dick swelled, too.
Isabel was just pulling her lilac charmeuse nightgown on over her head when Jock walked into the master bedroom. He watched from the rear as she shook its down past her hips. Her elbows were akimbo while she settled her mature heavy jugs into the nightie's lace pockets. Isabel looked over her bust at her slightly bumpy tummy. She frowned at Ted's cum stains splashed across the shiny bias-cut fabric. Unaware her husband was in the room, Isabel was lucky that she thought, rather than said aloud, "I better get at those stains first thing in the morning, before they set up for good."
She was startled when Jock slipped up behind her, wrapped his big forearms across her gut and squeezed. "Hhmmmm, I LIKE it," he said throatily as he slid his arms, and Isabel's nightgown, over her abdomen. Splitting his hands, he dropped his right to her groin and raised his left under her full right breast. Grabbing her pussy and hefting her tit at the same time, he growled, "If you're wearing THAT for ME... its WORKING." He laughed and added, "If you're NOT... I don't want to KNOW!"
Isabel leaned back against his brick-hard barrel chest, covered his hands with hers, and answered, softly, "You idiot, Jock! Who would I wear this for, if not YOU?" She pushed his fingers deeper between her legs and opened her knees. "YOU'VE been my man for thirty years, HAVEN'T you?" After regularly fucking her son-in-law for ten years, and possibly even bearing his child, Isabel was an expert at implied fidelity. Once more, she silently rationalized, "and it's BECAUSE Ted keeps me young, that YOU can HAVE me whenever you like."
Jock buzzed her left ear and whispered, "THAT'S what I like to hear. Give me two shakes to get out of my duds and I'll be right with you." Releasing Isabel, he turned to the wardrobe and began undressing. With an inaudible sigh of relief, Isabel quickly got under the covers, reducing the chances that Jock might see the evidence of his cuckolding.
Jock was caught up in his own dilemma. Walking into the bedroom with a hard-on from memories of Mary, he was overcome by his wife's fancy nightie, which she seldom wore anymore. Now, after an afternoon of heavy sex and a blow-job to top it off, he was genuinely concerned that a poor performance on his part might raise questions he had successfully avoided for years. "Help me come, Jesus," he prayed irreverently, under his breath, as he slid naked between the sheets.
"Did you just say 'help me come'?" Isabel asked, with a gleam in her eye, as she curled her left leg over Jock and grabbed his fat firm penis. "You KNOW I will." Jock groaned as she slipped her fingers softly up and down his boner and cooed sweet nothings into his face. Her warm breath and hot hand made him forget about his concern as they stirred up his nuts and lit fires in his chest.
Jock gathered Isabel to him and kissed her tenderly while he slowly rubbed her curved back though her charmeuse. The fabric rode up and his broad palm covered her ample bare backside. She scooted forward and hiked her bottom under his strong fingers. Her cunny melted. Jock moved to meet her as her tugging fist guided him, below the covers, to her nest. His cock's nose rooted through the roots of her thick thatch and glided past her lubricated gate into her cunt's courtyard. She sighed and kissed her husband sweetly as he filled her.
Slowly, lovingly, as only the most practiced intimacy allows, they kissed, hugged and fucked with endless delight. Even the slowest ovens cook fully with enough time, and so it was for Jock and Isabel. Their tandem thrusts, choreographed across three decades, brought them each to their crisis. Isabel clenched Jock's prick tightly with her pussy while she clutched his back and butt with her hands. With a long wailing cry, she came. Jock hitched his hips and locked himself to her pubes. Pulling her down by her shoulders onto his stake, he shoved himself upward to his limit. His rushing seed burst from his pods and joined her flood.
"Oh, JOCK!" Isabel exclaimed, with a long satisfied exhalation, after she fully calmed from her orgasm. She would have said more, but she saw her husband's eyes were closed. His regular soft breathing was a true indicator of the soundness of his sleep. Leaving him lodged deeply in her vagina, she caressed his softening slumbering penis with gentle contractions until she, too, drifted off.