All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters 18+ Years Old

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Arlene Hart glanced up at the big maple clock on the wall behind her daughter, Cynthia. Ted Trotter, seated at the kitchen table between the two women, followed her eyes. Arlene dropped her left hand lightly onto his right thigh and said, wistfully, "You'd better be getting going, Ted... It's five blocks to the trolley stop. If you miss the 3:50 car, you'll have to wait another hour, if you don't want to walk home." She squeezed his leg hoping he would stay, but knowing he would not.

Cynthia was more forthright. The eighteen-year-old rose from the table and stood behind Ted's chair, pulling his head back to rest against her firm medium bust. The towel knot in her cleavage untied itself when his pate made contact and she shimmied until her tits pillowed his ears. "Can't you stay, Mr. Trotter? Please?" Her high plaintive voice and her soft fingers, sliding from his temples across his cheeks, were very persuasive.

Trotter steeled his will, even as his willful dick turned to steel under his own towel. "NO, Cindy," he answered, proud of his self-discipline. "I have to leave." He smiled up at her precious young face. "But, I'll come again... I PROMISE."

Arlene fished her hand through his towel's separating fold and felt Ted's erection. Sliding its length, she grinned evilly and warned, "Sooner than you THINK, if you don't get dressed and get out of here, RIGHT NOW!" With a strong departing squeeze, she laughed, stood up and pointed to the breakfront sideboard. "The clothes you shucked this morning are all right there... except for your underwear which is still in my bedroom, in case you've forgotten. Cynthia, go fetch Mr. Trotter's shorts and undershirt."

While Ted hiked purposefully along Locust Avenue to Flint Street, five blocks north, he wondered, "Why am I reluctant to go home? Mary's a good woman and a fine fuck... and I NEVER feel this way when I'm leaving Izzy." He was so intently pondering his conundrum that he boarded the streetcar, and debarked at Central Avenue, like an automaton, virtually unaware of the world until he reached the corner of Garvey Street.

Meanwhile, in southeast Arbor Heights, Mary Trotter backed the family Ford out of the driveway at her parents' Oak Avenue bungalow. As she straightened the car in the street and pointed for home, Arthur complained he was hungry. Mary looked at her watch and said, "It's still an hour to supper time, Arthur. When we get home you may have either an apple or two oatmeal cookies to tide you over... OK?" Pointing through the windshield, she exclaimed, "Oh, LOOK! There's Grandma, Arthur... WAVE!"

Mary and her nine-year-old son waved from their stopped car while Isabel McGuinness pulled her thirteen-year-old maroon-and-red Flying Cloud sedan into her driveway. She smiled and waved back as she walked up to the house and watched her daughter drive off. Closing the front door, she called, "Yoo hoo! Jock! Cecie! I'm HOME!"

Jock stepped from the parlor into the hall and hugged his wife closely, sliding his hands over her back and bottom as he pulled her to his chest and groin. "Cecie's still upstairs, playing with her dolls or reading or something. I SHOWERED, like you asked... Do you..."

Isabel smelled the fresh Old Spice and felt his smooth jowls on her face as they embraced. Her lungs filled and her breasts swelled against Jock's hard pectorals. Her cunny, anticipating attention, built a low fire in her tummy as it lubed itself. Pushing him away, with a full, but brief, kiss, she hissed, "Not NOW, Jock... LATER! I've got a roast to tend to and Cecie isn't LOCKED UP, you know! What if she... saw or heard?" Clucking her tongue, Isabel patted her husband's freshly shaved cheek. "You're SWEET... but wait until bedtime... she'll be upstairs and we'll be ALONE."

Jock sighed as he watched his wife brush past him and enter the kitchen. He followed and spoke to her back while she tied her apron. "Well, you don't mind if I sit here, sip coffee, and undress you in my head, do you?" He chuckled low in his throat while he poured a mug of old burned coffee from the aluminum percolator on the stove.

"Not as long as that's ALL you do, you old goat," Isabel answered flippantly over her shoulder, with a wink. Silently she thought, "THANK you Father Logan... THIS week I'll be FAITHFUL. I really WILL!" Aloud, as she busied herself, she added, "Now HUSH! I've got to get these potatoes and carrots in or they'll be raw when the meat's done."

Unusual activity to his left snapped Ted out of his reverie. He looked a hundred feet up Garvey Street and saw a police cruiser, an ambulance and a strange black Plymouth coupe standing at the curb in front of Farragut's Victorian house. Deciding not to continue to the alley, as he typically would do, Trotter turned and headed for his landlord's front lawn.

As he arrived, he saw two white-suited medics removing a body from the house on a stretcher. On the porch, a dark-suited man was speaking with two police officers. Ted's curiosity morphed to concern and sunk, like a cinder block, into his gut as he wondered, "Is that Old Man Farragut?"

Mary, chatting as she drove, missed her turn on Holmes Street and continued the extra block to Garvey Street before turning off Oak Avenue. Five minutes later, approaching Central Avenue, she pulled over and parked as another arriving police sedan replaced the ambulance moving away from Number 46. Whereas, she did not see Eli's body being loaded, she assumed an accident had befallen her seventy-two-year-old part-time employer and secret lover.

When a tall detective, in a brown suit and fedora, got out of the second cruiser, Mary worried it was more than a mere stumble. She said to Arthur, with a no-nonsense tone, "You sit right here, Arthur, I'll be back in a moment." Arthur thought better about arguing as his mother exited the car, although he very much wanted to go look more closely at the black-and-white Chevrolets with their shiny sirens and big red spotlights.

Crossing the street, Mary saw her husband walking up the other side from Central Avenue. She diverted and hurried to meet him. "What do you think the rumpus is about, Ted?" She asked breathlessly, hooking her arm behind his back and leaning in for support.

Ted kissed Mary's anxious furrowed brow and answered, "I don't know, Sugar Beet. Maybe Farragut had a heart attack, or something."

"Oh, TED!" Mary blurted, "Don't even THINK that! He's so sweet and kind!" Tears formed and flowed freely while the two of them walked to the house.

When they climbed the porch stairs, Officer Steve Janssen demanded, "Who might YOU be? Do you LIVE here?"

The Trotters identified themselves and Janssen was on the verge of telling them to shove off and mind their own business, when Officer Sean O'Rourke appraised Mary's demeanor and dress. His practiced eye noted her flimsy frock hung revealingly. None of her loosely contained, and unrestrained, naturally contoured hourglass figure's details were in doubt. Recalling the soiled sateen panties he found in Farragut's robe pocket, he waved off his partners dismissal before it was delivered.

"So, you live behind the place here," O'Rourke stated. Without further explanation, he continued, "Mr. Farragut missed his chess game this afternoon. Do you happen to recall the last time you saw him? Either of you?"

Ted spoke first. "Must have been Thursday. He was sitting under an apple tree in back when I came home from school about... oh, four-thirty, or so?"

Mary gasped and leaned closer to her husband. Through her worried tears, she said, "I do... cleaning and... er, such, for Eli. I was here Friday morning." Bringing herself under more control, but still shaking, she asked through quivering lips, "Why? What's the matter? I made him a BIRTHDAY cake... he was in FINE spirits when I left, at NOON."

An unidentified man, standing to the policemen's left in a blue serge suit and pearl fedora, answered before anyone could prevent it. "I'm Dr. Sparks, Mrs. Trotter. Your landlord and employer passed in his sleep last night, it seems."

Mary collapsed with the news. Ted saved her fall, holding her as she buried her face in his shirt and bawled, "NO! NO! It can't BE!"

Detective Preston Howard, taking charge of the emotional scene, lightly touched Mary's quaking back. "I'm afraid it is true, Mrs. Trotter. He WAS seventy-two and these things DO happen at times not of our own choosing." Howard's mind registered and filed away his first-hand knowledge that Mary wore no bra beneath her cotton dress. "It's possible you were the last person to see Mr. Farragut alive. I may need information from you for my report. Will that be alright?"

"Now, just hold on a moment, Detective," Dr. Sparks intervened as only an experienced physician and surgeon could. "This woman's very distraught. I'd SUGGEST, if I may, that your questions could wait until Monday. I haven't seen anything to suggest an unnatural passing. Give me a chance to verify or rule out that perception, won't you?"

Turning to the Trotters and addressing Ted, Dr. Sparks said, "Take your wife home. Fix her a nice cup of warm, not HOT, cambric tea." He reached into his black bag and shook out three capsules from two bottles. Handing them to Ted, he instructed, "Have her take these with the tea and put her to bed. She'll sleep undisturbed through the night."

Sparks gave Howard and Trotter his card and directed, "Call me Monday morning. I'll have a report for you then." Stepping forward, he patted Mary's shoulder and soothed, "Rest, my dear. Things will look better tomorrow... I'm SURE of it."

Detective Howard acquiesced. "OK, Doc. You're right, no doubt." Turning toward the officers, he slid his hand across Mary's shoulders and verified she wore no camisole or slip, either. Silently he mused, "She's pretty broke up for a simple domestic worker. Must have really cared for the old fellow." Aloud he said to Janssen and O'Rourke, "Come inside with me while I look around."

The Trotters followed Dr. Sparks to his 1940 P-10 coupe and then crossed the street to their own black Ford sedan. Ted helped Mary into the back seat and slid behind the wheel. Before he started the car he looked at Arthur and said, "Your mom's in shock, Champ. Old Mr. Farragut died in his sleep last night. After we get her to bed, I'll heat us up some Van Camp pork and beans." He scrubbed the boy's head with his knuckles and said, "It'll be like camping... but, in the house. Will THAT be OK with you?"

Arthur shook his head and grimaced as his stomach rumbled. "Grandma's made a roast," he offered helpfully.

"OK, I get it," Ted said. He fired up the flathead V-8 and started rolling. "Let's see if she'll set an extra plate. You can spend the night and I'll babysit your mother."

Back on Oak Avenue, Ted explained the situation and Isabel gladly agreed to keep Arthur overnight. Trotter trotted Mary home, unaware of the exact level of her grief. In their cottage, he guided his wife to their bedroom, kissed her cheek and said, "Get in a your cozy flannel nightgown, Sugar Beet, then crawl under the covers. I'll bring you something warm to drink, like Dr. Sparks, said." She nodded numbly and fumbled her buttons while Ted hustled into the kitchen and put a kettle on.

With the water heating up, Ted stepped into the parlor and telephoned Arlene Hart. She answered on the third ring, "Arbor one-two-two-one, Hello?"

Speaking in a hushed voice, Trotter quickly clued Arlene in on the recent events and finished with a question. "So, can I swing by, after I eat a bite of supper?"

"Absolutely NOT!" Arlene answered with a laugh behind the exclamation. "You get over here as soon as Mary's lights go out. Cynthia and I will make sure you're fed, don't worry about THAT!"

Ted grinned into the receiver. "The kettle's calling... got to go. See you as soon as can be!" He hung up, then lifted the receiver off the hook and left it laying on the table.

Whistling louder than the steaming water vapor, Ted prepared Mary's cambric tea and threw an ice cube in to cool it. In the bedroom, he supervised while Mary took the doctor's sedatives and drank her warm beverage. Twenty minutes later, she was fast asleep and he was back in the Ford headed for Locust Avenue.

Meanwhile, on Oak Avenue, Jock was in a declining sour mood. He had been horny, and on edge, ever since his wife's ass beckoned to him from her house dress that morning at breakfast. The only good thing that had happened all day, by his reckoning, was a fun, but too quick, team fuck of Brian Doherty's Dutch niece.

His libido re-asserted itself when he came home and saw Isabel bent over at the oven but, again, he was interrupted untimely. Jock smiled to himself, remembering the blow-job his daughter gave him in the shower after his wife went to St. Luke's, but that was hardly anything more than an appetizer and there was no following meal.

He chewed his roast beef and looked around the table at Cecie, Art and Isabel. "NOW," Jock thought, "I've got TWO kids to worry about. Isabel probably won't let me fuck her sweet ass tonight, EITHER, what with Artie staying over." He scowled.

"Penny for your thoughts, dear," Isabel said, with a quizzical look.

"Hmmm? Oh!" Jostled, Jock answered, "I was thinking this roast was extra tasty, tonight. And then I bit my cheek!" He laughed and rubbed his right jowl ruefully.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," his wife replied sympathetically. "Do you want to dab some baking soda on it?"

"No," Jock answered, "It's nothing. Gone now. Thanks." Clapping his hands, he asked, "So, who's up for a game of canasta?"

Both children enthusiastically raised their hands. Isabel grinned, happy for the family activity. She stood and said, "Get the cards, Jock, with helpful elves, I think we'll have the kitchen squared away in no time!" Arthur and Cecilia promptly began clearing the dishes while Isabel ran hot water in the sink and put leftovers in the refrigerator.

The menu at 639 Locust was considerably different than at the McGuinness bungalow. When he walked in and saw Cynthia and Arlene, Trotter was glad he had hedged his bet and wolfed down two cold fried chicken drumsticks while he drove back to the Hart duplex. His mouth watered for desert.

The women stood waiting in the hall, naked beneath diaphanous rayon peignoirs. Arlene's was pale mint green with emerald ribbons while Cynthia's was pastel saffron with ruffled white lace cuffs. When Trotter closed the door they converged and embraced him, forming a three-sided pillar. Between Ted's legs another pillar formed. Wrapping his arms about their bodies as they squirmed, he kissed them back and forth. Quick light small osculations soon slowed, lengthened and deepened. As the women wound up, they moaned, mewled and pushed Trotter back against the front door.

Their hands were everywhere. Their perfumes filled his nostrils and clouded his mind. In moments, Trotter was stripped. Arlene, on his left, and Cynthia, on his right, each took a hand and led him down the hall. A sudden thought shredded his fog and he exclaimed, on the move, "Wait! Rubbers! Pants pocket!"

Arlene laughed as she and her daughter turned the corner into her room and pushed their prey backward across the turned-down double bed. The mattress sank as the women pounced. The sturdy ash frame easily withstood the incoming four-hundred-plus pounds of bouncing bodies, although the high headboard warped and recovered, striking the wall with a great bang.

"Don't worry, Tickler," Arlene buzzed in his ear. "I have nearly a dozen rubbers... hope you use them ALL!"

"Yes, Mr. Trotter," Cynthia purred in his other ear. "USE ALL of them!" She slid down Ted's chest, over his legs and knelt on the floor with her torso folded on the mattress, as if she were praying to his naked knees. "Ma," she asked sweetly, "what was it you said I should do next?"

Arlene pulled down on Trotter's shoulders, urging him to scoot closer to the bed's edge. He inched his way until his feet were flat on the floor with his calves flush to the mattress and surrounding Cynthia's shoulders. "Put your hands on his hips, drop your chin and take one of his testicles into your mouth," Arlene answered. "Just like the ping-pong ball, Sweetie. ROLL and SUCK gently... its fragile, don't hurt him!"

Cynthia's splayed fingers and spread thumbs gripped Trotter while she followed her mother's instructions to the letter. Ted's left nut filled her mouth. It's weight and oval shape was different and much more exciting than the light celluloid sphere Arlene gave her for training purposes that afternoon, after Ted left them, following lunch.

Trotter groaned and flexed his erect dick. It bumped Cynthia's forehead when it relaxed and she laughed. He flexed again and sighed. Arlene praised her daughter, "Good girl, switch off now and then." Pivoting a hundred and eighty degrees on her knees, she swung her left leg over Ted's face, draped her sheer green canopy over his upper body and settled her pussy onto his mouth. "I told you not to fret about food, Tickler," she chuckled. "Now, EAT me UP!"

Ted drove his tongue and nose deep into Arlene's redolent wet cunt. Raising his right arm, he closed his hand around her pendant breast and plucked her plump nipple from its swollen platform. He dropped his left hand to the top of Cynthia's head and tugged her hair ribbons while she gobbled his eggs.

"Nyaah," moaned Arlene as her little man came out of hiding and danced with Trotter's tongue tip. "Honey, remember... the H-HOT dog... it's time to TAYYYST... the REAL thing." She panted while she gave Cynthia additional direction and Ted gave her additional thrills.

Cynthia popped Trotter's wet hairy balls from her mouth and lifted her head under his moving hand. Squeezing his outer thighs as she pushed up from his nutsack, she found his waving cock and caught it with her teeth. "RRhhaaaah!" Ted growled as her lips closed behind his plum's rim and she applied the same perfect suction she had used on his gonads. She moaned around his meat and slid halfway down his shaft.

Arlene was rocking. Reaching forward and down, she seized her daughter's breasts as they rose from Trotter's thighs when Cynthia bobbed up. The electricity of her mother's touch snapped through the girl's cunny and she blew up like a transformer hit by lightning. Ted's fat prick stifled her scream but nothing stopped her body. She squeezed and sucked and cried as she came a sudden tumult.

Trotter hunched his hips in her hands and lunged his seven-inches until his pubic curls were caught in Cynthia's gnashing teeth and mimping lips. Rigidly arched, he pulled Arlene down with both hands, one on her back the other on her tit. He fibrillated her pussy's lips as he howled and exploded into her daughter's throat.

Arlene, the only one of the three lovers with a free voice, raised the rafters with her scream as she climaxed. "TICKLER! KILLLLL ME!" Her hands clawed into Cynthia's pert aching breasts. Her knees and thighs crushed Trotter's pounding temples. Trotter and Cynthia defended their lives lapping, sucking and swallowing as fast as the fluids flowed.

The trio burned out, collapsed and held motionless for an interminable fifteen seconds. Ted's hands slipped to Arlene's hips and twisted her right, off his head. Cynthia pulled up, drooling, from his semi-soft penis and clambered back on the bed to his left. They lay like jackstraws waiting to be picked up.

Arlene moved first. Climbing off the bed, she retrieved several Trojan packets from her bureau and returned. She put them on her bedside table top, reserving one and opening it while she studied Ted's limp, but thick, cock. "This will NEVER do, Tickler," she said, clucking her tongue. "We KNOW you're stronger than THAT!"
Ted grinned weakly and rejoined, "DO you, now?" He reached down, stroked the saffron peignoir covering the teenager's back, and asked, "What about YOU, Cindy... do YOU know how STRONG I am, TOO?" He played his fingers in her long brunette hair, which was now mostly unraveled from its braids and radiated across her shoulders, onto his chest. When she raised her head and smiled, he added, "Your mom wants to TEST me."

Arlene poked and stroked Ted's lax prick until it stiffened somewhat, then she fluffed it further with her own cock-sucking techniques. When it hardened to her satisfaction, she unrolled the condom around the standing staff. "There, NOW, you're set up," she giggled. Moving off the bed again, she patted Cynthia's bottom and said, "Up and at 'em, honey."

Cynthia rose to her hands and knees and straddled Trotter's recumbent frame. He pulled her to his face and kissed her strongly, thrilling at her eagerness to explore his mouth with her tongue. He tasted himself as she did so. Arlene, stepping behind her daughter, placed her hands on Cynthia's hips and steered her into position while Ted growled and the girl groaned.

When Cynthia's pussy was aligned, Arlene pressed her pelvis down and pulled back. With little need, but still appreciative, of her mother's assistance, Cynthia felt Ted's bone divide her nether lips and bury itself in her happy hole. He lifted his hips while she dropped hers. The latex sheath grabbed, then slid easily. She contracted her cunt and hugged her welcome visitor.

While the coupled couple rose and fell, Arlene hunched over her daughter's bowed back. She pressed her own pussy firmly to Cynthia's peignoir covered bottom, just above Trotter's jamming joint. Her daughter's thin rayon robe abraded Arlene's dark bush and teased her excited clit. Reaching around, she clasped her left hand on Cynthia's boob and twiddled its puffy crown while she reached back and down with her right hand and tickled Ted's tightening nuts with her nails.

Every lifting pounding thrust interacted. Ted huffed. Cynthia puffed. Arlene twittered and twitched her twat against her daughter's taint. The rhythmic rollicking romp, accompanied by much mewling, gasping and gnarring, lasted, despite the ecstatic agony, beyond Trotter's expectation. Even considering his massive seminal evacuation into the eighteen-year-old's mouth, he could not believe how powerful and stagnant he felt all at the same time.

Cynthia's crisis arrived, culminated, and returned twice. She bounced and yipped incessantly. And still, although his nuts were supercharged, Ted held off. Arlene pinched her daughter's buttocks and hissed, "MY turn, honey... move up!" She pushed until Cynthia cleared Trotter's cock and crouched with her knees by his ears. Arlene swiftly scooted forward and swallowed Ted's tool with her own hungry pussy, while again crushing her sweaty tits against Cynthia's back. This time, however, she grasped both the girl's breasts and mauled them as she ground her hips.

Ted craned his neck and was met halfway when Cynthia lowered her cunny to his mouth. Seizing her ass, he held her fast as he fell back to the mattress. The forceful drop made her yelp while her muff masked his face. His hips recovered their lost beat. Arlene grinned madly and rode his pole. Cynthia could not contain her hysterical joy as she poured herself out like the proverbial bottomless pitcher.

At last, Trotter neared his point of no return. Arlene incoherently snuffled and whimpered. Cynthia squeezed her legs like bellows and bawled. Ted yanked Arlene's ass, pulling her pussy hard to his lurching loins, and drove his dick to her deepest point. He seized Cynthia's clit with his lips, sucking away its very existence, and unloaded multiple shots into the Trojan.

When the frozen tableau thawed, and the women rolled, left and right, off Ted, Cynthia, still wheezing from her hyperventilation, exclaimed, "Oh, MR. TROTTER! That 'something' was 'something' ELSE!"

Arlene laughed. "Yes, Tickler... good JOB! Can you spend the night? We'd love it if you COULD."

Ted shook his head weakly. "I can't, Arly, truly. The doctor said Mary would sleep through until morning, but she went down at a quarter to six... and I don't know what Doctor Sparks meant by 'morning.' He kissed his girls and smiled. "But let's have a little cuddling nap. I don't have to leave right NOW."

Exhausted, Cynthia did not have to be invited twice. She curled into Ted's ribs and sighed. Her left hand scratched once, softly, through his chest thatch before she fell asleep. Arlene gazed across Trotter at her well-fucked daughter and grinned. Kissing his earlobe, she buzzed, "You're a keeper, Tickler... if only we could find a way." Then she, too, shut her eyes and exhaled a deep breath.

Ted lay with his bundles tucked tight beneath his arms and stared at the ceiling through the darkness. The air was heavy with the infused scents of Shalimar, sweat, and sex. He wondered about Arlene's last words and repeated them into the room, "Yes... 'if only we could find a way'."

While their eldest daughter lay drugged, and their son-in-law lay a-bed with the Hart women, considering them for permanent mistresses, Jock and Isabel McGuinness laughed and played cards with Arthur and Cecilia. Jock was losing. This, in no small part, because he was still vexed and horny.

It was difficult for him to focus on the game strategy. Every glance across the table at Isabel made his dick jump. Likewise, each look at Arthur was a reminder the guest bed was in her sewing room, directly across the hall from their bedroom. She was always inhibited when there was a sleep-over in the house.

The Kienzle mantle clock in the parlor chimed the nine o'clock hour, just as Arthur completed his final qualifying red canasta and went out, catching Jock big. Isabel folded her cards and looked at the scores. "Well, there's no sense tallying. It's clear that Artie is over five thousand and no one else is above four. Good job, Artie!" She leaned over and kissed the beaming boy.

Jock added, "And good timing, too. The clock says, 'it's bedtime' for boys and girls.'" He chuckled, kissed Cecie and punched Arthur's shoulder gently. "Brush your teeth, come back for hugs, and then get to bed. Now, SHOO! Both of you."

Jock separated the decks and put away the cards while Isabel followed the obedient children down the hall. Cecilia went to her own half-bath in the garret and Arthur used the main bathroom. Isabel stepped into her sewing room, pulled down the Murphy bed, and swept back its covers. After plumping the pillows and smoothing the bottom sheet, she returned to the living room and said, "I think I'll turn in, too, Jock. It's been a tiring day for some reason."

Jock's hopes had risen when she spoke of going to bed, but they were dashed by her complaint of being tired. He knew that would put the kibosh on their fucking, even if they were alone on the planet. "Alright, dear," he replied evenly. "You go on. I'm going to sit up and read for while." He crossed the room and kissed her. "You want to wait for Cecie and Art, or shall I send them to your room to say their goodnights?"

"You are too thoughtful, Jock," Isabel answered sweetly, patting his cheek. "It really is one of your best features. Send the kids down. They won't be long, but I DO want to get in my nightie. Try not to wake me when you come to bed, dear." They kissed again and she left.

Jock turned the clock chime off and pulled a volume of Twain from the parlor library shelves. He had read two paragraphs, from where he left off in "Roughing It", when the kids bounded in and gave him minty kisses. He hugged them both and smiled as they ran out to find Isabel.

At ten o'clock, Jock closed and shelved his book. He walked quietly down the hall and up the stairs. At the landing, when he saw no light under Cecilia's door, he turned and walked back down. Opening the sewing room door, he verified Arthur was sound asleep and then sealed the room again. Crossing the hall, he moved to the big brass bed and paused. Isabel's heavy regular breathing promised she was well into dreamland. Jock smiled in the dark and walked back into the hall.

"A drive in the dark, Jock," he spoke softly to himself. "That's the ticket for you. Get some fresh air." Lifting the front door latch as quietly as possible, he stepped onto the porch and eased the door shut behind him. Soundlessly, he walked the path to the driveway and slipped behind the REO's steering wheel. The driver's door made a dull thud, which sounded to Jock like a whip cracking, but was, in fact, inaudible beyond three feet.

Jock released the parking brake, stepped on the clutch and rolled noiselessly backward into the empty street, turning the wheel and pointing the hood north by dint of habit. Safely distant from the bungalow, he turned over the engine, shifted into first and set off; steering one-handed with his left elbow on the open window sill.

The mild May night air brushed his face. Its carried scent reminded him of Greta Van Der Molen's light floral perfume. Jock looked at his Roamer watch face and wondered if she was still at The Shillelagh. Turning left on Lowry Street, he headed for the Industrial Area. His dick rubbed his thigh as he recalled her dandelion yellow hair and huge pink baby-targets.

Mid-span on the Lowry Bridge, Jock did a double-take: There on the pedestrian platform, walking eastbound toward him, was Greta. He wheeled to the curb, slid across the bench seat and cranked the window down. "Hey!" He called to her as she drew parallel to his front bumper. "Greta?"

"Ja, it is me. Who is there?" The statuesque blonde raised her right hand to shield her eyes from the REO's headlamps. The harsh light crisped her every edge and curve. Her breast stretched under her white peasant blouse above her tightly laced black velvet corset. A breeze off the river lifted her forest green cotton dirndl, showing off her white petticoat ruffles and pale lower thighs.

"Jesus H. Christ, she's amazing!" Jock exclaimed to himself as he stared at the 5' 9" nineteen-year-old Dutch refugee. His nuts ached and his throat constricted. Her busty hippy hourglass silhouette made him instantly hard. Recalling the sweet pleasure of pushing his prick into her lemon pie, he adjusted his swollen package and croaked, "It's me, Jock... Jock McGuinness."

"Oh ja, de aardige man. De vriend van mijn oom." Greta's Dutch was lost on Jock but the happy recognition in her voice was not. He opened the passenger front door as she approached the sedan and lowered her arm.

"Don't know where you're GOING, Greta," Jock said amiably, " but GET IN... I'll give you a lift."

Switching to English, Greta answered, "Oh dank je, I mean, THANK you." She slid onto the front seat and closed her door as Jock straightened up. "The evening girl was very late. I missed the last tram." In the dark cabin interior, she beamed at Jock, more brightly than the outside overhead bridge lights. "It is a long walk to my uncle's house."

Greta ran the back of her left knuckles across Jock's wrinkled right cheek and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "You are a very nice man, but you go somewhere else, ja? I don't want to... oh, how do you say it? Put you out." Touching Jock's shaved craggy face had thrilled the girl as she, too, had a strong good memory of his cock in her cunny. "Ik heb liever je in," she thought, feeling her pussy tingle and dampen.

"It's no trouble at all, Greta," Jock assured her. "I was restless and thought a drive would be good." He involuntarily rolled his shoulders as a heat wave poured down his spine. "I know where Brian lives. Glad to get you home."

Greta slid close to Jock, pressing her hip tight to his. Adding fuel to the fire, she half turned her torso, dropped her right hand on his near thigh and nudged his left ear with her nose. "If you are RESTLESS... " she breathed. "I know something ELSE good for that. We can go someplace and I will SHOW you, ja?" Her fingertips inched higher on Jock's leg. Her spicy honey tulip perfume crowded his lungs while her thirty-seven-inch bosom crowded his ribs.

Getting her message, loud and clear, Jock put the car in gear and said, "Sure, baby, my office is close by." Five minutes later he parked at Acme Distributors and held the door as Greta exited the driver's side behind him. Slipping his arm around her slim waist, he hugged her and said, apologetically, "It's not set up as nice as your uncle's poker room, but there IS a bed in the back room."

Greta's soft pliant lips pressed Jock's and she burbled, "Fancy maakt niet uit of het groot genoeg is voor ons allebei."

Jock laughed and admitted, "I have NO idea what you just said, but you sure make me want to hear it again!"

Greta smiled and translated, "I just said, it is enough if the bed fits us both."

Jock deliberately hung back on the stairs to his office. The rear view of Greta excited him as she moved upward. Unlocking, he ushered her through to a small room. Formerly used for odds-and-ends storage, he had cleared it out and installed a good-sized single iron-frame bed to accommodate his regular twice-weekly, and occasional off-schedule, fuck sessions with Arlene Hart. Sweeping the buxom barmaid into his arms, Jock growled, "Dutch and English are well and good... how's your FRENCH?" His right hand tugged the bow of her velvet corset and loosened her laces while she wrapped her arms behind his neck.

Tipping her head back, Greta answered huskily, "See for yourself." She mashed her mouth against his and drilled her tongue through his opening teeth. They danced, moaning, as they frisked each other. She inserted her hands between their chests and popped his shirt buttons while he slipped his hands behind her and released her bra band catches through her blouse.

Realizing they were their own worst obstacles, the frenetic pair silently devolved into cooperative action. Greta stood while Jock slid her stretchy peasant blouse, jumper, undone vest and bra down past her wide hips. Stepping close to him, she kissed him lightly and finished unbuckling and opening his trousers. In moments they were reduced to underwear.

Greta pushed Jock's boxers down, clearing a path to his waving erection. Kissing her way over his ribbed undershirt she knelt before him and pulled his taut buttocks forward. Her lips pursed and sweetly addressed the welling pre-cum in his cock's pouting slit. Jock rubbed her shoulders and groaned as she took his lollipop into her mouth and gently sucked.

Unsure of his capacity, Jock hooked his hands under Greta's armpits and pulled her to her feet. His dick popped audibly from her wet lips as she stood. "MY turn, baby," he whispered with a gravelly voice. "I didn't get to smell your yellow tulip this afternoon." He pushed her back until she fell supine across the cushy double-thick tick mattress on the iron bed's spring frame.

Jock dropped to his knees, whisked Greta's transparent white rayon panties off her flying feet and parked her hams on his broad shoulders. Hunching in, he licked his lips as he looked at her brilliant yellow muff and long, bright pink, medium-thick labia. She bowed out her knees, opening her hips and gateway. He held her broad bottom in his palms and served her up.

Greta clenched her ass and arched her back, forcing her needy pussy flatter against Jock's feasting mouth. He thrust his tongue deep in her tunnel, then slowly pulled back and slid to the top of her slice. Greta's hot button stiffly stabbed his tongue tip as she met him with another lunge. Nibbling briefly and returning swiftly to her wet pearly hole, Jock sucked and teased her repeatedly to good effect.

"Nyyyaaah!" Greta screeched, "Mijn God! Neem me ... Ik kom eraan!" Jock slurped as she flooded his face and writhed around his jowls. Her thick juice ran as, with a single strong move, he stood. Elevating her pelvis and rolling her back onto her shoulders, Jock jammed his long-denied dick into her cunt.

Looking down and around her stuffed pussy, Jock spotted his preferred target an inch lower. Pink and puckered, Greta's iris winked as she contracted her muscles and squeezed his prick. He pulled out and guided his missile to its new destination. Greta grunted as his glans bumped, and then squeezed past, her sphincter's rim. Well-greased by her natural lubricants, Jock was home, if not dry, in three solid thrusts.

"JA! JA! JA!" Greta squealed with each push and met his incoming force with exuberance. She clutched her left breast and pinched her pink nipple while her right hand dove and fanned her boatman. "Ik ben MEER komen! Stop NIET! In GODSNAAM!"

Jock's excitement grew stronger the more he pounded her ass and the louder she yelled. Her incomprehensible Dutch only enflamed his passion more. His seed built to spilling and he roared, "ARRRGGH! Right THERE, Baby!" He slid slower as her contracting glutes crushed around him, but nothing blocked his spouting semen. In pulsing spurt after spurt, it fled his nuts and filled Greta.

Heaving a huge long sigh, she relaxed and lay limp on the bed with her ass soft and heavy in Jock's strong spread hands. He grinned at Greta's glowing face, noting that the beads of sweat on her brow were just like Mary's, when she was fully fucked. He pulled out of the Dutch teen's rectum and gently lowered her legs. Testing his new language skills, Jock said hesitantly, "Dank... je. Is that right?"

Jock's jism tickled as it slowly back-washed out of Greta's butt. She laughed a lovely lilting melodic laugh. "Ja, aardige man. Dat klopt precies!" Then, helpfully, she said, in English before slipping back into her native language, "JUST right... dank U, ook!"