All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.

***

Eighteen-year-old Mary McGuinness opened her eyes. During the night, she had turned over onto her right side and now lay nose-to-nose with Edward Trotter, the thirty-year-old high school math teacher who had providentially substituted for Mary's ailing English teacher on Friday afternoon. His soft warm regular breath tickled her upper lip and she felt comforted in a way she had never known.

Looking over Trotter's bare right shoulder, Mary saw the luminous dial on his bedside Westclox 'Big Ben' alarm clock. Its hands showed two-fifteen, which meant it was Sunday morning - six hours after she had fallen asleep in the teacher's cuddling arms with his softening prick parked against her pussy. She smiled in the dark at her lover, who had taken her virginity, and then, in the course of the next thirty-five hours, gloriously fucked her four more times.

While she stared happily at his placid slumbering face, Mary debated with herself. At last, she decided to depart and leave him as he was, in sweet peace. Kissing him lightly on his bristled cheek, Mary whispered, sotto voce, "Gotta go, Teddy... Thank you... I LOVE you." The corner of his mouth twitched, but he slept on. Mary rolled away and out of his bed, careful not to disturb him.

As she wandered nude through the variegated shadows of Trotter's cottage, collecting her widely dispersed few articles of clothes, Mary remembered there was no streetcar service between 11:00 p.m. and 7:00 a.m. Thinking about the twenty-block walk home ahead of her, she was glad she had sturdy oxford shoes and thick homespun linsey-woolsey socks. "At least my feet will be warm," she said to herself ruefully as she slipped on her flimsy silvery silk chemise and wriggled into the dress her mother had sewn her from three old 'Ful-O-Pep Quaker Oats Egg Mash' feed sacks.

She regretted yesterday's impetuous decision to forego her bloomers and bra. Excited by her notion of being alluring, she had forgotten that, even in late May, the early morning hours could be chilly. Also, with her parents away at an all-night charity dance marathon contest, she had expected she could catch an early trolley and still beat them home. Now, however, she just wanted to hie home and be safe asleep in her own bed when Jock and Isabel McGuinness returned with their anticipated winnings.

Deciding to extend Teddy's generous loan of his rust colored wool cardigan, Mary pulled it on over her dress and stepped into the fresh dark morning. Out the gate and through the alley to Central Avenue, she crossed the alphabetically arranged streets, from Holmes to Porter, at a brisk pace. Turning left on Porter Street, she continued over Dorchester and Eason Avenues and then onward at Third Avenue into the numbered blocks.

When she reached Tenth Avenue, at the border of Arbor Heights, where the avenues changed again, but this time from numbers to tree names, Mary paused for a moment. Slightly out of breath from her uphill walk, she puffed to herself, "Just one more block," and then marched on. At Oak Avenue, the McGuinness bungalow's glowing porch light invited her warmly as she strode up the front walk and let herself in.

Mary went straight up the entry hall's half-flight of stairs to her bedroom under the house eaves. As she closed her door behind her and walked to her wardrobe, she neither saw nor sensed her father, who sat, on a straight chair, in a dark corner beside her far dormer window. The bright beams from the nearly full moon filtered through open curtains on both her windows, illuminating her iron bed and the maple bureau next to where Mary stood.

When she pulled her too-small smock over her head, the bottom curves of her bottom's cheeks shone alabaster white in the natural light as the sackcloth drug her lingerie up to her tailbone. Jock McGuinness deliberately coughed and noisily scraped his chair's legs on the garret's wooden floor. "EEEEP!" Mary yelped with surprise and spun around at the sounds.

Instantly her left hand tugged her chemise hem down to hide, as much as possible, her downy peach. Likewise, her right hand flew to her low square neckline and pulled it up to conceal the tops of her full firm young breasts. Simultaneously, Mary's mind registered her unexpected visitor's umbral form and identified her father. "PAPA!" She recoiled against the closed wardrobe as her voice rang in the rafters.

Jock's face, still shadowed behind the waxing moon's light, held an odd expression as he stood and stared at his stunned daughter. Her belated efforts at modesty were counter-productive. In fact, they only served to accentuate her charms, highlighted in bas-relief against the tautly stretched filmy silver undershirt. "Come over here, Mare," Jock ordered in a falsely calm voice. His low tone put Mary on guard, but she dared not disobey. Stepping around the end of the bed, she stopped a foot in front of her father while still shielding her delta and hills.

"Now, now, girly... None of THAT," Jock continued in an ominously quiet even cadence. "Drop your hands and stand up straight." Mary took a deep breath and obeyed. Jock licked his dry lips and swallowed with difficulty as he watched her chest rise behind its veil. Her chemise hem necessarily lifted an inch, exposing the nadir of her thin tight little slit. Jock reached out and took his daughter's hands in his. "So, would you care to tell Papa where you've been all night?"

Mary's voice quavered. "I th-thought you and Mama wouldn't be home until late in the morning!"

Jock released Mary's left hand and slapped her sharply across her cheek. Tears filled her eyes and, through her ringing ears, she heard him say, "That may be WHY you went out. But, it doesn't answer my QUESTION." He pulled the loose lingerie material away from Mary's trembling tits. Pinching and rubbing the starchy, visibly cum-stained, silk between his thumb and forefinger, he went on. "I can SEE what you've been DOING... Now, TELL me: WHERE were you doing it and with WHO?"

Mary blubbered fearfully. Jock squeezed her right hand at her hip while he let go of her chemise's front and pushed its skinny straps off her shoulders. She quivered as he slowly lowered the ruined top over her pert upright breasts and exposed their pink puffy crowns and rigid nubbins to plain view.

"MAMA! Where's MAMA?" Mary bawled, "What's happened to Mama?" She could not imagine her mother being a party to her father's actions.

Still firmly holding Mary's right hand, Jock continued pulling her chemise until if fell past her hips to the floor. Raising his free hand again, he drug his palm, ever so slowly, up the back of her right leg and cupped her ass cheek at the top of her thigh. In a neutral, matter-of-fact manner, he answered his panicked daughter's question.

"Sshhhhush, Mare... Mama's asleep." Jock shook his head slightly and said, with disappointment, "Fact is, THAT'S why we left the contest and came home. SOMEONE there CHEATED. They must've slipped a 'Mickey' into your Mama's lemonade at the 10:00 p.m. break, because she about passed out on the floor."

Smoothly drawing his hand across Mary's bottom to her left globe, Jock rubbed deep firm circles into the muscle while he talked on. "I only just barely got us on the last streetcar home. She's still in her dress, snoring... has been since about midnight." Tilting his face he gazed openly into Mary's wide hazel eyes and let go of her right hand. "And I have been sitting HERE waiting for YOU." On his final word, Jock jabbed his left index finger against his daughter's solar plexus and pressed solidly.

Mary felt like she had been stabbed. A hot lancing flash flared straight through to her spine and then fell like a fiery curtain, burning a swath from her chest to her cunny. She asked, tremulously, "Wh-wh-what do you w-w-want, Papa?"

Jock scowled, smacked her flank smartly and abruptly sat again on his chair. With a half twist, he pulled Mary forward and down by her left arm until she lay, bottom up, across his legs. His green-striped white cotton pajamas felt cool to her burning breasts and itching pussy. Involuntarily, she wiggled against him as he spread his knees and supported her.

He struck her quivering moons again and hissed, through clenched teeth, "I already TOLD you once: I want to know WHO you were with and WHERE." He crashed his palm once more and added, "And don't LIE to me. THAT will only make your punishment WORSE."

Mary wailed, "But, PAPA!"

Jock walloped her a fourth time. "THIS is the 'butt' Papa is interested in at the moment, young lady... now WHO have you been with?" Mary's pale creamy skin, now mottled with carnelian welts, was hot to his touch as he paused the spanking and gave her an opportunity to collect her wits and answer. Jock smoothly soothed his palm over her butt, up to her mid-back, and then gently worked increasingly wider whorls between, and over, her shoulder blades.

Mary, despite her humiliation and pain from the paddling, moaned with pleasure under the sweet massage. Her cunny leaked and her nipples, pressed against Jock's left thigh and knee, ached. She whimpered as her confusion and tension mounted. Jock raised his left hand and stroked her hair while he continued to knead her fleshy lower back with occasional dips to her afflicted ass, which was swiftly recovering from his spanks. "I'm sorry, Mare," he said after a long silence, broken only by his daughter's incoherent garbles. "I can't make out your words... Just take a breath and tell me the boy's name, won't you?"

"Let me up, please, Papa... My bottom's sore and my head's dizzy." Mary pleaded her case softly. "I'll tell you. I promise."

"Alright, Mare," Jock replied. His bottled up anger over his daughter's deceit was fully exorcised and he had no heart to continue her punishment. He slid his hands along her sides and pulled her upright by her underarms as he widened his spread right knee and guided her to stand, faced away, between his legs. He leaned in, laid his left cheek flat against her naked back and said, softly, "I'm listening." And he was. Her pulse and breath roared in his ear like the ocean's sound in a seashell.

"His name is Teddy, Papa," Mary confessed. "And I LOVE him... he is wonderful and handsome and sweet. And HE loves ME!" Forgetting her nudity, Mary pivoted in her father's arms and hugged his neck. "Oh PLEASE, Papa! I'll do ANYTHING, but PLEASE don't be mean to Teddy or say I can't see him." Jock's face, no longer flat to Mary's back, was now buried straight on between her soft firm full breasts. His left hand, between her scapulae, naturally and automatically pressed her hard against his nose as he reflexively kissed her sternum. His right hand plied figure-eights around her heart-shaped buttocks. He groaned as he felt his dick swell in his pajamas.

Suddenly Mary realized their dynamic was changed; a strange power reversal had occurred. Her father was still her father, but he was also a man, just like Teddy was a man. And she was a woman - a desirable woman - who could help herself by using her desirability. Her epiphany was complete.

Mary wove her fingers in her father's hair and queried, "Papa? OK, Papa?" Instinctively, she shimmied her tits and sat on Jock's lap. Straddling his legs, she rocked up on her toes. She felt his breath escape as he sighed into her valley. She bent her neck and kissed the top of his head as she sat back down. His fat cock struggled to breathe outside air through his pajama's vent. Mary widened her stance and slid back an inch on Jock's thighs. His prick popped up and sniffed her pussy.

Jock pulled his face out of Mary's cleavage and latched solidly onto her right tit top, drawing the entire broad budding halo and its pebble deep into his mouth. Mary inhaled a sharp breath and hauled his head hard onto her as her cunny soaked itself. She mewled and her father growled. They rocked forward and back and side to side as he suckled for no result but pure pleasure.

"Unnhh... PA-pahhh," Mary sighed. Her long exhale sent shivers down Jock's back. She clawed her fingers down his scalp and squeezed them into his shoulder tops.

Jock broke free from Mary's boob and stood. Embracing her, he exclaimed, "Mary! CHRIST ALMIGHTY! MARY!"

Shocked by her father's language, but hearing no anger in his voice, Mary stared over his shoulder, sensing he had felt a change, just as she had. Her hands worked autonomically. She pushed his pajama bottoms past his hips and then silenced his profanity with an undeniable deep kiss. Jock waltzed her backward along the window sills and then drove both their bodies, bouncing, onto Mary's iron single bed.

"Oooommmph!" Mary's wind rushed from her lungs as her father's two hundred and twenty pounds crashed on her chest, pressing her shoulders and hips deep into her patchwork quilt coverlet. She raised her legs, locked her ankles around his hips and clung to his neck reactively. Jock was a beast unleashed. His blood was up and the scent was in his flared nostrils. Without grace or consideration, he skewered his daughter's cunt.

Mary snugged her snatch tightly around her father's ramming rod. Although it was shorter and thinner than Trotter's joint and moved in her with simpler, more direct strokes, Jock's energetic erection was immensely satisfying. Her mind counted the cadence while his soldier solidly marched to the drumbeats of the dancing iron bed's feet and the squeaking fifes of the mattress and frame springs.

Jock huffed and grunted while Mary puffed and panted. He had not realized, until his cock was buried, how much, or for how long, he had wanted to fuck his little girl. He had repressed his growing lustful fantasies to the point that he no longer knew he had them. But now she had ripped the cover off and was tapping his keg.

Mary scratched and kicked with every plunge and retreat. Her hard rapid short breaths supercharged her young pussy as it grabbed Jock's pounding piston. She came quickly and cried repeatedly, "POKE me, PAH pa! POKE me, PAH pa!" Her orgasm redoubled. She bit her plump lower lip, crunched her butt and arched her back, babbling, "MORE! DO it MORRRRR!"

Jock's impatient balls drew tight in their shrinking bag and let fly. He lunged to his maximum depth, flexing his ass, gut and cock. With a triumphal "YEAHHHH!" he closed his fists tight around Mary's tits and dumped his load, with abandon, into her contracted canal.

Their eternity lasted one minute from start to finish. Emotionally and physically drained, Jock backed out of Mary's flooded cunt and stood between the dormer windows. He looked at his limp teenage woman-child, laying spread-eagled on her quilt, catching her breath. Remorsefully, he said, in a sad low voice, "This cannot ever happen again. I'm SO sorry, Mary. Forgive me." Stepping forward, he bent over and added, "Bring Teddy by sometime... I'd like... to MEET him. I'll be nice, I promise."

Mary raised up on her elbows suddenly and kissed Jock warmly. "THANK you, Papa," she buzzed against his lips. "You'll LIKE him, I know it." She hung her chin on her father's shoulder and cooed, "but I don't want you to feel bad about... THIS. I won't ever say anything to anyone. Don't worry." She ran her hands lightly up and down his back, enjoying how his pajama top slid over his strong muscles. "AND, if you DO want to ever DO it again, that'll be OK, TOO."

Letting go, Mary lay back down with a light laugh and said, "You should go check on Mama... I'll fix us breakfast after I take a little nap!"

Jock found his pajama bottoms and stepped into them as Mary turned over and pulled her quilt around her naked shoulders. He did not see her smile, or hear her satisfied sigh, as he turned and silently left the garret, knowing that their relationship, for better or worse, had been changed forever.

When Mary woke up again, she heard her mother bustling around downstairs. Mixed cooking aromas and assorted dish clatters drifted up through the open door. She got up and kicked her toes into a pair of cloth scuffs while she shrugged into the brown woolen bathrobe she pulled from her wardrobe. She ignored its scratchiness as she tied its sash.

She was headed for the kitchen when she heard her father humming indistinctly in the big bathroom. The door was open and he stood shaving in front of the porcelain basin. Bits of steam hung high in the air as he scraped soap and whiskers from his face with a cut-throat razor. Mary stared. She had seen him, on many a Sunday morning, in his undershirt, boxers, shoes, and long stockings held up by garters. But, today was different.

She waited while Jock swished his razor, wiped his face and splashed himself with rosewater and talc. Slipping up behind him, Mary breathed softly, "Good morning, Papa." She poked her forefinger tip behind his left earlobe and flicked away a bit of dried soap which had escaped Jock's water and towel. "You missed a spot," she added, as she inhaled his scent.

"Thanks, Mare," Jock said affably. "And 'good morning' to you, TOO." He looked at her face, reflected over his shoulder. "It's getting late. Aren't you going to church? You KNOW how your Mama feels about that."

"Yes, I know, Papa. I'll have time to dress after breakfast." She laid herself up against her father's back and lightly crossed her arms over his flat stomach. He reflexively rolled his shoulder blades against her swelling wool-clad breasts and regretted it immediately.

Jock was in excellent physical condition, thanks to a lifetime of hard work and clean living. He did not smoke and Prohibition was no penalty for him because he had never taken to drink, even when he could. He had seen plenty of fellow warehousemen go to ruin, or get hurt, because they did not take care of themselves. Now, with work scarce and money tight, more than ever he was not going to jeopardize his ability to support his family for a jolt of rotgut gin or a pack of Camels.

He felt nervous as Mary melted against him. Their earlier impromptu and improper fuck haunted his conscience. Jock looked at her gold-and-cream plaid sleeves merging with the cotton ribs of his thin undershirt and bravely tried to direct her toward safer ground. Beaming at his daughter through the mirror, he asked, nonchalantly, "Does this 'Teddy' fellow's folks have a telephone? You could call him up and ask him to take supper with us today. I promised I'd be nice, remember."

"Oh, I don't know, Papa," Mary said quietly into Jock's nape. "I remember your promise, though... I'll look in the telephone directory for a listing, if you think Mama wouldn't mind." Lowering her right hand, Mary patted her father's package through his boxers. "Papa? Can I SEE you, please?" She pleaded plaintively, "It was DARK and I was TIRED, before... I didn't get a good LOOK at what FELT so good."

Jock's cock twitched at her light touch. He quickly dropped his right hand onto hers, intent upon removing her from his privates. Mary covered his paw with her left hand, just as swiftly, and pressed their combined extremities between his legs. Her lower palm curled around Jock's thickening prick and pushed it decisively down, bisecting his big balls in their loose hammock. Meanwhile, her upper fingers casually scratched the bones on the back of her father's trapped hand.

"So... CAN I, Papa? PLEASE?" Mary's soft insistent tone and firm grip worried Jock.

He said, as forcefully as he could without raising his voice, "Mare! STOP it... your MAMA..."

"...is fixing biscuits, so we need to be quick." Mary finished his sentence in a way Jock would not have done. Pulling her hand free from his, she wormed through his shorts' fly and seized his halfway erect penis. Balancing herself on her right leg, she extended her left foot and pushed the bathroom door closed. "THERE! We still have to be fast, but even if Mama steps into the hall, she won't see anything... WILL she!"
Jock yielded with resignation, hoping for the best. "Alright, Mare," he said, with a sigh. "But, just a quick PEEK... remember what I said? 'This cannot happen again'?"

Mary guided her father's hips as she turned him sideways to the sink while she rotated left and squatted between his knees. "Yes, I remember, Papa... and I remember what I told YOU, too." She let go of Jock's dick long enough to lower his underwear and free his now fully formed hard-on. Returning her hand to the stiff shaft, Mary pushed his foreskin down and kissed the exposed spongy head.

Jock grimaced and groaned as his conflicted mind struggled to balance his guilt against the pleasure of his daughter's warm pursed lips. "Nnnuu-NO! Mmm-MAR-eee..." His feeble protests fell on deaf ears as his hands cupped the sides of Mary's head and held her in place. Thus anchored, Mary parted her lips and was promptly rewarded when Jock's swollen glans hopped past her teeth. She closed around him and teased his slit with her tongue while she fell from her squat into a more stable position on her knees and shins.

In full surrender, Jock rolled his hips and gnarred deep in his throat. Mary moaned with him as she hooked her right arm behind his hams and pulled him closer. Taking the rest of her father's six-and-one-half inches into her mobile mouth, Mary filled her pulsing left fist with his oversized eggs. Jock was doomed. Stifling an ecstatic shout, he lunged his hips and hauled Mary to his groin by her hair. Her cupid's bow squashed at the base of his root as he fucked her face and pumped his seed to the back of her throat. She sucked and swallowed as fast as she could while coaxing ever more shots with her active hands.

When Jock's prick lay quiet on her tongue and his hands fell away from her temples, Mary leaned back. His legs quivered against her forearm and crooked elbow. Looking past his panting gut, Mary smiled and said, "Thank you, Papa... I'll go look for Teddy's phone number now." Standing up, she hugged her frozen father and gave him a lingering kiss. He smelled and tasted his cum on her lips as she cooed, "See you at breakfast."

As Mary walked along the hallway to the front room, her mother waved her into the kitchen. "Goodness gracious, honey," Isabel McGuinness said, clucking her tongue, as she eyed her daughter's bathrobe and slippers. "You're no more ready to go to church than a squirrel! Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes... soon as the biscuits are out of the oven. Can you at least wash the sleep out of your eyes before then?" She laughed to show she was partly teasing.

"Yes, Mama," Mary answered. "As soon as Papa is out of the bathroom, I'll wash my face." She winked at Isabel. "And don't you WORRY! This squirrel is bushy-tailed and will be ready on time." As if an afterthought just occurred to her, Mary hesitated. "Uh, Mama... could I... invite a fellow to supper with us... today? He's REAL nice... I think you'll like him."

Isabel shook her head in wonder and smiled broadly as she thought to herself, "My Little Girl... not so 'little' and not a 'girl' anymore. Imagine, wanting to bring a boy to meet us." Out loud and still beaming, she replied, "Certainly, honey... but ask your father, too. I doubt he'll say 'no', but if he does, don't argue... We'll work on him TOGETHER!" She gave Mary a peck on the cheek and said, "Now SCOOT and wash up."

Mary nodded, but, as soon as Isabel's back was turned, she darted into the front room and pulled the city phone directory from its drawer in the drum table. Edward Trotter had no listing, however Mary found one for his landlord, Mr. Farragut. She quickly picked up the black hard rubber candlestick phone and dialed 'UP 2081'.

An older man's voice answered crankily, "Uptown two zero eight one. Who's callin'?"

Mary almost hung up. Taking a breath of courage she spoke meekly into the mouthpiece as she held the receiver to her ear. "Is this Mr. Farragut, please?"

"Yes, yes, go on... what do you want," Farragut replied testily.

"M-my name is Mary. Do you know does Mr. Trotter have a telephone?"

Farragut spluttered, "You call ME to ask if HE has a PHONE? Why don't you just look him up your OWN self?" After his initial outburst, he muttered, "Of course, if you did THAT you'd know he DOESN'T... And I suppose you were really just askin' to see would I take him a MESSAGE... is THAT it?"

Mary swallowed the baseball in her throat and gulped, "Umm, YES, please. COULD you?"

"Bah!" Farragut decided Mary had a lovely sweet voice and must, therefore, be a lovely sweet young girl. He was nearly moved to kindness. "Young lady, I did not achieve sixty-two years on planet Earth by being hornswoggled by coy creatures, such as yourself. Nor by butting into others' affairs unduly, I might add." Farragut paused briefly for effect then continued. "I will NOT take a message and be your fool, but here's what I WILL do, if you like: Mr. Trotter lives in the house behind me. If you will stay on the telephone, I will walk back and inform him of your call. If he is UP at this early hour and AGREES, he may use this phone and you may speak directly with him. How does THAT suit you?"

Mary gasped as the plan unfolded. "Oh, Mr. Farragut! You would DO that for me? Oh, PLEASE... go right away!"

"Alright, alright," Farragut answered, suddenly smitten by Mary's obvious earnest anxiety. "But you will owe ME a favor, my dear, and I will expect the debt repaid."

Mary bit her lip and asked, "What would you have me do?"

Farragut was vague in his reply. "I'm sure I'll think of something... suitable. Now, do not break the connection. I'll see if I can roust Mr. Trotter." He put down the candlestick, laid the bell carefully on the table's lace doily and walked to the back of his large house, absent-mindedly rubbing his crotch, where a surprising growth stirred.

Farragut found Trotter was up and about and quite agreeable to taking a telephone call from a mystery woman who sounded young, only gave her name as 'Mary' and provided no other clue to the purpose of her extraordinary mission. True to his word, however, Farragut did not listen in on Trotter's end or question him about the import of the call. Edward was grateful for his landlord's discretion but happier still to hear his young student's voice.

He consulted his Elgin pocket watch. Although it was not quite nine o'clock, it felt as if considerably more than twelve hours had passed since he last touched, smelt or listened to Mary. His heart leapt when she invited him to Sunday dinner to meet her parents. What had she told them? He could not know, but he was eager to find out. In two weeks time Mary would graduate high school and he could openly court her without public scandal. Edward fairly floated back to his shanty and tortured himself with a zillion possibilities.

When Trotter arrived at the McGuinness bungalow, with an arranged bouquet of spring posies in hand, it was obvious that, among the information pieces Mary had shared with her parents about him, his age was absent. He could not discern whether her father or mother was the more shocked, so amazed were the looks on their faces. He quickly held his right hand out to Jock and said, "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. McGuinness." He immediately followed up by handing the flowers to Isabel. "I hope, Mrs. McGuinness, you will find these miserable blooms are worthy of a vase in your home."

Mary let out her held breath as she watched her parents welcome her love. Jock pumped Edward's hand and replied, "The pleasure is all mine. Mary has said very kind things about you." Isabel was still too flustered to speak and blushed pinker than the Sweet Williams clutched in her hand. She merely nodded and turned quickly to get a vase and water.

The awkwardness of the age difference, and the relationship itself, was soon overcome when it became known that Mary, who had no math courses this year, was not actually one of Trotter's students. Both Edward and Mary declined to mention he had substituted on Friday for Mrs. Anderson, or their activity after class, or even that that was their first meeting. Mary let her folks believe their feelings had developed more slowly across the school year. At any rate, Jock and Isabel agreed that, come June, it would all be moot and, anyway, Edward seemed like a very fine young man.

Over a simple dessert of pound cake, Jock turned to Edward and said, "You are a math teacher... by any chance have you taken up the game of bridge? I ask because Mrs. McGuinness and I have been studying it and showing Mary how to play. If YOU were able, we would have a fourth and could play a few rubbers."

"As a matter of fact, Mr. McGuinness," Trotter answered, "bridge intrigues me. I have closely followed Mr. Vanderbilt's and Mr. Culbertson's writings on the game and would very much enjoy a rubber or two. Would Mary be my partner? Or do you prefer to cut cards?"

Jock looked at his daughter, who protested, "I'm afraid I would be a liability... I am quite the beginner." She looked back at Jock and then at Trotter. "But I think you BOTH could be very fine partners. That is, unless Mama wanted to suffer." Mary laughed and bowed her head slightly.

Isabel quickly demurred. "No, honey, I think it would be a mistake for the two stronger players to be together. Let the men cut cards and decide which will partner you and which me." She slid her chair back from the table. "Meanwhile, if we're going to play at all, I need to clear the dishes and straighten the kitchen. You three go to the parlor... I'll call you when we can set up."

In the front room Jock pulled two decks of cards from the drum table where the phone directory was kept. While he shuffled one, he said, "Let's draw based on age: Low card takes Mary; High card takes the missus. Is that alright with you, Mr. Trotter?"

"That's as good as any," Edward said, "but, SAY, if you don't mind me stepping out with your daughter, and if you invite me for Sunday supper and bridge, don't you think you can call me 'Ted', Mr. McGuinness?"

Jock laughed aloud and allowed, "I guess I CAN call you 'Ted', Ted... if you can see YOUR way to calling me 'JOCK'." He spread the deck and said, "Pluck one... TED."

Trotter drew the Queen of Hearts and watched while Jock pulled the Diamond Six from the fanned pasteboards. "I guess you get Mary, Jock... at least to start with. Maybe Mrs. McGuinness will want to you back after a couple of rubbers with ME." He chuckled, threw the queen back on the pile and said, "If you'll excuse me, I'll go help my new partner dry dishes, or something, while we strategize." Trotter smiled and left the room.

The swinging kitchen door closed silently behind Trotter. He took a moment to quietly appreciate his hostess as she stood at her sink looking out the window into the backyard while she washed the crockery. Although Trotter figured Isabel, like her husband, was near forty years old, he had remarked, to himself at supper, that her clear smooth face seemed to be a dozen, or more, years younger. Now, paying attention to her backside, he noted she was well put together in all respects.

As her arms moved with her work, her shoulders, middle back and hips moved in small independent circles behind her rose summer weight cotton tunic dress. Its hem shifted slightly across the centers of her calves, perfectly perpendicular to her sheer rayon stockings' dark straight seams. His eyes travelled the natural sight path to her slim ankles, which were stationary within her wine two-and-one-half inch pyramid-heeled suede mules. Her right foot was angled such that the shoe's butterfly bow was visible above its tapered box-toe.

A ruffled open-back lemon apron, tied loosely at her hips and nape, framed three large white buttons marching from the dress' white collared neck to its high wide white waistband. The effect was startling. Trotter could not help sucking his lips as he imagined, briefly and rudely, his fingers twisting the disks through their slots and then creeping around her ribs to twist what else he might find. His cock twinged. Isabel turned thirty degrees to her right and slotted a dish into the drying rack on the drainboard. Edward's prick pulsed again as the bulging side of her heavy right breast stretched under her thin dress and pressed out the yellow frilled apron front.

Seeing her guest in her peripheral vision, Mrs. McGuinness completed her turn, wiped her hands on a tea-towel hanging in front of her apron and said, "Oh! Hello, Mr. Trotter... I'm almost finished here." She smiled, but, remembering one of her father's favorite aphorisms, wondered, once again, if Edward might be "Too much horse" for Mary. His urbanity aside, she had sensed, all afternoon, a subtle dangerous underlying power in him. A flash of warmth in her stomach disturbed her equilibrium and she unaccountably fantasized riding him herself.

Much to Trotter's pleasure, Isabel surprised him with a fleeting blush before she continued, "Have the partners been established?" Isabel wished she knew why she felt light-headed all of a sudden.

"Yes," Edward said, smiling warmly as he stepped forward. "I was lucky enough to draw YOU. Of course, I wouldn't have minded had it been me and Mary... but often a beginner is more comfortable with their first instructor, whereas more experienced persons are more... ADAPTABLE." Trotter paused. He stood less than a foot away from Isabel and the heat radiating from her full chest was palpable as he asked, "Don't you find it so, Mrs. McGuinness?"

"Umm, uh, YES, Mr. Trotter, I certainly, uhh-GREE." Mary's mother was as nervous as a hare. "What's WRONG with me?" She asked herself furiously. "I am hardly able to speak!" Hoping to clear her throat, she coughed discreetly into the tea-towel she still held in her hand. "Forgive me. A bit of fluff must have flown into my throat!"

Trotter thought lasciviously, "MARY'S a 'bit of fluff'... YOU, my dear, are the full MUFF!" Taking advantage of her vulnerable moment, he tucked his arm behind Isabel's shoulder blades and guided her to a chair at the table while he said, "Let me get you a glass of water." When she sat, his palm slid unnecessarily low on her back before he pulled away and walked to the sink. Mrs. McGuinness' breath shortened and she felt another heatwave course through her body with his brief trailing touch.

Returning to the table, Trotter set the glass before his hostess and sat beside her. He patted her back very softly and then swirled his flat hand gently in a figure-eight. Her dress and slip slid smoothly until his fingers bumped and rode over the ridge of her bra band. "Take a sip and a deep breath, Mrs. McGuinness," Edward directed with persuasive encouragement. As she swallowed and then inhaled, he felt her torso swell beneath his hand. Isabel was torn and terrified. She loved the pressure of Trotter's hand, but hated herself for that, and feared Jock, or Mary, would come into the room at any moment.

Putting the glass down, Isabel dabbed her quavering lips with her tea-towel. "Thank you, Mr...

"TED..." Trotter interjected. "Call me 'Ted,' please. After all, we're going to be partners at bridge and, with any luck at all, we could be even MORE than that... I think your daughter is aces AND I think SHE is sort of sweet on ME, too." He rubbed a firmer, broader, swath below Isabel's dress' high waistband to her lower back. Feeling a small roll of soft flesh at the elastic edge of her panties, he happily verified she was not wearing a girdle to shape her fanny.

"Awl-right," Isabel panted, desperately fighting for control of her voice and emotions. "Then-nn, n-YOU must call me 'Izzy.' Only Jock calls me 'Isabel'." She squeezed her eyes and her thighs tight. Starry sparkles crashed in her head and her cunny dripped, in spite of her willing it otherwise.

"That's jake with me, Izzy," Trotter teased, deliberately using an expression which played on her husband's name. She squirmed on the chair while he spread his fingers and covered her bottom like the Sherwin-Williams slogan.

Just then the kitchen door swung open and Mr. McGuinness stepped in, with Mary right behind him. He asked, "Hey! Are we going to play some cards tonight, or not? I'd like to get more than one hand in before Ted has to catch the last trolley downtown." He laughed and tossed the card decks on the table.

Isabel, grateful for the timely intervention, shrugged Trotter away and said, "Yes, Jock... we're ready. Sit down and deal. Mary, honey, grab a pencil and pad from the utility drawer, please."