He wasn't merely flattening his body against mine and thrusting the both of us into the mattress, he was pulling his entire stem into and out of my box. The full expanse of his prick was scraping along the walls of my grotto with more and more speed.
I was humping back as quickly as I could, but I soon found that I could not match the pace of my industrious son, who was machine-gunning his prick into my cunt. It was driving me to the brink of insanity. I was mad with passion and my nails ripped into the skin of his neck and back as I cried for more.
And then my dam finally burst and flooded his oar with every ounce of appreciation my body could muster. Within a few seconds, my son poured his own gratitude into me and I joyously celebrated each and every squirt of his weapon.
Soon we were relaxed in each other's arms with our exhausted joints still locked.
Doug looked into my eyes once again and we stared for moments before he said, "Mother, I meant what I said before about loving you-about being in love with you. I didn't just say it in the heat of what we were doing. I do love you. Not as a son would love his mother but as a ... as a lover would love his lover."
"Doug," I said, as our eyes beamed into each other's still, "I am as in love with you as I have ever been in love with anyone during my entire life. And that includes your father."
It was only a few short minutes since our love juices had mixed into each other, but I could feel his soft joint, which was still lodged between the greasy lips of my cunt, begin to stir once again.
CLARA
It isn't easy having to take care of a seventy-year-old, eccentric millionaire who was obviously on his last lap. Especially when the Old Man happens to be your own flesh and blood.
But I owed him a lot. He helped to put me through nursing school with no questions asked. He never once mentioned anything about paying him back. I guess I was the only member of the family he cared anything about. And I grew to love him deeply, not only as a grandfather, but as a person.
The rest of the members of our family really misunderstood him. Maybe he did throw his financial weight around to some degree, but what none of them understood was that he did it out of love. He wanted to be close to them, to help support them. And he got nothing in return. The bastards never so much as called him until they knew for sure that they were going to get something from his estate once he kicked.
And when they thought that the end was near, they started coming around like starving pigeons flocking to a mountain of bread crumbs in the park. My sister Dawn was just about the only exception. It wasn't that she didn't care about the bread. She did. But for some reason she and the Old Man always hated each other. Dawn couldn't have expected to get a dime from him.
That my brother Douglas began coming around and licking the Old Man's ass was predictable. It was part of his conniving character to play the role of buzzard, waiting for his prey to croak so he could swoop down and feast upon the remains.
My mother Harriet and the Old Man had a special relationship. It was more than the typical love-hate relationships that so many daughters have with their fathers. Somehow it had to do with my real father who ended up running off somewhere with the Old Man's wife, my grandmother. I'm not exactly sure how that happened or where they ended up or even whether or not they're still alive.
I haven't seen Douglas Sr. since I was an infant. And I never got along with my stepfather, Edward-everyone says he's a nice guy, but he's a little too wishy-washy for me. I'm not sure what his plans were for the inheritance. I guess he was counting on my mother to do the dirty work for him.
As for my Uncle Richard (my real dad's younger brother) and his wife Judy ... well, they probably couldn't stomach the Old Man any more than my dad. Although they weren't related to the Old Man by blood, there was a stronger bond between them than one would expect. As it turned out, Uncle Richard eventually ran the Old Man's movie chain when he was too sick to work.
It's pretty hard to be objective about myself, but I'd have to say that the money the Old Man had was less tempting to me than to just about anyone else in the family. I mean, I honestly grew to like the Old Man as a person. He was a little off his nut at times, but I genuinely enjoyed him. And he wasn't nearly as far gone mentally as they thought he was.
Except for Rosalie, the maid, I was the only person living with the Old Man at Spring Manor. It wasn't as dull as one might think.
I had been there about two weeks when things began to really liven up. Although the Old Man had always been really kind to me, I never really knew him that well. But I sure got to know him in one quick hurry.
I was sponging his body after the stroke he'd suffered. I didn't think he was quite ready for a bath yet.
His eyes were looking directly into mine as I dunked the sponge in water and began to apply the warm sudsiness near his groin. I could hardly believe my eyes when his penis began to stir. The man was seventy years old! Yet when I went anywhere near it with the sponge, it would come alive.
At first I pretended not to notice it. But after a few moments of his tool growing into hardness and sinking into softness, he took my hand and rested it on his groin. My own grandfather!
My fingers wouldn't move at first. They were just frozen in position against his ancient cock.
"Grandfather, do you know what you're doing?" I asked, trying to sound calm.
"Clara," he explained in a warm tone, "you're different from the others. Don't you be among them in the thought that I have lost my mind. I know what I'm doing. But I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to do."
Sick as it may have been, what I really wanted to do was to make him happy. I mean, these would be his last days on earth and I didn't think it was my proper role to deny a dying man his last whim, his last joy. If that's what he wanted, I thought to myself, then that's what I would give him. I figured that if I took it slowly, if I didn't excite him too much, it wouldn't be too bad for his heart.
So I did take it slowly. My fingers daintily caressed his wrinkled, old penis and fondled his large, loose balls. They were as soft as anything I'd ever felt in my whole life.
And when his cock came to life once again, while it was not actually erect, it was certainly harder than I expected for a sick seventy-year-old man to come up with.
A large smile grew on his face as I tenderly toyed with his pecker. He was fully appreciating the touch of my fingers against his tool. And I was enjoying it because I knew how good it made him feel.
In fact, I really had to hold back from doing more for the Old Man. I was tempted to suck him off, tempted to press my tongue into the fleshy wrinkles of his sack, but I was cautious not to create more excitement than he could handle.
I sat at the edge of the bed, staring into his appreciative eyes while I played with his groin. The Old Man returned my smile and extended his crusty old hand toward my chest. Inching closer to him, I made my breasts available.
He touched them lovingly, never removing his eyes from our stare. Sitting almost next to his shoulders and reaching behind me for his tools, I felt his prick harden even further as I gave him access to my tits.
"I don't want you to get too excited, Grandfather," I told him.
He smiled as if to show his appreciation for my genuine concern. "You keep an eye on my pulse," he said. "I'll keep an eye on this body of yours."
The Old Man's fingers went to work unbuttoning my blouse. I tried to help him in his effort, but he would have no part of that, so I returned my hands to his crotch and slowly sank them into his mound of mushy flesh.
He couldn't reach the rear hooks of my bra and he didn't want me to remove it for him. I turned to enable him to free my breasts. As they poured toward him, the Old Man withdrew his hands to study them with his eyes. For moments he didn't touch me. He just lay there staring at them and obviously enjoying them as my heart beat caused them to continually bounce next to his face.
Finally, his calloused fingers approached my breasts and pressed into my nipples. Then he cupped his hands and sized up the heft of my tits from underneath, pressing upward and allowing their own weight to push his hands back down again.
Despite the fact that his feelers were hardened from age, and despite the fact that he was my own grandfather-and seventy years old, I had to admit to myself that it was truly a sensuous experience for me. I was loving his appreciation. I was exhilarated by the fact that I was, in a way, giving new life to the Old Man.
I'd had plenty of sexual flings in my lifetime. I'm not what you'd call an easy fuck or anything like that. I mean, the person I make it with has to mean something to me. But I've had my fair share of physical relationships. And I have to say that no man I ever made love with appreciated my body more than the Old Man. When you're giving someone that much pleasure, you just can't help but get plenty of pleasure out of the experience yourself. That's why I was enjoying it so much. That's why I was glad to do anything I could possibly do to further his joy. I would have done any sexual perversion he could have thought of if I didn't think I'd be endangering his heart.
I was naked from the waist up and he was in heaven. And I wanted to be totally naked and allow the Old Man to run his fingers in and around my body at will, but I hesitated to undress for fear of damaging his heart.
He was satisfied to toy with my tits while I fondled his semi-hard cock and his deliciously soft, fragile balls. We continued to make love to each other from that posture for almost a half hour-maybe more.
That's when he asked me to stand up so he could remove the rest of my clothing and to "take a look at that pussy of yours."
"I think this is where I'm going to have to say no, Granddad," I said to him. "I don't want to...."
"Don't worry about it, honey," he interrupted. "I'm pretty sure I know how much I can take. Unless you don't want to."
"Granddad, I do want to. I'm really loving it. I'm getting a lot of joy out of it. In fact, I think I'm already a little wet between my legs."
He smiled warmly. "Let me see."
I stood right next to where his head was resting on the pillow and dropped my skirt. His hand reached toward me to feel the silk panties I was wearing. His fingers gravitated toward my crotch and he softly pressed into my groin. His facial expression told me that the wetness of my groin was not merely a figment of my imagination. I was wet and I was pleased that he was able to feel my wetness.
I allowed him the joy of struggling to take my panties off me. When he got them to my knees, I helped him slightly by lifting my legs and stepping out of them.
Again he studied the terrain he was about to explore with his grateful fingers. I made myself as available as I could, standing as close to him as I could without crawling right on top of him.
Before feeling the thatch of my groin, he explored the smoothness of my upper thighs. The man knew what he was doing. Age hadn't taken its toll to the extent that he had forgotten how to reap the full rewards of a woman's body. More than a few of my lovers have told me that my best physical qualities are the smoothness of my thighs and the roundness of my ass.
And the Old Man helped himself to both before plunging his fingers into my dewy crotch. His thumb extended well into my body and carved small, then large circles in my cunt.
It was a little difficult for me to maintain the strength to stand up and I wondered to myself whether he could stand the excitement of it all with his bad heart if I was having trouble coping with it with a healthy twenty-year-old heart.
He appeared to be in full control of himself. His face was slightly flushed and his breathing seemed to be a little more exaggerated, but I was sure he was all right.
"Granddad, if I crawl into bed with you, do you promise that we won't have intercourse?" I asked him, in need of a rest from standing.
"You can chop my thing off if I try anything," he answered, moving over and making room for me.
He wanted to remove his pajama top as I crawled into bed beside him but I insisted that he stay warm and that we continue to enjoy each other's bodies easily and slowly.
But I did allow him to pull his top up a little in order that I could press my warm breasts into his stomach. We did nothing more than hug each other for the longest time, reaching for various parts of the body from time to time, but the experience was quite fulfilling for both of us.
I had never given that much pleasure lo anyone in my entire lifetime. The tip of his cock was moist by the time we were finished. He didn't shoot off the way a younger man would have, but in his own way, he got his rocks off with no complaints.
It occurred to me after lying in bed with him that this was what life was all about. It isn't taking, it's giving. It's enabling someone you care for to feel joy. That's the essence of joy for yourself-to give it to others. It's the only way to get the full rewards of life.
It was a lesson I would never forget. And I was glad that it was taught to me by the Old Man. He knew how to live life to the fullest. He knew how to appreciate all that life had to offer.
His only regret was that his family never allowed themselves to get close to him. But that was their own selfishness, their own screwed up value systems.
I couldn't stand them coming around to discover the extent of his illness rather than wanting to know the progress of his recovery. They were rooting for him to die, hoping that he would kick off soon so they could split up the money the Old Man would leave them.
I often wondered who was going to get what from him. I never really wondered for my own greed. I never really thought about how much I'd get from the inheritance of the Old Man. I was going to be the big loser in any case because his loss would mean more anguish to me than money, in any amount, could make up for.
But I did want to know which of our relatives, all of whom obviously couldn't have cared less about the Old Man, would come out ahead.
We got very close, Granddad and I, but we never discussed the subject of inheritance. He never so much as mentioned anything about his will. I wasn't altogether certain that he had a will made out.
But the others sure were. And they all wanted to be a major part of that will.
One by one they came flocking around and spending more and more time with the Old Man, who was anxious to spend as much time with them as they would allow for. I wasn't sure why.
I didn't know exactly what he had up his sleeve. But I knew he was fully aware of the motivation for their concern.
The Old Man spent his time with them alone. He would have no more than one visitor in his room at a time. It wasn't a rule set up by me-there was no particular medicinal reason for this. He just wanted it that way.
And every one of them came out of the Old Man's room with an expression of unmistakable shock on their faces. I assumed that what was said had something to do with the money he would leave them once he passed on. After all, that was all any of them cared about. But they all emerged from his room with somber faces, which confused me.
Some of them (my brother Douglas and my Aunt Judy, to name names) came out of his room, at different times, telling me that the Old Man had truly lost his marbles.
I don't know what he could have told them, but I knew for a fact that it wasn't true.
When my own curiosity got the best of me, the next time Granddad and I were alone in bed, I asked him what he had told them to make them say that.
He laughed. "Clara, darling, I'm not going to be around very much longer. Don't deny it, we've been too honest with each other to lie to each other at this late date.
"What I told them had to do with self-esteem.
I want to see what their priorities of life are. I want to see how real they are. I gave some of them explicit directions regarding what they can do to get a share of the rewards of my death. I want to see exactly what they think of each other and what they think of themselves as human beings."
I can't really say that I understood what he was talking about, but I knew that he knew what he meant. His head was all there. The Old Man knew exactly what he was doing. I didn't doubt that for a moment.
"You didn't give me any directions, Granddad," I said teasingly. "What can I do?" Taking his cue from my playful lead, he said, "You can press your lips against my tool and kiss it until it drops off."
"With pleasure," I said, inching toward him and reaching for his groin.
The Old Man laid back, closed his eyes, and allowed my tongue to freely lubricate his growing joint until tiny droplets of appreciation emerged from his pecker's hole.
DOUGLAS JR.
The prospect of having to ball Dawn-as a (to understate it beyond recognition) potentially lucrative assignment, no less-would have given any dude in his right mind a hard-on big enough to rip a hole through the crotch of his pants.
I've been with her, just walking through the streets, when guys would follow her for blocks just to study those unbelievable tits of hers. They stood out from her otherwise thin frame as if they were strapped onto her chest. And any dude with normal eyesight could see that they were real because she never wore a bra, which caused them to flop underneath her sweater like two incredibly fleshy invitations.
Her hair was long-it stretched well past her shoulders and down her back. It was the color of butterscotch and the texture of silk. Her creamy-skinned body had more curves in it than the course at Le Mans. And she smiled-it was the sexiest, fucking thing you ever saw-out of the corner of her mouth, flashing large, Chicklet-white teeth from underneath her ultra-thick, sensuous lips.
I can't really say for sure, but I don't think I ever would have thought about Dawn in the sexual sense. That is, you'd have to be either totally blind or queer not to see that the chick was built like what a chick should be built like.
But, shit, I'm her brother. You just don't think of your own sister as someone you'd want to stick your prick into, no matter how she's built or what she looks like.
Of course, I had an incentive for wanting to fuck Dawn. There was money in it for me. More money than I ever dreamed about in my life.
The Old Man, my senile grandfather, who was on the verge of croaking (in fact, I thought he'd do it right before my eyes when I visited him) devised a really fucked up obstacle course for me if I "was interested" in having a healthy share of his will.
The plan was for me to ball the shit out of Dawn, my own sister-his granddaughter, and show him the proof that I did it. Only a man who had lost his mind would ever dream up such a sick thing, but, shit, he had the bread and I wanted a share of it.
I didn't know how to go about balling Dawn. What do you say to your own sister when you want to sink your prick up her cunt? It's not an easy thing to do.
If I had to ball one of my sisters, though, I'm glad it was Dawn and not Clara. At least Dawn is a piece of ass who is fairly open-minded about things. Clara, comparatively, is a dog-faced broad who's as straight as a ruler. She's about twenty and I have my doubts about whether she's ever been laid in her whole life.
In fact, she had nothing better to do than to take care of the Old Man all day long. She's a nurse, but if the chick had a normal bone in her body, she'd be working at a hospital somewhere and trying to get herself a doctor.
But that's all beside the point, which is Dawn and how to get into her pants and come up with some evidence that I followed through on the senile Old Man's last gasping wish. I was afraid to wait a few weeks or however long it would take for him to die because I didn't know whether he included me in the current draft of his will.
The perfect opportunity for me to get into Dawn came on the weekend of July the Fourth, when Edward and my mother and Uncle Richard and Aunt Judy went up to the mountains. Clara was staying up at Spring Manor and only Dawn and I were sleeping at the house that weekend.
My ace in the hole was some Spanish Fly I bought off a friend of mine. But I didn't want to use it on Dawn because I heard that some other chick who used it got very sick from it. Anyway, I knew it was there if all else failed.
I pulled a relatively simple stunt instead. After planting a small tape recorder underneath her bed early Friday night, I came home late and went upstairs to her bedroom. She didn't have a date that night and she was asleep when I walked into her room.
I awakened her gently. I could have scared the hairs off her cunt but it wasn't in my best interests to do so.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I shook her softly.
"What's the matter, Doug?" she asked in a startled tone of voice.
"Dawn, listen, I did a little mescaline with Walter and I think I'm on the verge of bumming. Would you mind if I didn't sleep in my room alone tonight?"
She was too tired to act shocked. Dawn knew that I had smoked grass from time to time, so my story was believable.
"Of course not, darling," she said in that big sister voice. "Stay in here tonight. Can I get you anything?"
I told her I didn't need anything and that I thought I'd be all right. When she turned over, I switched on the tape recorder underneath her bed, undressed down to my shorts, and climbed into bed next to her.
For some reason, I was really afraid to touch her. Shit, it was my own sister. But I kept thinking of all that money on the line and that was inducement enough.
As I rolled over, my knee rested against her warm thigh. She didn't react to it one way or the other. I kept tossing and turning, each time pressing my legs closer and closer to hers until finally my chest was against her back.
She moved slightly, but not enough to discourage me from continuing with my mission.
I began to groan, as if to cover my movements by taking her mind off of my position. As I did so, my arm draped around her waist and the palm of my hand rested flatly against her stomach. I could feel her navel, but I didn't want to make anything obvious by following my natural instinct-which would have been to penetrate it with my forefinger.
Neither of us moved until moments later, when Dawn changed her position to face me. Her very large, naked tit dragged directly across my hand. It no longer mattered that she was my sister. I had a hard-on and I was getting hotter by the second.
My body snuggled against Dawn's body. Her tits were less than an inch away from touching my chest. I was aware of this because every once in a while she'd take a deep breath and I'd feel the tickle of her nipples against me.
I had to back my ass out of the way because I didn't want to disclose the fully extended secret which grew toward her from between my legs.
I wondered how much of the tape was already used up. The proof that I had fucked her was just as important as the very act of fucking her. The Old Man specified that he wouldn't take my word for it. That old fucker wouldn't take St.
Peter's word for it.
It was Dawn's move which really brought our bodies together. Changing her position, she inadvertently sandwiched my leg in between her legs. I could feel her hot thighs surround my knee, which was a great source of nourishment for my throbbing cock.
I couldn't help but wonder whether or not she was awake. If she was, she had to be aware of the fact that her body was more than casually touching mine. I mean, we weren't touching sex parts or anything, but it sure was passion-producing-at least, for me it was passion-producing.
"Are you up?" I whispered.
No answer.
"Dawn, are you up?"
Still nothing verbal, but she did drive her legs further into my knee to the point where I could almost feel her pubic mane press its thistles into me.
It gave me encouragement to do a little driving of my own. Slowly and deliberately, I forced my knee tightly against her unpantied thatch. She had to be awake, I discovered. And she had to be totally aware of what was going on. As we remained in that position, I was stricken with the revelation that her cunt was beginning to produce love suds.
With very gentle circular motions, I massaged her twat with my knee. She danced along to my music with subtlety, pressing her groin bone into me with varying degrees of intensity.
Then she backed her body away momentarily and came lusting into me for a greater share of my leg. Her wrap-around loins chewed into my thigh and I could feel the unmistakable drip of her crotch as it forced itself against me. I jerked my leg up into her cunt and down her legs with more certainty than before and she responded with more certainty.
We weren't hinting around any longer. We were in it for the full ride.
I allowed my stiffened prick to ride the creaminess of her leg as I humped in and out of her twat. Dawn's counter-humps were in perfect rhythm, but still she displayed no signs of consciousness.
It was pissing me off that she would not admit she wasn't asleep. She had to be awake. For one thing, it wasn't too long before that I awakened her. For another thing, she was responding in such a way that had to mean she knew what the fuck was going on.
"Dawn, are you awake?"
She stopped jerking herself into my leg and leaned her tits right into my face. I thought she was telling me that she was awake and offering her tits as a treat for my tongue. I was right about the first but wrong about the second. Almost as soon as her fleshy tits dropped into my opened mouth, she pulled them right out again and leaned past me.
I had no idea what in the world she was doing until I heard the click from underneath the bed. The tape recorder was off. She knew from the very beginning that I was recording the whole thing.
"Yeah, I'm awake," she said. "Now where does that leave us?"
We breathed into each other's faces for a while. Neither of us knew exactly what to say. My pecker dwindled into nothingness from the humiliation.
"I don't know," I said finally. "Where does that leave us?"
Her delicate fingers reached toward my face and she tweezed my chin with her forefinger and thumb, pulling my jaw down and opening my mouth. In an instant, I felt her rich lips meet mine. Her tongue poured into my mouth and splashed against my own tongue.
Pulling her head back slightly, she sloshed her sliver around the outside of my mouth and pointed it into my nostrils and out again. Then she beat an oily path toward my ears and filled them with saliva. She sucked on my lobes and kissed them loudly.
It sent chills throughout my entire body. My crotch was fist-hard once again. I reached for what I had been waiting to experience all along-those big, round muscle-tipped bags of bliss which clung to her smallish rib cage like overstuffed pillows of flesh. As if her tits belonged to one of God's fat ladies and He allocated them to the wrong person, they spilled through my fingers.
The thin skin on her chest monsters seemed to contain not flesh tissue but gallons of water. And her nipples felt as if they were silver-dollar sized corks which were tipped with wart-sized lumps of charcoal.
Dawn clutched the backside of my leg with her long fingernails and thrust it crudely into her cunt once again. Her crotch was almost as wet as her fantastically slimy mouth, which was still busily feasting on my right ear lobe and on the back of my neck.
As I ran my fingers through her chest twins and basked in her over endowed bundles, I grabbed my sister by her waist and measured the delightful proportions of her upper torso. I had known her all of my life, yet I never realized the sexual potency of Dawn.
I felt as if I was making it with two different women, one a big-titted mama of a woman, the other a tiny, frail schoolgirl.
But during my journey to the south of her body, I discovered a triangle of womanhood that made her tits seem like mere token gestures by comparison. I immediately realized that I couldn't fill up that cunt with another cock of my size. It wasn't a cunt, it was a human cave, a tunnel through which just about anything human could slide.
The sides of her vaginal crack felt as if they were blown up facial cheeks turned inside out and drowned in a thick rug of pubic jungle. For the lining of her cunt and the jungle which surrounded it to be as saturated as it already was, Dawn's body had to have produced a torrential rainfall of inner joy juices.
My hands couldn't get enough of the drenched hole pressing into them-and her drenched hole, it was quite apparent, couldn't get enough attention from my hands. Whatever I was doing to her cunt, she wanted more. And more. And still more.
She was humping and grinding with such fierce aggression that pressurized grunts escaped her throat. Intentional or not, it served as a snake charming melody for my prick, which squirmed up her leg.
Those luscious loins of Dawn's were spread as far as they could reach until finally she directed the bottoms of her feet delicately into my floating sack of sex dumplings. They dangled into the arch of her right foot as my cock pressed beyond her toes and into the air above her face.
We reveled in the uniqueness of that position for a while and then she lowered her leg and began sucking her way down my chest toward my pecker, encouraging it and my nuts to softly drop against her lips.
The fluid in her mouth was relentless. It kept pouring into my groin as she tenderly, lovingly sucked the sweat from my crotch. Her tongue lapped along the stem of my prick until she consumed the mushroom at the tip and drowned it in a pool of mouth suds.
So hot was her ever-fluttering sliver that I almost allowed the snot of my prick to explode against her throat. And I had collected so much groin juice that I could have choked her with it.
The warmth of her body and the gems which clung to it so regally were out of my reach. I was facing the empty side of the bed. Her body was in back of me as she ate away at my impatient pecker.
I only allowed her the use of my cock in her mouth for a few moments before I dropped into her and lowered my hard-on into the pool of slimy guts she called her twat. Once I entered my sister's crotch with my sex tool, I was lost somewhere inside of her. My prick was the size of a finger in a melted container of warm margarine.
As we ground our pelvic bones into each other and as my cock stirred around in the ocean of cunt grease which cascaded into it, Dawn's voice sounded more penetrating than I'd ever heard it.
"More, Doug, honey, don't stop. Keep pumping as long as you can. Don't stop. Keep that thing of yours alive."
I could have shot off right then and there. Her words were just getting me hotter and hotter. And her gymnastics indicated that she had more than a little experience in her balling career.
Her legs were high in the air as they choked my mid-section. As I kept forcing myself into her groin, she stuffed her feet into the crack of my ass, holding my cheeks apart with her hands.
Then she withdrew her feet and began poking her fingers into my asshole. I thought I would shit all over her when she did that, but I trained my activities and my thoughts on our sex joints.
I rammed myself into her with more and more force, and the harder I did it the more she appreciated it.
Dawn finally belched out a deafening shriek just as I was about to shoot my load into her-and the shriek continued until after I had emptied my gushes of passion deep within her enormous twat.
She hugged me tightly and screamed repeatedly until she was finished. And then we collapsed into each other's arms and remained silent for what seemed like a long, long time.
It was Dawn who talked first, whispering, "That was marvelous, Doug ... I had no idea you were that good in bed."
"I didn't know you ever thought about it," I replied.
"Of course, I thought about it. I'm human, aren't I? Why wouldn't I think about it? Didn't you?"
"To tell you the truth," I admitted, "it never occurred to me until...."
"Let's talk about that tape recorder shit," she interrupted, as if she had forgotten all about it. "What was that all about?"
I didn't know whether or not I should tell her the truth, but I simply couldn't think of anything else to tell her. It's not the most easily explainable situation I could imagine.
"It was the Old Man's idea," I began. "You know how bad off he is...."
"Yeah, I know he's about to die, if that's what you mean."
"Right, but his mind is already dead. He asked me if I was interested in being a part of his will. I told him of course I was, that I'd be a fool not to be. Then he asked how hungry I was, what I would do to get a lot of money out of his estate. I told him I'd do just about anything.
"That's when he laughed. He asked me if I'd fuck my own sister for a shot at his inheritance. I didn't have to think about it too long. I told him I would and he told me that if I did and if I could come up with some proof, he'd see to it that I'd be generously remembered by him. The tape recorder idea was mine. I thought that would be able to provide me with the proof I needed to get the inheritance."
I couldn't see the expression on Dawn's face. We were still in the dark. But she hesitated before saying anything.
Then I added, "The Old Man is really off his nut."
Dawn laughed. "No, he's not," she said. "He just wants to see what people will do to get a slice of his pie. It's one of his last games before he cashes in."
"But why you? Why did he specify that I'd have to ball you?"
"Isn't it obvious? He wants to ball me. And the closest he can come to balling me is through someone else who can provide him with proof. He wants to see me or hear me being fucked. It's that simple."
I hesitated to ask the next question, but I had to. "Are you going to help me give him the proof he wants?"
Dawn took a deep breath and thought out her answer carefully. It seemed like a full minute before she said anything.
"Are you going to give me half of what he gives you?" she asked.
Now it was my turn to think carefully about my answer. The longer I thought about it, the more I realized I had no alternative but to give her what she wanted-and she soon specified that she wanted it in writing.
"Don't you trust me?" I asked her. "After what we've just been through, you don't even have enough faith in me to take my word for it?"
She laughed. "With so much money at stake, would you take my word for it? Even after all we've been through? I love you Doug, honey, but I'm a realist. I like to be able to count on some things."
I didn't say another word. I just pulled the blanket out of the way, walked toward her desk and turned on the lamp, found a piece of paper and a pen and started writing out an agreement. We were to split, right down the middle, whatever inheritance the Old Man left me.
After she read it and signed it, Dawn reached down below her bed and grabbed the tape recorder, which she placed directly above us. She turned up the sound as loud as it would go, started the tape from the beginning, and asked me to turn out the light. While I did so, she carefully folded the paper we both had signed and placed it between her mattress and the box spring of her bed.
As I crawled back into bed with her, just before she turned on the tape recorder, she asked, "Are you ready?"
I told her I was.
"Then let's give the Old Man something to die about."
THE OLD MAN
Looking back on my life from my vantage point on the brink of death, I must say that I have some regrets. It is not that I did not take advantage of what life had to offer. It is that I overindulged in that respect that causes my regret.
I was hurt to the point of insanity when Frita ran off with my daughter's husband. I had never realized the full extent of my love for my wife until she vanished with Douglas. And the emptiness I was left with was, I am compelled to admit, my own fault.
Some people, for whatever psychological reasons, allow their sexual organs to dominate their rational thoughts. It has nothing to do with intellect or with how they were brought up or with anything tangible. It is simply a freak of nature. I happened to be damned with this freak of nature.
Even now, as I lay in bed living out the final moments of life, now, when I am beyond my seventieth year, I am still ruled by my sexual desires.
As for Dawn, well, she and Harriet, my two daughters, would be getting the bulk of my fortune once I write out my will. She wouldn't have to do anything she didn't want to do to earn my money. She was a direct product of mine. She deserved to inherit most of my wealth.
I knew for certain that she wouldn't go to bed with Douglas. It just isn't in her nature to do that.
On the other hand, the plan I mapped out for Judy and the others had a greater likelihood of taking place. The whole bunch of them are selfish money-grabbers who would, like Douglas Jr., do anything for money. So there's no reason I can see for not making them earn it under those circumstances.
To begrudge Harriet any of the fruits of my life would be ridiculous. I had always loved Harriet-even more than she knew. She only made one error, which cost her a husband and which ultimately cost me a wife-she told Douglas that Dawn was my child, not his.
A potent seed like that planted in a man's brain can be fatal. And it almost was when Douglas found out about it. It wasn't too long after that when he and my Frita ran off together.
Perhaps an uninvolved bystander could be objective about it and argue that it was poetic justice, but I can't look at it that way. I lost the person in the world who meant the most to me.
My relapse reminded me that Frita is still the beneficiary on my life insurance policy. I'm going to have to change that pretty soon. But it's difficult for me to do. And besides, I have a feeling that the good Lord will give me a little extra time to straighten things out in my mind.
I hesitate to admit that even at this late date, I am still having sexual relations-with my own granddaughter, Clara. I know why she is doing it. I know, sweet as she is, she expects to inherit a large share of my estate. But nevertheless, it is well worth it to me to give up a couple of hundred thousand dollars for her favors. After death, my money won't mean anything to me in any case and if it can afford some joy while I am still alive, I will leave it to her gladly.
As for the other members of my "family," they'll have to work for it. And they'll have to work for it in the most degrading ways I can think of. If they're going to be blood suckers and dance on my grave, they'll have to suck a little blood. They'll have to do some dancing to my tune. It didn't surprise me that not one of them turned me down when I told them my terms.
If they thought my brain was warped before they came to see me, they must have left my bedside with what they considered to be proof of my insanity.
Dawn was the center of this circle of madness. She had to be. She was the cause of my sorrow. My son-in-law, Douglas, did not know about Dawn until after Douglas Jr. and Clara were born. But once he found out, he ran off with my Frita and I never saw either of them again.
I could have held it against Harriet, my daughter, but I loved her too much to hold her at fault. She was in her mid-twenties and she and Douglas had just gotten married when we took advantage of each other.
Douglas was out of town and Harriet asked to stay with Frita and me at Spring Manor. We had recently bought the estate around that time.
Harriet had been a reasonably good looking specimen of a child, nothing special in her earlier years, but fairly handsome. It was when she began to mature that all of her womanly features blossomed into true beauty. She had many of Frita's features, a majestic nose, big, full lips, light hair, and-a sensational body. Sensational!
While Douglas was away on business, the three of us, Harriet, her mother and myself, were dining by candlelight downstairs. My foot rather accidentally touched my daughter's foot. I didn't think anything of it until Harriet did it back to me.
She must have thought I was trying to tell her something and that I didn't want Frita to know, but it struck me rather odd that she would act in this way. Ordinarily, none of us would keep any secrets from each other. I was certain that she would never confide in me before she would confide in her mother, and I was equally certain she knew that I would not confide in her before I would confide in Frita.
Her action intrigued me and excited me. Again I touched her foot with my foot and again she did likewise. As we looked into each other's eyes through the dim candlelight, she reached toward my leg with her hand underneath the table. Frita did not see what she was doing. She was at the other end of the long dining room table. She was also slightly groggy from the two Manhattans she'd had previously.
Harriet had a drink or two also and I wondered as her fingers stroked my leg how much of what she was doing was because she was under the influence. It wouldn't have excited me any less had I attributed all of her motions to the alcohol.
By the time we were all finished with our coffee, I had an erection so large that I was too embarrassed to get up from the table. When it finally subsided and I could stand, Harriet and I adjourned to the billiard room. Frita, who had added to the alcoholic content of her body with more than a few glasses of Chablis, was too tired to join us.
The two of us began to play billiards rather innocently at first. I tried to dismiss what had happened at the dinner table from my mind. It was difficult, but I managed-until Harriet reminded me with her long stares.
Neither of us quite knew what to say to each other. It is not an easy situation for a father to find himself in, particularly when he could detach himself from fatherhood long enough to notice that his daughter is more than merely a daughter but that she is a full-bodied woman.
The room was brightly lit until Harriet walked over to the dimmer and allowed only the faintest glow to fill the room. I did not ask why she did that. I simply stood there watching her with a cue stick in my hands.
Harriet was still staring into my eyes by the dimmer switch when she asked if I found her sexually attractive.
"Of course you're sexually attractive," I began. But she cut me off before I could finish my sentence.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Father," she said. "Do I have to come right out and ask you to make love to me? Do you want me to beg?"
"Harriet, I'm your father," I said in an unconvincing tone.
She wasn't buying it. She knew that both of us wanted each other.
"That just makes it all the more exciting," she said, as her fingers moved toward the buttons of her blouse.
She never took her eyes off of me while she removed her outer garment and placed it on the billiard table next to her. Despite the fact that it was my own daughter standing there in her lace bra, I became increasingly sexually aroused.
Harriet reached behind her and unhooked the snaps of her bra to expose her sumptuous bare breasts. They were lean and long and tempting.
I couldn't help walking to her and surrounding them with my hands. Her chest twins were firm but plentiful, tender to the touch and warm. They were punctuated by smallish but quite erotic nipples. I toyed with them with such intensity that I did not even realize she had continued to remove the rest of her clothing.
Her shape was unmistakably perfect, from her slender, shapely legs, to her ample black bush, to her tapered stomach and full hips, to her delicate fingers which reached for my trousers.
She felt my hardness through my pants before she went ahead and removed them. As they dropped to the floor, she pulled down my undershorts and studied my tool.
She was breathing with difficulty as she looked into my eyes and said, "I have been waiting most of my life to see this and to take it into my body."
I could think of nothing to say. What could I have said?
Harriet bent at the knees and rested on the floor directly below me, looking up into my groin and daintily fingering my pulsating organ. Her touch was smooth and sensitive. She knew exactly what she was doing.
As I grew stiffer and harder to her touch, she softly pushed her cheeks into my groin, tenderly fluffing my hanging accessories as she did so.
Then her tongue emerged from her mouth and began sucking with abandon in and around every inch of my crotch.
It was torture and it was heavenly. I was delighted and I was irritated-not only with my daughter for tempting me into such a predicament, but with myself for giving in to temptation. Clearly, by that point, there was no way I could have redirected my interests.
I tugged at her hair beneath me and pulled her up to a standing position. Again, we stared into each other's eyes. Then, for the first time, our lips united and melted into one another's moist mouths.
As if she was working to meet a deadline, she hurriedly unbuttoned my shirt and directed her velvety fingers through the hair on my chest. I was weakened and exhilarated at the same time.
When the both of us were totally naked, we embraced and sank to the carpet, holding each other as if we had always been passionate lovers.
I kept thinking to myself that I was making love to my daughter and that it wasn't just some girl off the street, but that only made it all the more exciting for me. There was no logic behind what we were doing. It didn't make any sense at all. Yet, in its senselessness, there was a beauty to it that made our love-making as beautiful as any relationship could possibly be.
Until that very moment, Harriet had never referred to me as anything other than father. But as I pressed my head into her throbbing breasts and caressed her legs and groin with my fingers, she continually cried, "More, Daddy! Please, Daddy, more!"
I responded to her pleas by doing exactly as she asked. Her crotch was interacting with my fingers with perfect balance, lifting her tight buttocks off of the carpet every time I pushed my fingers into her hole.
Had I been a number of years younger, I could have withheld my burst of body fire for a much longer period of time. But I realized that it wouldn't be long before I couldn't hold off from coming.
It was pretty obvious to me that Harriet wanted to extend our foreplay for a while, but she seemed to understand the problems connected with middle-age. When she sensed that I was ready to enter her, she simply reclined and stretched her four limbs as far as they would extend, spreading her legs much wider than was necessary.
I quickly responded by jabbing my tool between her crotch lips as far as I could reach. She was acting as if I was filling her vaginal capacity, but I knew better. Still, judging by the heat and the wetness of her insides, I knew she wasn't altogether acting when she dug her nails into my back.
Harriet was nearly as aroused as she pretended to be, which made it all the more rewarding for me. The one drawback was that I couldn't prolong climax. After grinding into her for only a few short moments, I couldn't be sure whether or not she achieved orgasm.
Afterwards, she assured me that she had, but I have to admit there was some doubt in my mind.
The source of this doubt stems from the fact that she kept grinding long after I was finished. And then, when she finally realized I had come, she struggled to free herself from our genital connection and went ahead and cleansed my groin with her tongue.
My mind was blank as she sucked away. I had no sexual feelings left in my body, only the lingering taste of having engaged in incest.
I had penetrated my own daughter's womanhood with my sex tool and sat back to allow her to suck me off!
Harriet's body began to quiver as her tongue glopped up all of the residue which had collected on my groin. She ate away more vigorously, pressing harder and harder against my sack. I didn't let on to her that it was painful. I was contented that she appreciated her routine.
Then her body contorted as if she was the one in pain-as if her stomach was being wrenched by a severe cramp. But she was loving every moment of it. I could do little more to help her joy than to comfort her scalp with my fingernails and watch her agonizing gratification.
My hand reached between her legs to feel the body jam seeping through the walls of her crotch. Instinctively, my finger explored her opening and coaxed out more of the liquid fulfillment which saturated the mat in the fork of her legs.
That was when she took a deep breath and held it until the final droplets emerged and the sensation of love terminated.
Dawn was born nine months later.
It was difficult for me to watch another man bringing up my own daughter-born from my own daughter. It was more than difficult. It was nearly impossible.
I had to fight off my natural instinct to overindulge Dawn with affection. This became doubly difficult with the other children, Clara and Douglas Jr. on the scene. As it turned out, I withdrew from being affectionate with any of them-except, of course, for Clara who I grew to know rather intimately, not only on a physical level, but on an emotional level as well.
It was not hard to indulge myself in her physical equipment. Through the years, I came to realize that incestuous relationships are the most exciting of all sexual affairs. They necessitate making love to people you love anyway.
My fear that Dawn would be born deformed was unfounded. I had always thought that when a father and a daughter have sex and a baby is born out of it, the child has to be somehow not normal. But Dawn is as normal as a healthy young girl her age can be. In fact, one would have to say that she is ultra-normal. Dawn has some things about her that most girls would give anything to have.
But that's not why I had Douglas Jr. engage in sexual relations with her. I had him do it to teach him how to grovel if money was going to be that important to him. I thought there was the possibility that he would look at the prospect of making love to his sister with utter disgust and perhaps that would be the one thing he would refuse to do for money. But he didn't refuse. When he left my bedside, he had every intention in the world of getting into his sister's pants.
I guess there was no way for him to know that I would have given him the same amount of money regardless of whether or not he performed as I asked him to.
I handed my theater chain over to Richard, Douglas' brother, for reasons I do not care to disclose. They would place me in too compromising a position. Suffice it to say that Richard was overcome with delight and surprise. It could have been Douglas'-the fool could have had it all anyway. But when he ran off with Frita, he went with a short term investment-with as much money as Frita took from our Swiss account, it would last forever.
That's why Judy, Richard's wife, stood to gain as much as anyone. An informant had told me that Judy was still in contact (or had been within the last few years) with Douglas. I didn't know what, if anything, went on between them, but I told her that if she could get into his pants and record the event on tape or film, much of my business holdings would be left to her.
If Douglas and Frita were in fact running low on the money they took from me, it would certainly be a temptation for him to make some sort of deal with Judy. My plan was to blackmail him into leaving Frita with the tape of Judy's. They could have a large portion of the value of my estate-after all, that was all Douglas was interested in, I guessed-and I could show Frita that she had left me for naught.
It would all have to happen soon, however. While I can't, even at this late date, actually conceive of the possibility of dying, I have always been a percentage man in my business dealings. And this business dealing could perhaps be the final and most important one of my life.
Whether Judy and Douglas were carrying on through the years or not, she would probably have little difficulty in luring him into bed. For not only was the prospect of reaping such lucrative financial rewards tempting, but Judy herself would be quite a selling point.
The incredibly mature configuration of her body was second only to Dawn's. Her breasts were not quite as large, nor was she quite as erotic in her appearance, but there was no mistaking her for anything other than precisely what the female of the species should be.
If she knew where Douglas was, she'd get him into bed with little difficulty-unless, of course, Douglas had lost his mind altogether.
JUDY
When I was told that the Old Man wanted to see me, I thought for some reason, that his condition would be much worse than it was. I thought he'd be talking to me with his last breaths and maybe cash in his chips right before my eyes or soon after I left him.
But when I saw him, from his bedroom door at Spring Manor, I knew there was a little life left in him after all. My niece, Clara, who was nursing him, warned me not to excite him just before I went in to see him, but when I looked into his eyes, I knew she was overestimating the extent of his illness.
As a result, I locked the bedroom door behind me in anticipation of what might occur. I certainly didn't want to risk anyone finding out about us at that late date.
If my husband knew how he happened to end up in control of the Old Man's movie theater chain, he might have simply dumped me after the Old Man was dead, which would have left me with relatively nothing money-wise.
When the Old Man decided to retire, he called me up to Spring Manor, making certain that I would come alone. Richard was, at that time, a struggling accountant and he was working late hours into the night during tax season, so he didn't know whether I was home or not. I didn't have to wait for him to go away or anything because he was away while he was home during March.
Even then, the Old Man was not one to waste words. We dined alone and he came right out and told me that he was thinking about retiring. He further told me that he was considering having Richard take over his business.
"Then why don't you talk to Richard about it?" I asked, naively. "Why did you ask to speak to me?"
He placed his knife and fork on the plate and folded his hands, looking directly into my eyes.
"I don't want to speak to you," he said. "I want to fuck you."
I was dumbfounded. The words came out of my mouth without thinking.
"You mean to say that if I fuck you, you'll just give the business to Richard and me? That's all it would take? Do you realize what you'd be paying to get me to sleep with you?"
"Shall we go upstairs to the bedroom?" he asked.
I placed my knife and fork down and pushed the chair out from underneath me and followed his lead. He did not so much as hold my hand on the way up to his room, but once he closed and locked the door, there was no stopping him.
Immediately, the lights went out and I felt his palms cup over my tits. By that time I had regained my senses to the point where I knew what was going on. Before he touched me, I thought about nothing other than the prospect of my husband stepping into the Old Man's expensive shoes.
I think I probably would have been nauseous from imagining a bedroom scene with the Old Man if I had known about it earlier, or if I had come to my senses before we had gotten up to his room.
But I had to admit to myself that the Old Man's touch was exciting as he pressed me against his bedroom door and massaged my breasts.
My hands were at my sides. I didn't know what to do with them. There was no way of telling what the Old Man expected of me. For all I knew, he was some sort of sadist, ready to beat the shit out of me with a leather strap or an iron chain. I did want to show him that I was cooperative. I did want him to get his money's worth and take full advantage of whatever pleasure my body could give him.
So I lifted my hands up to his wrinkled cheeks and softly coaxed his lips onto mine, sloshing my tongue in and out of his mouth. He responded favorably, which showed me that he wasn't the type of man who resented a woman who was more than passive.
But when I began to remove my sweater to expose my breasts, he stopped me. The Old Man brought my hands back to where they were and he pulled my sweater off of my upper torso.
I knew he'd appreciate the fullness of my breasts. I wondered how long it had been since his hands had treated themselves to the breasts of a naked woman. When my bra was off, he didn't crush my tits as I had expected. He tenderly toyed with them instead, which was just about the most sensuous thing he could possibly have done.
I don't think anything excites me more than a man tenderly feeling my breasts. I become hypnotized under the spell of having a man helping himself to the delicate exploration of my ample-if I do say so myself-mammaries. For me, the breasts of a woman epitomize her sex. And when a man fondles them skillfully, which for me is delicately, I can go to pieces.
Which is exactly what happened after a few minutes of allowing the Old Man to feel me. It was as if his feelers were quietly, smoothly setting off a time bomb which would eventually erupt.
I rested my body against the door as he continued to work his fingers into the softness of my sagging tits. My heart was fluttering to the rhythm of his talented tentacles.
Then he bent over and kissed the nipple of my right breast, which sent shocks of thrills throughout my entire body. I grew increasingly weak. I was putty being molded, helpless to the whim of his exploring hands.
His lips worked their way up to my neck and I held his head lightly for encouragement. My body could not help but produce repeated chills, goose-pimpling the texture of my skin.
It produced the sensation of coldness and I hungered for the warmth of his naked body pressing against mine. I tried to coax him toward the bed, but before I could, he undid my skirt and gently dragged my slip and panties down my chilly bottom.
Finally, he walked me toward the bed and lay me down while he stood hovering above undressing himself. By the time I had crawled underneath the blanket to bask in the welcomed relief of momentary warmth, he was almost undressed.
Soon his nude old body was next to mine. His prick was stiffer than I imagined it would be, although not as hard as a younger man's would have been. But more exciting to me were his balls as they softly, warmly spilled onto my upper leg.
Again his hands continued their exploration of my breasts as they flattened against my rib cage. And again, my entire body chilled from his touch.
I moved my leg into his sex bag and rubbed his balls gently with my thigh before reaching down and feeling them with my fingers. I clutched his fleshy nut shell carefully, taking in every wrinkle, every lump, every pimple on his overripe sack and compared it to the stiffness of his hard-on.
The Old Man's feelers had progressed down toward my groin, but I momentarily lost contact with his exploration to revel in my own. All of his years of experience manifested itself rather obviously. He knew about women-he knew exactly what degree of pressure to apply to what portion of the body-he knew how to instill gratitude-he understood precisely what to do with my body.
Our communication could not possibly have been better. It was as if we had been balling each other for years and had carefully discussed in detail what would turn each of us on to our maximum capacity. He anticipated my needs; I anticipated his.
He loved it when I allowed his balls to roll around in my hand-he loved it almost as much as I did-he couldn't have loved it more.
When we had extracted the full potential of our communicative joy through feeling and fondling each other's bodies, the Old Man pressed my arms against the bed as if to tell me not to move. I obeyed gladly, for I knew that whatever he was going to do would produce further erotic joy from my already grateful libido.
And he did just that when he straddled my stomach with his knees and climbed toward my face, allowing his low-hanging fleshy eggs to dangle in my face. I was bobbing for balls as he softly dunked them into and out of my lips. When I caught one of them in my mouth, he let me suck it for a moment before pulling out of my oral grasp and starting the process all over again.
Each time my tongue sucked against his nuts, my vaginal time bomb grew that much more impatient to explode. I could not reach out and touch them because my arms were caught between my sides and his tightly pressed legs. It was frustrating, but it only served to excite me further.
The Old Man knew precisely when the frustration I was feeling began to evolve into what could have been diminishing returns for my passion center. When he sensed my frustration transforming into utter agony, he unfastened my arms and pierced my mouth with his joy rod. I anxiously clutched his balls between my fingers and pressed the flat of my tongue into his prick, smothering it, drowning it in a flood of fluids which poured from my mouth.
His was a gentle hard-on. The hard-on of a man who had used his sexual organ with great skill throughout his life, which was infinitely more lust-filled than a younger man's rock-hard cock. I sucked on his tool as if it was a rare, aged wine-a wine which was more intoxicating than the most potent recently distilled variety.
I wanted desperately for the Old Man to eat me. I yearned for his understanding sense of passion to fill his tongue and to force its way between my legs. I wanted to surround his face in my pussy, to allow the greasy appreciation of my crotch to oil his entire face.
But I came to understand that the joy-producing know-how that comes with age had its drawbacks. The Old Man was, to my grief, at the end of his rope.
I gladly separated my legs for what was to come. He crawled down my body as if his cock had an important rendezvous with my slit and he was late. Once the tip of his prick introduced itself to my oily groin, he was no longer gentle. He forced himself into my hole mercilessly, which surprised me because I didn't think he would have the strength.
The Old Man's mixer stirred the brew of my snatch with almost grotesquely exaggerated humps. And I loved it as I had loved few physical experiences during my life. As he rammed his cock through the well-oiled lips of my pussy, his thumb simultaneously teased my clitoral lump, which seemed to puff from my cunt like a saturated sponge.
It wasn't long before my cunt lips tightened and I strangled his prick in passionate embrace. It must have felt like a rigorously pulled knot of rope. My pussy potion blasted itself against his organ just as the Old Man unleashed his own scuz into my vaginal well.
Neither of us talked before we fell asleep. A few hours later, when I awakened, our sex horns were still locked. I was tempted to coax him into another erotic festival, but I was long overdue at home. Richard would be coming home from the office wondering where I was.
My husband would never know it, but those few hours with the Old Man did more for his career than all of his career hours combined to that time.
When we said goodbye to each other, the Old Man gently kissed me on the forehead and stared into my eyes with the look of sincere gratitude that we both felt.
It was not the only time the Old Man and I made love to each other. There were other times, plenty of them, which were equally as exciting for the both of us.
But we hadn't seen each other for weeks when his relapse occurred. I was truly saddened with the prospect that he might soon be dead-although I must admit that I couldn't really imagine not having him around any longer.
When he called me up to the estate, forewarning me that I was to come alone, I knew he wanted to discuss something very important with me.
After closing the door to his bedroom, I walked toward his bedside and sat down next to him. The ever-present sparkle in his eyes was somewhat tarnished, but it was quite apparent that he was in control.
His hand reached for my breasts and I affectionately covered it with my own hand. Then he cleared his throat and bowled me over with the content of his words.
"I have information which tells me that you have been in contact with Douglas," he began. "I trust you don't deny this."
I said nothing.
"I want you to go to bed with him. And I want substantial proof that you did so, either on tape or film or however you can get it."
"For what purpose would you want it?" I asked.
"Before I die," he explained, "I want to prove once and for all that he ran off with Frita for money, not because he loved her. For money and for revenge."
"What do you mean, for revenge? To get back at whom and for what?"
"You don't have to know that information," the Old Man said, as if he knew, without question, something I didn't know. "Judy, we've been closer than anyone realizes and I'm going to remember you favorably when my time is up. I want you to do this for me."
He said nothing further. When he removed his hand from my breast, I took it as a signal to leave. I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead as he had done to me the night we first made love to each other.
When I walked out the door, I mumbled something derogatory about the Old Man's request. I didn't mean for Clara to hear what I had said, but she looked at me as if I was somehow disloyal to the Old Man. I had neither the time nor the inclination to straighten her out.
My only concern was to get to Douglas and follow through with the Old Man's request. My motivation was not the cheap bribe he tried to coax me with. I was hurt by that. I didn't want the Old Man to think he could buy me off. I loved him both as a lover and as a father of sorts. But I couldn't sit there and debate with him about it.
I'll never know how he found out about Douglas and myself, but it was true that we had maintained contact through the years. He and Frita were living up in the mountains. It always confused me when I thought about his reasons for running off with Frita, who was quite literally old enough to be his mother. It couldn't have been strictly for money. Douglas had enough money of his own and he obviously would have inherited the Old Man's theater chain.
Whatever his reasons were, he kept them pretty well hidden. I had gone up to the mountains from time to time-when I could get away from Richard without him being overly curious and when Frita was out of town for one reason or another.
Douglas and I weren't exactly lovers, but we did ball during those times when we could be alone. He was a very considerate lover and it was exciting to sleep with him, but our relationship had a hard shell around it. Neither of us ever confided in one another to any great degree. He always maintained that he and Frita were happy together.
But if they were so happy, why was he balling me on the side? And how could he possibly be all that happy playing husband to an old lady like Frita. Although I hadn't seen her in years, I imagined that she was slightly decrepit after all that time.
My allegiance was clear. I would do as the Old Man asked. I would afford him this one last wish. I knew that he was filled with remorse when Frita left him and I knew he desperately wanted to prove to her that Douglas had been using her all this time.
I wasn't exactly sure if it was true, but for the sake of the Old Man, I was willing to find out.
As it turned out, it was difficult to get away alone while Frita was out of town. Douglas told me that she would be away for the weekend of July the Fourth, which couldn't have been worse timing. Richard always had a thing about spending the holidays together.
Then I got a brainstorm. I suggested that the two of us spend the holidays at a resort up in the mountains. The one I had in mind was only about thirty miles away from where Douglas was living.
Richard thought it was a good idea, but he went ahead and invited Harriet and Douglas' rather screwed up replacement, Edward. The one thing I never understood about Harriet was why she chose to marry that creep. I assumed that she was too lonely after Douglas ran off to think rationally, and that Edward was the first slob to come lusting after her.
I only hoped that my three traveling companions wouldn't get in the way of my mission once we got up to the mountains. I wanted to do this one last favor for the Old Man.
DOUGLAS SR.
My relationship with Frita began months before she became my mother-in-law. In fact, I'd have to say I was enormously physically attracted to her the first time Harriet brought me to her home and introduced us. Frita later told me that she felt the same attraction for me from that first meeting.
But we didn't actually become physically involved until two or three months before Harriet and I were married. And it all came about rather coincidentally.
It was prior to the purchase of Spring Manor. The Old Man and Frita were living in a comfortable, but not quite as luxurious a home only a couple of miles away from the estate.
Except for Rosalie, the maid, Frita and I found ourselves alone, sunning ourselves next to the pool. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her body. To be sure, she was what one might call an "older woman," but she filled out a bikini as sensuously as any girl in her prime. And Frita had the extra advantage of the sophistication that comes only with maturity. It's something that can't really be defined; you have to feel it or sense it. Some men are attracted to it, some men are turned off by it. I was overcome by it in Frita.
A psychiatrist would probably say that I had a latent wish to ball my mother. I don't know. I never consciously thought about it, but it may well be the case and I did know for sure that I wanted to sink my meat into Frita.
Neither she nor I talked very much as we lay next to each other taking in the sun. I kept staring at the cleavage which separated her sizable, highly erotic tits and she kept looking the other way.
When she decided to bake the back side of her and lay on her flat belly, she unhooked her bikini from the back and allowed her straps to fall to either side of her. My eyes were riveted to the flatly pressed balls of flesh which hung to the side of her arms.
Frita's skin was tanned to perfection, but the balloons of tit which grew from the towel she was resting on were milky, as if the liquid they carried was clearly visible. I had to hold myself back from reaching out and touching them. The temptation was not an easy one to overcome.
Her head was resting on the chaise lounge and her eyes were closed, but every once in a while she would open them and catch me staring with desire at her chest pack. Then she would smile slightly and close her eyes again, content that I was appreciating what little she allowed me to see.
But the bubble of tit she exposed gradually began to grow. As she changed positions, the cups of her bikini top eventually began to pull away from her and she made no apparent attempt to make the necessary adjustments.
When it was time for her to turn around and face the sun, her scant top fell entirely away from her milk bags, revealing two cherry-colored tit ornaments which clung to her like badges of proud femininity. She saw me staring at them. She knew I appreciated the outrageously exciting view. But she refrained from officially recognizing that her beautiful breasts were no longer a secret to my eyes.
Frita returned my gaze as she slowly, deliberately re-positioned her tit cups and she smiled as she hooked it on from behind.
My heart was pounding against my rib cage, but I was certain there would be no more sensual bones tossed to me that day. I was wrong.
"I'm really hot," she told me. "How'd you like to join me for a dip in the pool?"
"Sure," I replied innocently. I had no idea what she had up her sleeve.
As I rose to my feet, I couldn't help but notice that she was staring directly at my crotch, which was still lumpy and hard from the view she had treated me to moments earlier. I didn't know what to do with myself. There was no way I could hide the fact that I was sexually aroused and that she was the cause of my hard-on.
Frita didn't help matters. She wouldn't take her eyes off of the thing and the more she concentrated on it, the stiffer it became. It was like laughing at a funeral or anything else you're not supposed to do. It just makes it worse when you try to control yourself.
Her facial expression didn't change at all. She didn't smile or indicate a feeling of any kind one way or the other. Had she laughed, I would probably have made a joke of the situation. But because she did nothing, I could only stand there totally embarrassed.
It seemed like a long time before I thought to dive into the pool. The coolness of the water dampened my embarrassment slightly. Frita did not dive in. She stepped down into the pool on the shallow end and swam along the length of the water with her head above the rest of her body so that she wouldn't muss her coif, which rested on her scalp like a crown.
When she reached the deep end, where I was resting against the diving board, she reached for the same iron bar I was holding onto. Our faces were only inches apart. Since neither of us said anything, it felt a little awkward to be so close. But the instant I started backing away from her, I felt her leg against mine.
I felt her calf skim along the surface of my calf and work its way all the way up to my thigh. I was certain that she was doing it deliberately, but I didn't know exactly what it meant. It could have been a playful mother-in-law type of joke thing or it could have been the type of thing where I was expected to follow my natural instinct and fuck the shit out of her.
I decided to compromise. I locked my thighs together and trapped her foot only inches away from my hardened pecker. Frita smiled and extended her other foot directly into my hard-on, keeping herself afloat by clinging to the diving board.
"Nice and hard, isn't it?" she remarked, laughing.
I unlocked her foot, took a deep breath, and went underneath the surface of the water to find her cunt. I felt as if I was a pirate, searching for a treasure beneath the sea.
I clutched the elastic of her bikini bottoms and yanked them down past her knees and off her body. She struggled only slightly, kicking her legs into my chest. I wanted to see the expression on her face, but my first priority was to take a look at her black triangle of treasure as it fought through the green foggy water.
Still holding my breath, I directed my hand between her tightened loins, forcing them apart so I could feel the floating forest of blackness which contained the very essence of her sexuality.
When I pierced her pussy with my thumb, she no longer struggled to fight me off. Her legs opened widely as if I had used the right key.
With only seconds left until my breath-holding capacity would be exhausted, I replaced my cunt penetrators with my lips and kissed her twat from below.
Finally, I had to surface. I was breathing heavily and the mixture of chlorine and water in my eyes did not allow for a good view of the expression on her face. Before I could wash the chemicals out of my eyes, Frita vanished underneath me to search for her own treasure.
And she found it immediately. My swim suit was off my body before I knew it. I felt my prick reaching out into the cool refreshment of the water. Following my lead, when her breath gave out, she kissed my genitals with her inner lips before surfacing.
I removed the last of her garments, her bikini top, before she had a chance to thoroughly clean her eyes, whereupon our naked bodies embraced for the first time.
Frita's tits squashed against my chest and our sexual headquarters merged against one another down below. Her arms were wrapped around my shoulders as I held onto the diving board to keep us both afloat.
"Let's get into shallower water," I suggested.
If her speed in getting there was any indication of her anxiousness, Frita was a couple of seconds more anxious than I was. And that had to be overwhelming.
I swam right up to her. The water was at hip level. Our wet lips joined together just before the rest of our body parts embraced. She was slithering her tongue around my mouth as if she was searching for cavities. A very ambitious tongue. And her legs, which were constantly in motion, were no less ambitious. As I hugged her waist, my hands naturally began to explore the body of the woman I was staring at in the sun moments before. My fingers separated the cheeks of her soft but robust ass, lending still added dimension to my already painfully extended cock.
Then I turned her around in the water and pressed my cock into where my fingers had explored while my feelers went to work taking in the glory balls which clung so beautifully from her ribs.
The thought of us being seen did not occur to me until that very moment. It was not Spring Manor, where the pool was far away from the house. This was their first home, and although the Old Man happened not to be home, Rosalie, the maid, could see us from the living room window if she happened to be in that part of the house.
But I couldn't allow paranoia to stand in the way of my full appreciation of the glorious female who was sharing my lust.
Frita was pressing her buttery flesh against my body with increasing force, striving to reap every ounce of passion she could extract from my mesmerized body. Her feelers reached below the surface of the water to grab my perpendicular prick, rolling it along the palms of both hands as if it was a lump of dough to be rolled into a thick loaf of bread.
My drenched balls were tightly packed into my groin bundle and her fingertips felt the prunish texture of my waterlogged ball container.
Again and again our mouths rushed against one another and our slivers united in dewy madness. My lips stroked the surface of her neck and my tongue sopped up every delicious pore on her shivering tits.
She was trying to drag my cock into her hole, but since she was much shorter than I and since we were standing upright, it was impossible.
"Let's get out of the pool and lay on the grass behind the bushes," she pleaded. "Let's fuck each other blind, Douglas, I have to have you right now. I can't wait another minute. Not another second."
I wasn't going to deny either of us what we both craved. I grabbed her hand and led her toward the stairs at the shallow end of the pool. We stepped out onto the grass totally naked with our swim suits floating in the water and walked briskly beyond the view of the house. I was no longer worried about Rosalie watching from the living room window. Now there was nothing to stop us.
The woman who was soon to be my mother-in-law let go of my hand and laid down beneath an oak tree, stretching her body out and looking up at me as if to say, "Do what you want with me, I'm yours."
I studied her from a prone position for a moment, feeding more and more fuel into my already steaming sex machine. If she wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world, for me she was the sexiest. The expression on our faces revealed, quite obviously, that what was about to happen would be more than merely a sexual fling, more than just a one-shot affair to get our rocks off. We shared a genuine, deeply routed feeling for each other.
My cock could no longer cope with the self-denial I was imposing on it so I sank to the grass and dirt underneath the tree and slowly moved my body next to Frita's. The moment I touched her, she melted into a writhing, squirming flesh sundae.
Just feeling the chemistry of her whisper-soft, still wet skin texture, my prick tingled. But Frita was too impatient to wait until after I was finished studying her.
"Eat me, Douglas," she demanded. "Stuff your tongue between my legs."
I did as she asked, beginning from the glossy thin flesh which surrounded her upper inner thighs and working my tongue into the huge black swatch of a cunt she proudly wore. As my tongue explored the inner regions of her body and I could feel the raw liver sensation of her cunt walls as she wrapped her thighs around my head, pulling me deeper and deeper into her.
Neither of us could stand the torture of anything less than the ultimate sex act. After a few moments of devouring her crotch, I crawled my cock along her legs until it found her soaking twat. I didn't have to guide my tool into her hole. It just seemed to naturally find its way into her body as if it were a guided missile or something. The insides of her body surrounded my joint in hot, sudsy nectar.
Our pelvic bones crushed into one another in a circular motion as Frita chanted for more.
Her lips nibbled away at my face and her spastic fingers finally rested between our hip bones, constantly digging into me to encourage me on.
Frita's water-logged tits rolled against my chest when she forced our bodies into a position where she was on top of me. My back was digging into some twigs on the ground. It was painful and annoying but I wouldn't allow it to dominate the utter joy I was experiencing between my legs as my fuel stick roamed freely in and around her accommodating tank.
She was in a position of greater mobility and she took advantage of it, lifting the upper portion of her body away from mine and allowing her white breasts to tumble against my chest. Beads of chlorinated water collected at her cherry warts and dripped onto my body.
All the while our joints were playing into and against each other. The environment of my cock became more lubricated with every simultaneous contortion of our sex tools, allowing ever-increasing mobility to roam about inside her cunt.
The inner depths of her crotch were almost the texture of a thick, creamy balm of warm Vaseline. My tool seemed to float as if it were suspended between the walls of her groin.
The instant I dragged her lips down into mine, Frita began to gallop as if she had to get somewhere fast and I was her only vehicle. She was daring me to dismount her-but even if I had wanted to, it would have been impossible.
Her cunt was now strangulating my pulsating prick, suffocating the mobility it had enjoyed only seconds before. Our joints were stuck to each other and locked into place. They would not separate until the final squirts of passion drained from our insides.
Frita's tits frolicked wildly just above me. They crashed against one another and then apart from each other. I trapped one of her charcoal-hard warts between my teeth and bit into it with force, but it only caused her movements to carry on with more vigor.
By this time my cock was raw and leathery. The sap which now filled her hole felt like acid against an opened wound-and the chlorine did not help to ease the pain.
Finally, my prick could not stand the pressure it was feeling from within and it bombarded the inside of Frita's body with the manifestation of ecstasy. Repeated gushes of cum rushed into her for what seemed like moments. And just as I was emptying myself, Frita's cunt gravy poured all over my meat stick and basted it with the naturally thick consistency of crude oil.
Her arms could no longer support the weight of the upper portion of her body. They trembled and then collapsed, causing her milky tits to crash into my chest.
We could not afford to relax after our heavenly but tiresome groin wedding. We could not afford to be seen. After only a moment to collect our strength, we untangled our bodies and dashed into the pool. Our joy was indelible. We both realized our feelings for each other were so sharp that they might one day be fatal.
"What do we do now?" I asked. "Do I still marry Harriet?"
"Of course you do," demanded Frita. "It's the only way our relationship can continue.
There is no other way."
But there was another way. And that way eventually evolved by Frita herself, who, through the years, began placing more demands on me. I didn't resent it. I loved her. We loved each other from that day at the pool to the very second I relate our history together. I shall always love Frita.
Harriet and I married and went through the motions of being man and wife for a couple of years. We even had children together. But the number of offspring we actually had was one less than the publicized amount.
Dawn was not our child, but a child fathered by the Old Man and his own daughter.
Frita found this out. To this day, I'm still not exactly certain as to how she came by this information. I do know, however, that when I confronted Harriet with this revelation, she burst into tears and could not deny that it was true.
It wasn't long after that when Frita and I ran off together. We had our excuse. I'm not saying I wasn't deeply affected by the knowledge that Dawn was not my child. I was. But more important to me than anything else in the world was Frita. Passionate love is not a reasonable phenomenon. It rules the mind and controls the senses. The only thing I wanted was to have Frita to myself, to live with her, to love her, to be able to nourish our sexual eccentricities any time I wanted to.
It was a slightly more ambitious calculation than the laws of nature would afford. Although the following couple of years after we had run off together were passion-filled, age began to interfere with our physical relationship. Frita could no longer maintain the level of sensual intensity she once craved-a level which I never stopped craving.
Despite the fact that we occasionally rekindled the spark of lust which once scorched our spirits, it was not quite to the degree we had known. Nor was it anywhere near as often.
As much as my reasoning mind didn't want to, my other self needed another sexual outlet. My cock required more attention than Frita's aging body could accommodate.
I had a number of sexual alternatives available to me. Some of them were local girls who worked up in the mountains as hostesses in the resorts. Others were one-shots who just happened to be there when Frita's back was turned.
But Judy, my brother Richard's wife, was more than the one-shot variety. We weren't very close on an emotional level or anything like that, but my prick and her twat were quite friendly during the times she came up to see me. Frita was always the type of person who had to be alone from time to time, which afforded me an occasional play period with Judy.
I had little or no guilt feelings about fucking around with my brother's wife. Richard was more business oriented than most people. And he fell into exactly what he wanted-a thriving business when the Old Man decided to retire-So he was pretty well satisfied with his life.
Aside from the sexual fruits I picked from Judy's ripe tree, I was able to get information from her about the kids. I was interested in what they were doing and how they were getting on-not only what was going on with Doug Jr. and Clara, but with Dawn, too. Despite the fact that she was not really my daughter, I still wanted to know what she was up to. I was told she grew up to be quite a woman.
Frita was taking a couple of days off to be alone up by the shore on the July Fourth holiday weekend and I had made arrangements to spend some time with Judy, who wanted to come up and see me.
When she called, she expressed some urgency about her visit. There was more in her voice than her words conveyed. I knew something was up, but I didn't know what exactly except that the Old Man was very ill.
She arrived only a few short hours after Frita had left. To my surprise, she told me she was staying at a nearby resort hotel with Richard and Harriet and Edward, the prick who ended up marrying her not long after our divorce came through.
I knew Edward long before Frita and I ran off, and I knew that he was the most opportunistic asshole who ever walked the face of the earth. I thought Harriet knew that about him too, and I was shocked that she married him. The man was a nothing, a zero, a parasite who fed on the misfortunes of others for his own selfish love of the almighty dollar. Whatever he told Harriet to get her to marry him must have been composed by a talented ghost writer. He couldn't have had the necessary ingredients to convince Harriet on his own.
Judy looked as good as I had ever seen her. Age had done something to transform her girlish, innocent look into a mature, womanly kind of appearance. And she was more exciting to me now than she had ever been.
She rarely wore make-up. Her natural attractiveness did not need a crutch. Two pools of ink blue punctuated her always bronzed facial complexion and she batted her eyelids in such a way that I could not draw my full attention away from her face for long enough to study her lovely body. I adored those long sensitive tits of hers-and those long, shapely legs which led up to her wiry crotch and her volleyball shaped ass.
I was in hard-on city the second I saw her. It had been a long time since my prick had been sufficiently oiled by the natural minerals of womanhood.
We did not kiss as true lovers would have kissed. It was not a wild, passionate embrace, but more of a deeply felt friendship sort of a thing. I couldn't help but notice that there was something different in her manner. She was not quite herself, more aloof than she normally behaved in my presence. I thought it might have had something to do with the fact that her husband was only miles away and she was feeling slightly more guilty than she normally would have. In any case, I didn't act as if anything about her was different except to relate my sincere appreciation for the constant maturity her physical being had undergone since we last saw each other.
She knew I meant it, but she smiled with some difficulty. She was forcing her emotions and camouflaging her inner thoughts, which did not make it easy for either of us to carry on much of a conversation.
But we were anxious to get on with exchanging our physical gifts, so it wasn't a total loss that we couldn't converse as we normally would have.
I wanted to take a shower with her, but she wanted to get into bed and make love.
"Let's compromise," she said. "You run the water in the shower and get everything ready in there and we'll start from bed and work our way into the bathroom."
"All right," I agreed. "We'll start from bed. But we can turn on the shower when we're ready for it. We don't have to let the water run while we're in here."
"Douglas," she moaned with an accompanying nervous laugh, "let's not be difficult."
I did as she asked to cut short our conversation and to hasten our flesh-pressing activities.
She wasn't undressed by the time I was finished adjusting the water temperature, so I went over to her and unzipped the back of her dress and watched it fall to the floor like a butterfly's cocoon, exposing the glory of her naked state.
I then turned her around to face me and toyed with her tit cage as she looked into my eyes. Before I undid her bra and took in the magnificent sight of her naked breasts spilling into view, I slipped out of my own clothes. She helped me anxiously.
When I looked up and watched her staring at my throbbing cock, I turned my attention to her full body, which was covered scantily by a half bra and a see-through pair of pink nylon panties.
Judy inched me closer to the bed and sat at its edge. She reached behind her to unsnap her bra. When it was unfastened, she leaned forward and delicately pulled the garment from her body. Her tits were as full and as sensuous as ever as they splashed against her lower thighs.
With her bra off, she leaned away from me, treating me to a full view of her breast load while she spread her gourmet legs to prepare for the removal of her panties.
I was frozen in position, like an appreciative audience watching a rare performance-but with an ever-growing prick which jumped to the drum beat of my quickening pulse.
Judy scraped the flimsy pink covering away from her cunt and down her legs painfully slowly. When they were finally dropped to the floor, I watched her lift her legs up to the edge of the bed and spread-eagle, enabling my eyes to take in the full expanse of her thick black twat. A thin line of flesh separated the rich walls of her groin, and her middle finger zeroed in on it and fondled it in a circular motion.
I had to hold myself back from rushing toward her and replacing her finger with my prick. But the agony of the moment was as exciting as anything I could have done.
Her finger toyed with her cunt as she threw her head back and closed her eyes. When it penetrated the lips of her pussy, she forced it more deeply into herself and then removed it and brought it up to her mouth. She sucked on her finger as if she had dipped it into her favorite flavor.
It was impossible for me to hold back any longer, but as I began to move toward her, she said, "No, Douglas, not yet. Be patient, we have time."
She was overestimating my tolerance, but I obeyed her.
And I was glad I did, for no sooner had she said that when she turned away from me on all fours and spread her asshole with the palms of her hands, treating me to a sensational view of the small brown dot deep inside the cheeks of her rear. Releasing her right ass-cheek from the pressure of her hands, she pointed her thumb against the brown opening and applied enough pressure for it to sink into her hole.
In and out, in and out, her thumb pumped. I could see her tits jiggling between her separated rear thighs, but even more fascinating were Judy's asshole antics.
When she finally removed her thumb and turned toward me, she raised it to her lips in a slow, deliberate manner and opened her mouth widely to devour it.
"Do you want to fuck me now, Douglas?" she asked in a tone which was unlike Judy. She was rarely sexually aggressive, but I was loving every moment of it.
As I approached, though, she demanded to hear verbally what was more than obvious.
"Answer me," she said. "Do you want to fuck me?"
"What kind of shit are you pulling? You know I want to fuck you. What the hell's the matter with you?"
She flattened her back against the bed and spread her limbs the moment I said that.
"Then do it. Fuck me like you never fucked anyone in your whole life."
My prick would not stand for any preliminaries. Judy took care of the preliminaries without me. So I proceeded to do exactly as she asked.
But I was pissed at the manner in which she was behaving. I had never known Judy to be a bitch before. I can only take sexual aggression to a point. Beyond that point I begin to get hostile.
Although I was fully aware of this feeling in me, and although I realized that I was pissed at that moment, I truly didn't expect to act out my rage through violence. But instead of plunging my cock into her inviting groin, I smashed her across the face with my hand repeatedly.
"Go ahead, Douglas," she screamed as tears flowed from her eyes. "Beat me. Go ahead and beat me shitless. I want you to. It feels good. Beat me, Douglas."
What my hand did to her face, my prick did to her cunt. I smashed my groin into her as if I was hammering nails with it. And Judy was loving every second of it.
Her pussy was vomiting up oceans of foam for my cock to wallow in. Her claws were gashing into my back so deeply that the blood it produced blended with the sweat which poured from my body to cause a sharp pain. I reveled in it, just as Judy had reveled in the pain I gave her.
Every few moments I would let up on the pressure and on the speed with which my cock crashed in and out of her-and every few moments Judy would smash the side of my face with her opened hand and reach behind me and dig into my already shredded skin to prevent me from letting up.
I grabbed her chest handles as my bottom continued its relentless excavation of her cunt. I clutched them with my hands and squeezed them with all the force I could manage. Judy screamed in pain as loudly as I'd ever heard anyone scream-but she didn't want me to stop. She was screaming for more. She begged for as much punishment as I could give her. I clawed her, punched her, slapped her, smashed my pelvic bone against hers, and still she wanted more.
Then a final murderous blast of sound escaped her throat and told me that her cunt had produced its last gush of lather. Her fired up body eased into loose relaxation. She humped against my prick no longer.
But I wasn't through yet. My cock was still very much alive with joy juice. My body was still electrified by the erotic madness we'd both been feeling.
"No more, Douglas," she pleaded. "My body can't take any more. Please, Douglas, stop! I'm in pain!"
It was ironic that the pain she craved for just seconds earlier was no longer a source of pleasure but a source of agony. I didn't care-I still slapped her-I still wrenched my prick deep into her cunt hole-I still grabbed her tits and squeezed them like large foam rubber lumps. Her cries of anguish served only as encouragement until my own body buckled under the intensity of climax.
My chest crashed into her tits like a truckload of useless humanity and the tenseness of my muscles relaxed at last.
When I caught my breath after a few minutes and pulled myself away from her to look into her eyes, I saw a stream of newly collected tears drip from the corners of her lids and flow past her cheeks. I was miserable with guilt. I was sorry I had inflicted pain on so fragile a person, so delicate, so sensitive a personality.
I was deeply anguished over the fact that I allowed the passion of the moment to control me to the point where I totally lost touch with reality and, like a madman, took advantage of an individual I genuinely cared for.
"Judy," I said in a remorseful tone, "I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me. That has never happened to me in my life, not to that degree. I swear, I didn't mean to hurt you. Please believe me. I'm so sorry."
"There's nothing to feel sorry about," she said between drips of tears. "We both know how much we enjoyed it. I loved it and I think you did too."
In complete confusion, I asked, "Then what on earth are you crying about?"
"Douglas, do you mind if I ask you something really personal? Something I never asked you before?"
"Of course not."
"And you'll be completely honest with me? No bullshit?"
"No bullshit," I promised.
"Why did you run away with Frita? What were your honest, gut-level reasons?"
"All right, you want the honest to God truth? Because I loved her. And I've lived with her for all these years because I'm still deeply in love with her. I always have been and as far as I know, I always will be. She's getting on in years and we don't have the same sexual thing we once had, but I do love her."
Still more tears flowed from her eyes.
"Judy, don't tell me you're becoming emotionally involved with me. Don't tell me that's what's been on your mind all this time?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, almost denying that anything had been on her mind since she called me and made arrangements to come to the mountains.
"I'm not blind," I told her. "It's pretty clear that something's been bugging you. What is it?" She wiped her eyes and leaned over toward the semi-opened dresser drawer right next to the bed and pulled out a portable tape recorder, which was still recording. Then she turned it off and removed the plastic cassette.
"Here," she said, handing it to me. "Something to remember me by."
"What the fuck is this? What the fuck is going on around here?"
It didn't take her long to explain that the tape recording was part of a plot by the Old Man. He was still in love with Frita and he wanted to "prove" to her that I was after her money and that I was never in love with her to begin with.
"The Old Man's body still lives on," I said, "but his brain has already died. The tape is worthless. Even if Frita knew we were balling, and even though it would hurt her, she'd never believe for a second that I didn't love her. Shit, I gave up more money by running off with her than I would have gotten if I had stuck it out with Harriet. I would have taken over the business instead of Richard. Doesn't he realize that?"
Judy wept. She couldn't say anything. Then it occurred to me that she went so far as to set up the tape recorder and fuck for me to help the Old Man get his information. I asked her why and waited for her to regain her composure.
"No one knows this," she confided, "but I'm involved with him. I can't say I love him, although in a lot of ways I do, but I am deeply involved with him. I have been for a while. And I guess I felt that I had to do this one last request for him before he dies. I still can't admit to myself that he's going to die. When he goes, a part of me will be buried with him."
"What are you going to do about the tape?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. "It's yours. I don't need it."
"What are you going to tell the Old Man?"
"I'm not going to tell him anything. I'm never going to see him again. I can't. I wouldn't be able to face him."
I felt deeply for her. She had sacrificed a great deal for me-much more than I would have sacrificed for her. And we both knew it.
HARRIET
I didn't want to go up to the mountains in the first place. For one thing, there was never anything for me to do. I saw very little of my husband-Edward always had a habit of disappearing when I needed him most. And for another thing, I didn't want to complicate my life by getting sexually involved with anyone-particularly not with my former brother-in-law, Richard.
For years I had sensed his attraction for me. I knew he wanted desperately to get into my pants, and I was tempted a number of times to indulge him in his desire. When I entertained the idea in my mind from a position of objectivity, I didn't need his cock between my legs.
But there's always been something, some force deep within my soul, that never allowed for rationality when a male sex stick (any male sex stick, no matter whom it belonged to) was available to me. I have often thought that this was the reason why Douglas ran off and left me-this and, of course, the knowledge that Dawn was not his child but my father's and mine.
I have hated my father passionately ever since he told Douglas that he was responsible for Dawn's birth. There was no Godly reason for telling him except perhaps to flaunt his masculine ego. He stood to gain nothing by it. In fact, he lost my mother as a result. And she was, even to this day, the center, the very core of his rotating world.
Sure I was obsessed by the idea of balling him, but that's not so very fucked up. Plenty of girls have life-long desires to screw their fathers. The difference between myself and the others is that I happened to follow through.
As I say, sometimes I just can't help myself. And there was no way I could possibly have redirected my passion the night I spread my legs to allow my own father's prick to enter my box. A thrill still runs through my body every time I recall that night in the billiards room. I can recall it vividly-and do recall it often.
It seems that my cunt has erased much of the full potential of my life. I used to actually kneel down and pray to God that He would change how I was as a person. I used to ask Him to make it so that I could take sex more casually, to make it less important to me, to help me to overcome the temptation I have so often felt between my legs.
But I've never changed at all in that way. From my sixteenth year until now, it has always been the inevitable case that a certain percentage of my time in every week of each year requires that I have a male organ lodged between the split of my groin. That's the reality of my life. That's the cross I have to bear. And I can do nothing to change it, much as I would like to.
The very second Richard came into my hotel room in the mountains, I knew for certain that we were going to fuck. I felt the itch in my cunt instantaneously-and it was an itch that could only have been scratched by a stiff cock.
Judy made plans to watch the fireworks that night and Edward had some relatives in the vicinity he "had to" visit, which made it pretty convenient for Richard and me to dine on one another.
It was about eight o'clock and I was already in my nightgown. I had my period and when I'm on the rag. I'm really on the rag. I was combing my hair when he walked in. He didn't even bother to knock, which I asked him about.
"I'm not in the habit of knocking," he replied in that cocky tone of his.
"What if I was undressed or something? You don't just walk into a woman's room without the courtesy of warning her."
"If you were undressed, I would have come in without knocking and I would have closed the door behind me and locked it."
That did it for me. I knew I had transformed into the all too familiar role of a sort of sexual Dr. Jekyll. My body was his, no questions asked, no games, no regrets. I could not be responsible for my actions. I was not in control.
"Well, then," I said to him as he leaned against the wall smiling at me, "you'd better lock the door because I was just about to get undressed."
He did exactly as I asked, pretending not to be dumbfounded. I knew for certain he hadn't expected me to go down for him-or at least to have such an easy time of it. He walked toward the light and was about to switch it off when I threw him a curve by telling him I didn't undress with the lights off. He looked somewhat confused as he stood there watching me. I don't think he knew exactly what to expect.
I watched myself in front of the mirror as I began to slip out of my negligee. I could see Richard staring at me out of the corner of my eye as the shoulder straps fell to my arms.
He was breathing more loudly when he saw my tits flop over the border of the top of my sheer garment. Any time I ever exposed my nipples to a man, they never failed to produce a comment of appreciation or a compliment of some kind, which is why I wanted the light on. I wanted Richard to witness the large ruby discs at the tips of my breasts. I wanted this physical rarity of mine to produce an instant hard-on. I wanted him to jump me the moment he laid his eyes on them.
I turned toward him and flashed them in his face as if they were Picasso originals. His eyes widened as he studied my nipples with increasing intensity. I don't know if he believed exactly what he was seeing. I was always grateful for the freaks of nature which blotted as much as one third of the total size of my 'D' cup tits with circles of exotic red coloring. I always wore them proudly and I was always anxious for each and every one of my lovers to see them.
"Harriet!" he exclaimed as if the pronouncement of my name revealed his innermost thoughts. I wanted more. I wanted him to explain in detail exactly to what extent my nipples turned him on.
But I said nothing. I simply stood there, flashing my two jewels in his face. He walked closer to me to get a better look and I didn't take my eyes off of his. He studied them as if he was a chemist looking at a slide through a microscope.
"Harriet!" he repeated.
Still I said nothing. Not to take his mind off of the very crux of my beauty, but to quicken the pace of what was to come, I pulled my nightgown down until gravity dropped it to the floor beneath me.
He did not even bother to look at my twat, which began to boil under its deceptively cool pubic disguise. I opened my arms as if they were wings and I was about to take off and then I turned around so that Richard could take in the rest of my body. After a full circle, when our eyes united once again, I saw that he had already begun to remove his clothing.
Again he went for the light switch and again I told him to leave the light on. After all, if I could treat him to a bird's eye view of everything my body had to offer, the least I could expect of him was a similar treat.
He was slightly flabby, but thinner than Edward. And he had plenty of hair on his chest, which never failed to turn me on. Edward was as bald as a grapefruit between his cock and his scalp. I appreciate a hairy man, and Richard was that if nothing else. As he began to remove his pants, I was rooting for a huge cock and a pair of balls that would be too large to fit into my mouth.
His cock was hard and thick, but it wasn't quite as long as I had hoped for. And while his balls weren't bbs, they weren't tangerines, either.
Even before our lips met, I fell to my knees and kissed the mushroom of his penis lightly while cupping his nuts in the hollow of my palm. He spread his stance to encourage me and to afford me greater maneuverability for the application of my tongue.
After kissing his cock a number of times, I finally ladled on heavy portions of my tongue, whisking its tip in a circular motion around the tiny hole from which his scum would hopefully blast into my mouth after a while. He changed his balance from one leg to the other, which told me that he was growing impatient for heavier action.
I took his cue, applying feathery strokes against the length of his prick with the meaty part of my tongue, occasionally encouraging his balls into my mouth and then quickly abandoning them for his sex tentacle.
There is nothing more erotic for me than to go down on an appreciative man. Nothing. I enjoy the taste of cock; the smell, the texture, the heat, and the overall beauty of the organ. It is as finely sculpted a specimen as there is as far as I am concerned. A woman is not a woman when she has no cock to fondle and caress with her fingers and with her lips and tongue. Nothing can so sublimely evoke femininity as a man's palpitating prick.
I surrounded Richard's joint within the circle of my lips and slid it into my throat and then out again. Meanwhile, my impetuous fingers tinkled with his sagging rocks.
He seemed to be loving it almost as much as I was. I could hear him holding his breath above me and choking out what sounded like abbreviated belches of air. But he wanted some toys of his own. He wasn't about to play the role of Santa Claus and give me all of the goodies in his sack.
I sensed that he was about to reach for me, but before he did, I rose to my feet and shoved my tongue into his mouth. His fingers were slightly sweaty as they pressed against my back to pull me into his chest, but my tits were treated to the sensation of rubbing against billows of hair.
My entire body carved a circle into his. As I bent my knees and then locked them in repeated motions, my torso, from legs to chest, slid against his. I glided along the glossy surface of his botanical body. Below, I felt his prick sticking into my navel and then back down between my legs. In between, I felt my bald flat stomach mingle with his thatched rounded stomach. Above, the upper portion of my tits and the under portion of my tits took turns being massaged by his anatomical shrubbery.
Richard played along for a while until he reached down and pressed his forearm right up my bloody cunt, lifting me off the floor and carrying me, a la Ape Man, to the bed upside down. He tossed me onto the blankets as if I was a pillow and then turned me on my stomach and forced me down while he began reaming out my asshole.
I desperately wanted to see him lick out my ass residue. I wished there had been a mirror which would graphically show me the dynamics of his cleansing action. But settling for feeling him do it was reward enough for me.
His tongue raced into the spread cheeks of my ass with abandon, sucking off every little chunk of ass skum in its path.
I was intoxicated by the ambitious fervor of his sliver as it slid along the curves of my anal cushions and my entire body became a frenzied ocean of sexual nerve endings every time his scrumptious sucker swooped down into my shitter.
When he was finished feasting upon my ass cheese, he rolled me over as if I was a piece of toast, burned on one side, undone on the other. A pool of saliva surrounded his mouth as he faced me, staring directly into my twin rubies.
I smiled with delight as he clutched my titties and bit into my nipples, raping them with his teeth and devouring them with his lips and tongue.
My body was trembling at this point and the inner reaches of my pussy were collecting plenty of sap. I was sweating all over him and he was drenching me with his body heat. It was spilling around us from everywhere despite the fact that the air conditioner was on full blast.
As I reached between his legs and grabbed his love weapon, he slapped my hand away and pushed my legs apart to make room for it. I split as far as I could possibly go, waiting for his stick to burn into my menstrual bilge.
It was a smooth, sloshy entrance. I took him into me with plenty of room to spare. But he managed to make the most of his lack of size by rotating his cock against the circumference of my twat, pressing with force around my vaginal sphere and occasionally thrusting into the core of my passion.
Our bodies rocked from side to side so that all of our essential sex parts were treated to healthy slices of the fuck pie.
Then, just before he shot off, his stomach tightened and his breathing stopped to allow the parade of prick grease to march merrily into my twat. I was still humping after he had released his last white drop. But he didn't give a fart about me. He didn't care whether or not I got off. He just stopped dead in his tracks after he was out of fuel. And that was that.
"Fantastic," he proclaimed, as if he was Rex Reed reviewing a movie. "Really something. We should do this more often. I really loved it."
I didn't say anything. There was no sense to it. He wouldn't have done anything for me no matter what I said, so I figured I might as well let it pass. The dumb asshole probably thought he got me off. Or, even worse, probably didn't know one way or the other.
We rested in each other's arms for a few minutes and then he said he had to go. I forced a smile and said good night. My cunt will grow cobwebs before I take that prick for another trip through my body.
It was a good thing Richard left when he did. Edward returned only a little while afterward. The first words out of his mouth when he walked into the suite was something about how I looked like a sack of shit. Delightful man.
I honestly thought I was in love with him when I married him, but it was nothing more than my cunt playing tricks on me. He was a fairly decent ball in those days. We had a lot in common. He thought with his pecker, which was a good thing for him-if he had used his brain instead, he'd still be sucking his mother's tit.
A lot of people warned me that Edward was worthless, that he made his living off of women, that he used them until their money ran out and then he dumped them. But I didn't listen. I guess I was too deeply hurt by Douglas to know any better than to trust the judgment of my friends.
Somehow the weekend in the mountains didn't turn out altogether successfully for any of us. The ride back home was an exercise in verbal self-control. Hardly any of us talked at all. I wasn't sure why Judy and Richard weren't talking, but I was sure they weren't talking-at all. I hoped that Judy didn't know about Richard and myself but I wasn't going to let it bring me down if that was what the problem was.
A couple of days after the July Fourth weekend was over, my father's condition worsened and he asked to see Dawn. She was going to drive there herself, but in a rare exhibition of kindness, Edward offered to drive her to Spring Manor.
It was morning and I was in the shower sudsing up when I saw the bathroom door open. It startled me. I knew Dawn and Edward were out of the house-they had left moments earlier. And Clara was staying up at Spring Manor. I thought Douglas Jr. had gone somewhere too because I didn't see his car in the driveway when I watched Dawn and Edward leave. And it was quite rare for him to park in the garage.
But as I unfogged the glass door of the shower, I saw that it was Doug, which was quite a relief under the circumstances. It could have been a burglar or someone and I would have been totally defenseless.
I continued to soap up my body, paying little attention to what Doug was doing in the bathroom. Then the shower door opened and there stood my son studying my totally naked body.
I covered myself as best I could and asked, "What's the matter, hon?"
He didn't answer me. He just stood there with his mouth hanging wide open and his eyes focused on my lathered nakedness.
Again, I asked what he wanted and again he said nothing. I began to get the idea. I knew what was going to happen and I didn't do anything to stop it from happening. I could not deny him what my father did not deny me. It was one of the greatest thrills in my life when my father allowed me to make love with him. And it would be one of the greatest thrills in my son's life to fulfill this wish of his.
I turned to put the soap in the dish and I positioned myself directly underneath the flow of the water so it would wash away the white billows of soap which hid my skin from him. Then I turned back toward Doug and reached out for him with open arms.
I don't know whether his expression of utter shock was from my inviting arms or my huge dark breast punctuations he was staring at so intently.
"Are you sure?" he asked between gasps of air.
"I want you to, honey," I assured him. "Come into the shower. Come to Mother."
He tore off his clothes within seconds and left them where they fell and quickly stepped into the shower and closed the door behind him. I didn't get a chance to see his equipment. I was too involved with the expression on his face. It was a mixture of shock and relief. After all, he took quite a chance coming on to his mother like he did.
Then I felt his tool smashing against my leg. When I looked down and discovered his youthful, thick, long muscle, I was amazed. I had no idea that such a sexual gold mine was lodged between my own son's legs.
My first instinct was to reach for his huge, outstretched pink gland as the warm water from the shower illuminated it against the dim bathroom light, which made it all the more appetizing. The flesh surrounding his thickened sex bone was stretched tight as I stared down at the thing. I wanted to soothe it between my grasp.
But I wanted Doug to make the first move. I wanted him to act out his masculine urge. I would soon get my chance.
He was laser-beaming his eyes into the large red circles which clung to the tips of my breasts. I knew he'd never seen anything like them before and I wondered whether he had ever had the chance to make love to a fully mature woman. If he hadn't, my tits must have been a source of total and complete joy. For a loving son to be given the opportunity to suck on his mother's breasts beyond the adolescent stages of growing up could be nothing less than sheer delight.
Doug's face was flushed as he studied the detail of my breast punctuation. Then he forced his attention away from my nipples and penetrated my eyes.
Instead of immediately directing his fingers to the source of his appreciation as I would have assumed, he reached for the back of my neck with both hands and held me while we stared intensely into each other's eyes for what seemed like moments. It was sending chills throughout my body to exchange this kind of a look with my own son in such a situation. I was truly getting hot.
He slowly applied pressure against the back part of my neck and brought my mouth against his. I had totally underestimated my own son. He was not an impetuous boy who was making love to an older woman, he was a man. And he was as sexually sophisticated as most of the men I had made love with during my lifetime. Most of them, when they are given a full view of the freakishness of my nipples, don't even bother to reach for any other part of me. And rarely do they kiss me first. But this gesture of Doug's showed me that I was in store for much more than a boy-woman sexual merger. I was in store for a genuine treat.
I opened my mouth as wide as I could to encourage his tongue to roam freely through my oral hole. Our lips embraced in tender moistness as our bodies gradually began to mesh against one another.
First I could feel his jumping pecker crash between my legs. Then, as he pulled his lips away from my mouth ever so slightly and came back for more oral mingling, I could feel my swelled bosom lightly merge with his hairy, lean chest.
His strong hands progressed down beyond my neck to my shoulders and then underneath my arms, hollowing them in order to contour the roundness of the sides of my hanging breasts. Both sides of me sagged into his grasp. The combination of the warm water from the shower and the attention of his hands against my breasts caused my nipples to buckle and harden.
To further lighten his feathery feel, he reached for the soap and swirled it against my chest bags. Our lips were apart now, but my eyes were still closed to reap the full rewards of this highly erotic sensation. My entire body tingled as he massaged the soapy lubricant into each side of my sensitive pair with both of his ambitious hands.
He concentrated on the nipples of my tits for . a long time before his soap-filled fingers skimmed along the slick surface of my naked frame until he reached the semi-circles of my hips, whereupon he lubricated them briefly with quick circular strokes. He did not thrust his feelers into my anxious crotch as I had anticipated. Instead, he took the soap on a journey to my rear and explored the balls of my ass.
His soapy chest was pressing into my stomach with slightly more pressure as his lathered fingers dropped the lubricant and I found my rear cheeks making a sandwich out of his two flattened palms. As if powered by some sort of machine, they rapidly rubbed along the inner walls of my ass until he removed his left palm to push my pelvic bone into his pointed forefinger.
He was squatting now and pushing his pointer deep within the rear of my body, almost giving me the blended sensations of constipation and climax. My knees were weakening, but I summoned the strength to keep standing.
My son's other hand found the soap on the floor of the shower and brought it directly up into my cunt.
It was the first time he had felt the pubic bristles of my love hole. He mushed the soap into it, around it, below it, all over it. I was a mass of suds between my legs and his fingers joyfully frisked that portion of my body which produced him.
Doug knew precisely where my clitoral lump was hidden and he knew precisely what to do with it once he found it. It was a more delicate operation than he'd been performing on my body until that time. His sudsy thumb lightly met it and waltzed it around and around in tiny circular motions. It was like striking a match against my inner torch, smoking out any inhibitions I might have had due to the fact that I was making it with my own son. We were now officially lovers-and I hadn't even introduced myself to his prick.
I was rubbing the scalp of his head and digging my nails into it from time to time to encourage him. When he finally straightened himself into a vertical position, soaping his way along my inner thighs, stomach, tits, and neck, he brought my face into his once again and we kissed with even more passion than before. I was hugging him with more force-a genuine force, a force being dictated by that tiny muscle in my cunt which he had just made love to with his thumb. Much of my behavior was now quite out of control.
I grabbed the soap out of his hands and quickly squatted to the floor to study the organ which would eventually jab into my hungering twat. I studied its thickness before smothering it in the slime of the soap.
My middle finger and thumb could barely encircle its thickness as I surrounded it in my grasp and stroked its length from tip to base. The goo of the soap paved a filmy path up and down his cock and his wrinkled balls dangled into my knuckles from below.
Then I more carefully treated my feelers to the shape of his prick, experiencing the edge of his mushroom and traveling along the swollen vein which sat proudly atop his bone, feeding more and more blood into his joint.
He grew impatient and lifted me up so he could stick his hard-on between my legs. But I resisted and squatted back down again to enable my tongue to wash off the lather and to feel the heat and the smoothness of the underside of his organ. I doused my son's sex machine with my sliver as my fingers gently fluffed his large round cum producers through the rich corrugation of his sopping sack.
Again, he pulled me up by my hair and began to thrust himself into me. He was more deliberate this time, more forceful. I obeyed.
But he was at least a half a foot taller than I, and his six-foot frame could not comfortably cope with matching up our groins from an upright position.
"The bed," he moaned like a person who was not in control of his senses. "Let's get into bed."
I was no more in control of my mind than he at that point. One of us, I don't know if it was Doug or myself, opened the shower door and we dashed through the chilly air toward the bed, tearing off the blanket and climbing inside. Neither of us thought to turn off the shower, which we discovered only after another highly potent exchange of fucking and sucking each other's ravenous bodies.
We were shivering from the cold, and when we got into the bed and pulled the blanket over us, we immediately rammed our saturated bodies into each other and embraced tightly for warmth. Knees crashed into groins, chest pressed into chest, hands were all over the place, lips and tongues industriously gravitated toward whichever portions of our bodies could be taken orally.
After a few moments, the chill of our bodies had melted from the heat of our passion. The sheets were still drenched, but our flesh was vibrant and alive-perfect for sucking.
When we could afford to separate, without fear of the chill of two independent bodies, Doug pushed me to arm's length and studied my tits closely, occasionally tweaking my nipples which sagged onto the bed as I lay on my side.
Then he looked so deeply into my eyes that he found my soul and murmured, "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I'm in love with you, mother. It may sound sick or something, but I'm actually in love with you."
I held his face in my hands and whispered sincerely, "If it's sick, Doug, then we're both sick because I'm in love with you too."
He shook his head away from my grasp. "I'm not talking about a mother-son love."
"Neither am I," I told him.
He framed my face in his palms and brought my lips into his. Once again, our tongues melted into each other, but this time there was infinitely more meaning to what we were doing. What I had told him was not a lie. It was a brand new revelation, but it was not a lie. I was as in love with him as I had been with his father.
My pussy was lined with thick layers of cunt syrup and the emptiness of my hole needed filling desperately. Doug and I were on the same wavelength. I split my legs apart and watched him climb on top of my body. We were staring into each other's eyes with the unmistakable look of love as his mushroom touched the lips of my opening.
It slowly snaked its way into my body as he lowered himself, spreading my ' cunt cheeks easily until he reached my vaginal dead-end, whereupon he pulled back out again, equally as slowly, and repeated the process. All of his hump choreography was in slow motion. I felt every millimeter of his prick as it effortlessly sank into my dewy pit.
His body did not only move in and out of mine, but around and up and alongside and from every angle imaginable. All were delicious.
The pace gradually quickened and Doug began to plow into me with increasing force and with greater pressure. Soon our groin bones were knocking against each other and then crashing into one another.
He wasn't merely flattening his body against mine and thrusting the both of us into the mattress, he was pulling his entire stem into and out of my box. The full expanse of his prick was scraping along the walls of my grotto with more and more speed.
I was humping back as quickly as I could, but I soon found that I could not match the pace of my industrious son, who was machine-gunning his prick into my cunt. It was driving me to the brink of insanity. I was mad with passion and my nails ripped into the skin of his neck and back as I cried for more.
And then my dam finally burst and flooded his oar with every ounce of appreciation my body could muster. Within a few seconds, Doug poured his own gratitude into me and I joyously celebrated each and every squirt of his weapon.
Soon we were relaxed in each other's arms with our exhausted joints still locked.
Doug looked into my eyes once again and we stared for moments before he said, "Mother, I meant what I said before about loving you-about being in love with you. I didn't just say it in the heat of what we were doing. I do love you. Not as a son would love his mother but as a ... as a lover would love his lover."
"Doug," I said, as our eyes beamed into each other's still, "I am as in love with you as I have ever been in love with anyone during my entire life. And that includes your father. I'm talking about the same kind of love you are talking about, not a love a mother feels for her son, but the love a woman feels for a man. If that's sick, then I belong in an asylum."
It was only a few short minutes since our love juices had mixed into each other, but I could feel his soft joint, which was still lodged between the greasy lips of my cunt, begin to stir once again.
We would have plenty of time to define out love for each other. Our whole lifetime together. But right then it was not time for talking with our voices. We had other means of communicating and they were beckoning.
FRITA
I was never meant to be a wife or a permanent lover of any kind. My capacity for maintaining love affairs of any variety is whorishly fickle.
I loved my husband for a number of months before we were married and for a number of months afterward, but not beyond that. Within the first year of our marriage, my hole was punctured at least a dozen times by men other than my husband. It didn't matter very much to me who my lovers were, whether they were gardeners, plumbers, mailmen, chauffeurs--whoever happened to be available. What mattered was their ability to give life to my sexual organ, which was every bit as gluttonous as a starving fat person being treated to a catered smorgasbord table.
That I overheard my husband making love to his own daughter behind the closed doors of the billiards room actually endeared me to him, despite the fact that I used it as my excuse to run away with my son-in-law, Douglas.
In fact, I almost encouraged it by watching them play footsy underneath the dining room table and pretending to be too drunk to notice what they were doing. I would have to have been not only drunk, but altogether blind not to have noticed Harriet's lustful expression.
After bidding them a good night and walking up the stairs to my bedroom, I came back downstairs again to listen at the door of the billiards room. To hear them groaning with pleasure actually gave me, believe it or not, almost as much joy as it gave them.
Rosalie, our faithful maid, saw me as I pressed my ear against the door. But she had seen me in more than a few compromising situations-in fact, she joined me in one escapade I had with a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman a few years earlier. She laughed and walked away.
I had been carrying on with Douglas for a while. And we were as deeply in love with each other as we could be. Our sexual rapport was marvelous-better than any other sexual relationship I'd ever had with a man up until that time.
He was a perfect example of impetuous youth in my eyes, equipped with the perfect sized tools, the perfect chemistry, and just the right sexual attitude for my taste-an attitude of "anything goes." And anything did go!
The first time we made love together was in and around the swimming pool of our old home, before we moved to Spring Manor. The second time we made love was in Rosalie's quarters while a houseful of relatives busily partied throughout the grounds. We were as titillated at the prospect of being caught as we were by the sexual communication we shared.
That was one of the more beautiful aspects of the magnificent sexual relationship we had. Douglas and I were carved from the same mold. We shared an insatiable urge, not only for each other's bodies, but a terrific appetite for the absurd where matters of a sexual nature were concerned.
We did it in the weirdest places imaginable, we experimented with the most elaborate positions, we utilized the most sophisticated sexual props available.
Our relationship matured to the point where neither he nor I could bear the frustration of living apart from one another. We wanted to share the fruits of our ripened tastes at any and all hours of the day and night.
Douglas wanted to run away with me even before he and Harriet were married. He did not want to marry her in the first place, but I convinced him that it was the only way we could maintain our affair. It never occurred to me to leave my husband during those years.
And even after Dawn was born, I restrained myself from telling Douglas that my husband and his wife were the real parents for a number of years. I realize only in retrospect that I was wrong. My delay only complicated matters. Two children were born after Dawn and they had to grow up without their father because of my decision not to run away with Douglas earlier.
Eventually, my love for Douglas over-ruled everything. After a point, nothing would stop me from having him to myself, not even the happiness and well being of two innocent children. Douglas felt the same way, of course, but my disclosure that Dawn was a product of my husband and my daughter, rather than, as he had assumed, a product of himself and Harriet, was the final straw.
We did not move directly up to the mountains. We traveled a bit through Europe and settled in Florence for a while before coming back and setting up house. By that time, his divorce from my daughter had been finalized and he was free at last.
My husband refused to give me a divorce and during those years, before the laws were liberalized, I could do nothing about it. The only way out of my marriage was to catch him in the act of adultery and to prove it in court, which was impossible. Even if my husband was fooling around on the side, he was too insulated for me or anyone else to prove it.
I tried to buy Rosalie off, to get her to provide some information for me and accompany it with some proof, and I offered her more money than she could ever hope to earn in her lifetime. But it turned out that she was as loyal to my husband as she would have been to me under similar circumstances. She was a one-in-a-million kind of a woman.
So, despite the fact that I have never been divorced from my husband, I continued to live with my lover in a rather modest but comfortable home in the mountains. I took the money from the Swiss bank account my husband and I had, and Douglas had a little money of his own. With our investments alone and neither of us working, we had managed, through the years, to support ourselves.
Sources had told me that my husband was enraged that I took the money from our account, but he would have had to give me two fortunes more than I withdrew had I gone through legal channels. But that is neither here nor there. Money is such a bore.
I am entertained by people who allow their entire lives to rotate around the dollar sign. Edward is a typical example. Everyone who knows Edward, except possibly Harriet who, for reasons I shall never understand, married him, agrees that he is a buffoon. He attempts to be calculating yet he cannot muster the cleverness to carry it off successfully. He is constantly plotting, constantly trying to get something for nothing, yet he invariably ends up paying more for what he wanted than he otherwise would have.
Edward has been hovering over the family bankroll for years, even before Douglas and I went off together. He was the king of the whiplash cases in those days, peddling his legal "talents" for whoever would agree to cheat the large insurance companies with false claims.
Somehow he got into Harriet's pants and got her to marry him. If he did have any talent whatsoever, it was situated between his legs, which must have been the underlying reason on my daughter's part.
And since that time he has been the official attorney for my husband and his business.
But Edward can be entertaining in an ugly sort of way. I had a couple of affairs with him before Douglas and I ran off together which no one, including Douglas, ever knew about. As I say, he did have some talent along those lines.
And every so often, we would secretly meet somewhere and sleep together. My excuse to Douglas was that I required solitude occasionally. It had nothing to do with my feelings for Douglas. Truly, I loved him-and I always will. But even at this late date in my life, I still require some sexual variety. It makes me feel more youthful than I should feel at my age to be made love to by a younger man.
Of course, I am completely aware that his motivation for sharing his sex organ with me is something other than his physical desire for my aging body. I realize that if he didn't think he was making a potentially lucrative investment, the thought of making love to me would repulse him. But while we are in the throes of sex, I can fantasize that this young man still wants me because he finds me physically exciting. It is one of the few luxuries I allow myself.
Realistically, from Edward's point of view, there is the possibility that I will inherit a portion of my husband's estate once he passes on. After all, we are still, through his own stubbornness, husband and wife. And being my husband's attorney, he knows that the only will ever written by my husband names myself as the major beneficiary.
But I am certain that a more current draft of his will shall soon be drawn up to exclude me from any more than the minimal amount a wife is entitled to. My husband is simply not the type of person who would forget about something as important to him as his worldly goods. And I am equally as certain that he will not decide to forgive my running off with Douglas at this point in time.
In any case, when Edward came up to the mountains during the July Fourth weekend, we had plans to meet at a hotel away from the resort area.
I was looking forward to our meeting because it had been a long time since Douglas and I had pressed bodies. Douglas had grown increasingly cautious as far as making love to me. We had sex every once in a while, but not as often as I wanted to. And although I kept telling him that I wanted his body more often than he was giving it to me, he chose to take our physician's advice more literally than I did. If I could have gotten Dr. Mallory alone for a half hour or so, I could have proven to him that more than my heart is as sound as ever.
Edward walked into the lobby of the hotel with all the equipment he needed-an attache case full of business nonsense he wanted to talk over with me and the tool which hung between his thighs.
When we got into our room, it was predictable that his first order of business was business.
"Let's forget about that now, Edward," I said to him. "Make love to me."
"But I just have to know...."
"Please, Edward, don't ruin it for me. Please." My arms were reaching out for him and he finally closed his case and took my subtle cue. He walked into my arms and planted a dry, nothing kiss on my lips. I pulled him into me again but this time I opened my mouth and forced his lips to play against my tongue.
He was doing no more than he had to do, so I had to urge him on in the only way I could possibly excite him-or, to be honest about it, the only way I could possibly get him to go through the motions of being excited.
I told him that I thought I knew the identity of my husband's new beneficiary. It may not have given him a hard-on, but he sure came to life with that little bomb.
Somehow his kisses were instantaneously better and wetter. His tongue played against mine as if they were old friends who were reunited after an agonizingly long absence from one another.
It was as if I had discovered a bone to hold in front of the dog I was trying to tempt. And it worked. I had plenty of momentum with which to begin my sexual fantasy. It was simple. All I had to do was transfer his lust for my answer (that is, who this "new" beneficiary was) and pretend that he was actually lusting after me.
With renewed confidence, I unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers and underpants down to the rug. He wasn't hard at all, but I pressed my lips against his cock and took it into my mouth.
My fingers tickled his dangling beads as my tongue busily feathered his tool. It was coming alive. But Edward wasn't doing much. He was just standing there watching me suck him off.
When his cock was as hard as it was going to be, I stood up and began to remove my blouse and bra. My tits dropped without any support. Age had carved tiny lines into it. But the skin on my breasts was softer, more tender, than ever before.
My body was still slender, which he must have noticed when I removed my skirt and panties. I always took very good care of my body. I always wanted it to appeal to men in spite of my age. I guess it was just another game I allowed myself to play. It isn't easy to give up one's femininity after it provided such a fruitful sexual career.
My legs were still shapely and the triangle of black hair which protected my hole still appeared to be alive and vibrant.
In any case, during the time I took to undress, his hard-on didn't wither into softness. Something about my figure must have appealed to him.
He reached for my breasts and very delicately rolled them in his hands as I reached between his legs for his organ, which was still wet from my mouth and still hard.
Then he started kissing my neck and pressing his hands into my chest more forcefully, flattening my tits into my rib cage and then letting them drop when he pulled his hand away.
I responded by applying more pressure on his cock and tickling his rocks more vigorously. I pushed his pecker into my stomach, rolling it against my smooth skin and encouraging the underside to ride the movements of my body as I bent and straightened my knees.
His hands reached around my arms to palm my ass, separating the cheeks from one another quite easily. His paws were rough in comparison to the loose soft skin on my behind, but they were masculine hands and I enjoyed their presence.
I wanted to lie down on the bed and I pulled him by his organ to get him there. It was only a few steps away. I reclined first and then he followed, not lying down on top of me, but next to me. And from that position, our hands did most of the joy work.
His upper thigh was snuggled into my crotch, so it was difficult for me to continue my cock-pull. And since there isn't much else about Edward one can seriously contemplate, I simply laid back and stretched to allow him to play with whichever portion of my body interested him.
As his thigh began to revolve around my groin, my body played against it with easy relaxed humps. His fingers were involved with my nipples. If nipples were his obsession, I thought to myself, then maybe he wasn't after Harriet strictly for the money he could get out of her. My daughter had a pair of nipples that belonged in a museum. Or in a circus.
As my twat interacted with his leg, I began to sense that he was no longer maintaining an attitude of sexual courtesy. He was enjoying, at least for the moment, my flesh against his. I no longer had to hold the bone in front of the dog to get him to run. He was running. And his encouragement was my body. I didn't have to fantasize any longer. Edward was making my fantasy a reality.
He removed his leg from my groin and replaced it with his hands, grasping my right upper thigh and examining the petal softness of my agreeable senescent skin. He began to brush against my shag as his feelers changed legs. Then the flat of my belly, just above my hole, began to dominate his attention until he finally decided to cradle both of my lower openings, front and rear, between his hands.
They tickled their way to a point in between my cunt hole and my asshole and then worked their way back again to repeat this thrilling sensation.
I was humping into him with more force, although he wasn't applying any force whatsoever against my crotch. I was getting impatient so I spread wider apart and pressed his hands into my pubic fluff.
He got the message. He pushed harder and concentrated more on my twat than on my rear, which is exactly what I wanted him to do. My hole was unyielding in its demand for increased and more forceful attention.
Then I felt Edward's stiffened cock spring into my leg as he changed into a more appropriate position above me. I reached for it and choked it until the bulb at the end ballooned into a luscious red lump.
He was much more careful than he had to be when it was time to dip himself into my body. I wanted him to ball me as if he were balling any other woman, regardless of age. But he went about his entry as if I was going to split up the middle from the insertion of his cock.
My hands reached around to his ass and I tried to pull him into me. My hole was well greased and ready, my legs were thrust out to make room for him. But he fought back and his strength was too much to overcome.
Slowly, his tool separated the lips of my inner tissue as it bored its way into my empty canal, filling it with his stiffened flesh bone, mixing the nectar that was impatiently waiting to cling to it.
He did not hump away once his stick was lost in my hole. Instead, he pressed his weight against my reclined body and rocked from side to side. First my right ass-cheek, then my left ass-cheek felt the weight of his body. It did not produce the overwhelming sensation I was hoping for.
"Do it, Edward, I'm not a piece of glass. I can take it," I told him.
Still, he was too afraid to let himself go, too afraid to apply the acceleration I needed for maximum fulfillment.
"Let me get on top," I said after a few more slow rolls of our bodies.
To my delight, he listened and leaned back with his dipper still adjoined to my tank. In perfect coordination, I followed his backward motion until he was flat on his back and I was on top of him. His eyes were opened and he was appreciating the sight of my overripe chest lumps as they frolicked wildly above him.
They continued to splash near his face as my bottom picked up the pace and rammed into his crotch with brisk vitality. I was in control of the precise portion of my hole his tool would touch.
And I made full use of this advantage, forcing it to scratch the parts of my groin that itched the most.
The disadvantage, of course, was that I could not feel his balls bashing into the insides of my legs. From this position, they simply dropped underneath us. And I couldn't reach them with my hands while I humped above him because I had to support my balance with my arms.
Still I did manage to press my chest flush against his, as the humping continued, and reach around behind my ass to feel his unit stretch into my cunt. It was a sensational feeling.
Finally, he shot off. I did not feel his juices pour into my body, but the sensitive skin surrounding my hole experienced the localized gushes of pulsation which sped through his cock.
I didn't cum, but I was grateful for the lotion between my legs. It was a welcomed relief to know that I could produce love grease and that I could enable a younger man to climax.
And it was exhausting for me. Although it didn't last very long and our routine was by no means elaborate or particularly physically demanding, this old body of mine wouldn't take much more.
Edward didn't even give me time to think about it and to appreciate it. Almost as soon as we were finished, he asked me something about the business shit. That was the one thing in the world I wasn't in the mood to discuss, but I realized that it was the price I would have to pay for the afternoon's entertainment.
I had forgotten that I made up a lie about my husband's "new" beneficiary. If he had any brains, he would have known it was a lie. I couldn't possibly have had access to any more information than he because I hadn't been in contact with any of those people in years. And I hadn't spoken to my husband since I ran away with Douglas more than twenty years earlier.
But I guess he was no more rational when it came to matters of the pocket book than I was when it came to matters of the groin.
"Who is the new beneficiary?" he asked, as if deliberately slicing away a single unnecessary word.
I had to think fast. I had no idea whatsoever how I could get out of the predicament I had put myself in. There was simply no way I could tell him that I made it up for him to ball me, so I just said the first name that came to my mind.
"Dawn," I said with some certainty in my voice.
"Dawn!" he repeated. "Why Dawn? Why would the Old Man leave everything to her?"
"First of all," I explained, "he isn't going to leave everything to her, just a large portion of his estate. And secondly, why not Dawn? After all, she's his ... granddaughter."
"Does Dawn know of this yet?" he asked with those plotting eyes squinting out an ugly message that I couldn't read as clearly as I would have liked.
"No," I said. "I don't think she has the faintest notion in the world."
He was out of bed, dressed, and out of the room within twenty minutes. I knew for sure it would be the last time in my life I would ever see him again. And that was just fine with me.
But it would be just my luck for my husband to leave me with the bulk of his estate and for Edward to climb out of the woodwork to blackmail me into giving him a sizable chunk.
Realistically, of course, it could never happen. For one thing, my husband would never leave his fortune to me-other than what he had to give me legally. For another thing, Edward would have absolutely no proof that we ever so much as touched each other.
But if that highly un-likely situation ever did arise, I would simply tell Edward to go right ahead and inform Douglas that we had a couple of rolls in the sack together. Douglas would be surprised, but he would certainly understand. He wouldn't think for a second that I loved him any less. He knows about my freakish sexual appetite. That's what endeared me to him in the first place.
All Edward would have to do to screw himself out of any of the benefits of my husband's estate would be to say one word to Douglas about us. Douglas and I would make sure Harriet found out and she'd dump him in no time. And we all know where that would leave Edward-right back in whiplash city.
RICHARD
Holidays have always been fairly important to me, particularly the July Fourth holiday. Not that I'm a super patriot or anything, it's just that it brings back some great memories of my childhood.
But I've always had bad feelings about going away for the holidays. I like to spend them at home with my family-such as it is.
Judy and I never had the inclination to enlarge upon our two-member family. We were never very sure of each other, never quite certain how long our relationship would survive. So we rarely discussed the prospect of putting an additional strain on what was already a rather shabbily tied knot.
Aside from our sexual involvement, which was, I had always thought, total, we never had much of an emotional commitment. In many ways we were strangers, which, in itself, may have been the root of our success physically. I have often times said that the best sex any two people can possibly have is when they don't know each other very well. Strangers who ball each other are more likely to engage in uninhibited sex because they have nothing to lose and no roles to play.
Harriet and I didn't know each other very well, all things considered. I mean, we never actually sat down with each other and had a lengthy conversation, despite the fact that she was married to my brother Douglas for a number of years and despite the fact that Judy and Harriet are more or less friends.
That's why the night we fucked was so exciting for us. I don't think Harriet ever enjoyed sex with anyone as much as she did with me. If this sounds as if I'm blowing my own horn, so be it. No one could ever convince me that by the end of that night she wasn't totally content sexually.
One of my strong points personality-wise is my depth of perception, which works for me in business as well as it works for me in my private dealings with people. And I knew for certain that Harriet wanted me for a number of years-even before my brother left her.
When I walked into her hotel suite that night, I really had no intention of balling her. In fact, I was a little reluctant to do it to her because I expected Judy to return sooner than she did.
The door was partially opened, so I walked in without knocking. Harriet was in front of the mirror doing up her hair but she looked at me with an unmistakable expression of lust written all over her face. It was as obvious to me as the brush in her hand.
And then, in the sexiest voice I'd ever heard from her mouth, she said something about knocking before I enter. She was half coming on to me and half joking, so I played along. I mean, there she was, already for fucking with that transparent get-up of hers. I just leaned against the wall staring at her naked body underneath while trading sly comments with her. Before I knew it, she told me she was going to take it off and that I should leave the light on so I could see her.
I thought she was kidding around with me until I saw her tits dangling from the top of her nightgown. I couldn't believe my eyes. I mean, I knew she always wanted to get into my pants, but I never in a million years expected her to be so blatant about it.
Those nipples of hers were like caricatures. I honestly thought she was wearing pasties. They were simply too gigantic to be real. But they were real!
Then she turned around and showed off the rest of her naked body as if she were a Paris fashion model showing me the latest in women's' fashions. I had my pants off in no time flat.
And we fucked like crazy for a long, long time. She must have gotten off two or three times, because I really held it in beautifully. Harriet was going insane every time I rammed my cock into her pussy. She was acting as if it was the first time she'd ever gotten laid.
I felt good about putting it to her. Not only because I got my rocks off, but because she loved it so much. I really did a job on her if I do say so myself. I only hoped she wouldn't be swarming around my home and getting Judy jealous. I would help her out from time to time, I thought to myself as I left her room, but I couldn't make it a regular thing. I almost turned to tell her that, but I thought better of it. I wanted her to luxuriate in the satisfaction I had given her without complicating it with any rules or restrictions.
Judy came back to the hotel suite suspiciously late that night from "watching the fireworks" near the lake. I was feeling a little too guilty from my own exploits a few hours earlier to make anything of it until she changed from her dress into her nightgown. There were welts all over her back and scratches all over her tits and ass.
I had never raised a hand to her until that moment-and I knew more than she thought I knew about some of the other things she'd done behind my back. I knew, for example, that she had to ball the Old Man before he would agree to let me take his place after he retired, but I always considered that a sacrifice on her part. She couldn't have wanted to do it. She did it for me-and, of course, for herself. And, as a result, we had been living off the fat of the land ever since, so I never let her know that I was aware of the fact that she had to play whore for the Old Man.
But during the time we were up in the mountains, the Old Man was days away from croaking, lying immobilized on his death bed miles away from where we were.
She was out balling. There was no doubt about it. And when I saw those bloody lines of proof all over her body, I momentarily lost my sanity and jumped out of bed to grab her.
"What the fuck is this?" I demanded. "You little cunt, you were out balling, weren't you? Weren't you? Who was it? Tell me who you were fucking! I'll kill you, you little bitch! Tell me who you were fucking!"
Her eyes were already marbled with red lines. It was obvious that she'd been crying. And after I slapped her around a little, she was crying in front of me. I then sensed that there was something more to what I had assumed took place, something that perhaps she couldn't help. I was consumed by guilt when I found out my hunch was right.
She told me the story as tears continued to streak down her cheeks. She had been innocently watching the fireworks when a group of three hoodlum types surrounded her and brought them to their car, which, she said, was stolen and probably couldn't be traced.
At gun point, they made her take off her clothes. She was too frightened to resist, so she did as they asked, thinking all the while that they were going to kill her. Then they started clawing into her body with their nails and abusing her in all kinds of ways.
But before they could take advantage of her sexually, they were scared off by a husband and wife who happened to be passing by the empty dirt road. The couple stopped the car and the man came toward them with a flashlight. The rapists thought he was a cop. It was too dark to see who was approaching with the light. And they dumped Judy out of the car, tossing her clothes to her as she lay in the dirt, and sped off in the car.
I couldn't have been more miserable about losing my temper the way I did. I didn't even have enough pride left to try and apologize to her. I wanted to disappear into the wall. Neither of us said anything to each other for the rest of the night, nor did we say much during the ride back home the following day.
I owed a lot to Judy. She didn't even realize that I knew how much I owed her for balling the Old Man and setting me up the way she did. She could have thrown it up to me a hundred times, and she had a perfect opportunity to throw it up to me that night, but she didn't, which compounded my guilt. She let me go on believing that the Old Man handed his interest in the business over to me because I was worthy of replacing him on my own merits. I knew better and she knew better but neither of us could bring ourselves to say it out loud.
When I returned to the office late Tuesday morning, Emily, my secretary, gave me a list of people who had called. And as she handed it to me, she casually mentioned that a woman had called a number of times but didn't leave her name.
That was the most important message of all. I knew who it was. There wasn't any question about it. I called back on her private exchange and didn't say who I was-a ritual of ours because neither of us could be certain that her phone wasn't bugged.
All I said was, "I'll meet you at the usual place at four in the afternoon." It was an unusual time for us. We normally met at night. And often.
At three-thirty, I left the office and raced to the Shady Oak Motor Hotel about twelve miles out in the suburbs.
I was there before she was. When I got my hotel room key, I parked my car right in front of my door so she'd know exactly which room I was in. I waited for her on the bed.
In a few moments she knocked on the door and I opened it. A guy who would pass her in the street wouldn't even look twice at her. She was getting on in years and her natural features weren't much to brag about. But to me she was without a doubt the sexiest, freakiest love partner I could ever imagine. She was perfect.
I crushed her big black melons into my body and our lips joined together for the first time in nearly two weeks. It was one of the longer stretches of time that Rosalie and I had been apart since the first time we ever made it with each other five and a half years earlier.
It was at least a full minute until our mouths could separate long enough to ask her, "What's happening with the Old Man? Is he any better?"
"A little worse," she said, as she impatiently began the process of unleashing her enormous chest load from behind an ugly green blouse. "It won't be long now. I'm going to miss him terribly."
"Has Judy been up to see him lately?"
"You know damned well she has," Rosalie said in that school teacher's tone of hers.
She turned her back toward me, which was her way of telling me to unsnap her bra. When I had completed my assignment, she turned around to complete the circle, allowing me to absorb the black mountains of pleasure she flaunted so matter-of-factly. In all the years she had treated me to her body, I never grew tired of these awesome sacks of femininity. I studied them closely for a moment, reaching out and lifting one side at a time in the cups of both of my hands.
"Do you know what they said to each other? Did she ball him again?"
Rosalie didn't answer me until she was finished struggling with her skirt. When it dropped to the floor, she answered, "That man isn't about to do any more balling. He's had it in that department. But I don't know what they said because Clara was guarding the door like one of those British soldiers with those long, hairy hats who never smile, even when you tickle their nuts."
"You big black freak," I said to her, watching her girdle fall to the floor, "I'll bet you went ahead and tickled her nuts to find out."
In two seconds flat, she had my pants and undershorts down. She softly grabbed my bag of balls and said, "I don't need to tickle anyone's balls but these."
I was erect before I could get my shirt and shoes off. Then I walked toward the bed and watched her hefty black jugs shimmy through the atmosphere until she lowered them down into my face and buried my head.
I fed on them for a good long while, guiding them into and around my mouth with my hands, pressing them against my cheeks, my tongue, my neck, anywhere I could reap joy from them.
Rosalie pressed her bony cleavage just above my nose as she leaned over me and shook her uncanny chest bombs into my face, each of her tits were so heavy that they landed almost painfully against my jaw. But I didn't want her to stop.
Her slightly flabby body soon straddled mine on the bed as her tits still hovered over my face like a threatening arsenal of remarkably potent sexuality.
My perpendicular cock scraped the back part of her large ass as she jerked her body back and forth from her position on her hands and knees. But it was not long before she unlocked her arms and stretched out her legs to lay her body directly atop mine, flattening first her chest artillery and then the rest of her torso into my waiting arms.
Long before I was finished toying with her, Rosalie reached for my cock and wrenched it into her own leaking pussy as if it was a mechanical device rather than the sexual organ of a human being.
This was the glory of Rosalie. She took what she wanted, she stood for no shit from anyone. She could not be bought or conned or bribed. More than anyone I ever knew in my life, Rosalie lived up to her full potential of happiness, not only sexually, but in every way.
Of course, it carried over into the sexual area. She treated the parts of my body as if I was a walking, talking buffet for her to feast upon. And she wanted me to treat her body in a similar manner, which I did every time we were together alone.
We knew each other intimately, yet we maintained a sexual abandon unequaled by even the remotest of lovers I'd had.
Rosalie was actually sitting right down on my northerly arrow, which was penetrating her tight but soggy pussy. Her twat was getting soggier with every upward jerk of her body. Faster and faster, her tits bounced up and down and her cunt smothered and released my tool.
With every hump, I was that much closer to firing off. And Rosalie signaled, just before she unloaded, with a scream that must have warned the fire department of her presence.
Ounces of cum emptied up into her groin from my pecker and. then dripped back down between the unfilled lips of her slit as it blended with her own sex goo and seeped into the hairs of my crotch.
When Rosalie saw that I was finished, she unlocked our sexual utensils and climbed off of my prick to lie down beside me. She still seemed to have plenty of energy left in her but I was dog-assed.
After a few minutes of waiting for me to catch my breath, she hit me with the almost unbelievable news that before the Old Man's condition worsened, he was doing a sex thing with, of all people, Clara. For a twenty-year-old chick, my niece was no dummy. Obviously she wanted to get her dibs in before the Old Man kicked.
Rosalie also told me what little she knew of the Old Man's plans for his estate.
"As far as I know," she said, as if it didn't mean anything to her, "he hasn't rewritten his original will."
"You mean Frita's going to get most of what he leaves?" I asked.
"That's the way it looks now, unless he scribbled something out this week to change all that. He gave some orders to Doug Jr. and to Judy, I think, and they might have something to do with who he's going to leave what to. I'm not sure about that, though."
I couldn't imagine what the Old Man would have wanted from Judy other than her cunt, and since Rosalie said he had thrown his last fuck, I had to assume that she was mistaken.
It was just hard for me to believe that he would leave his fortune to Frita, who out-and-out dumped him years ago. The Old Man was deeply hurt about that-even Rosalie told me that, so it didn't make sense for him to leave it all to her.
But thanks to Judy, I wasn't sweating anything. He wouldn't do anything to screw her up. Not if I know the Old Man as well as I think I do-not if my depth of perception is as penetrating as it usually is.
EDWARD
Frita is a very attractive woman-for her age. And she used to be a dynamite ball in her younger years. I know because I was balling her left and right even back when she was still living with the Old Man. She was in love with me then and she's been in love with me ever since.
And that was a very convenient situation for me because I always thought she was going to come into the bulk of the tonnage of the Old Man's bankroll. I was in a position to know exactly what the Old Man's plans were as far as who was going to inherit his fortune.
But the Old Man was a strange character in a lot of ways-a very peculiar breed of cat. He could change his mind about things from minute to minute. Even big things. Like his estate.
I maintained my relationship with Frita through the years by occasionally balling her. It didn't do any harm to poke the fires of her love for me in anticipation of the Old Man's death. I was sure she'd dump Douglas if I gave her the word. And I would have dropped Harriet and given her the word if the Old Man left his will as it was.
I went up to the mountains with Harriet and Judy and Richard for the July Fourth weekend and slipped away to meet Frita. I had an aunt and uncle who happened to live in the vicinity and I told Harriet that I had to visit them. It was easy to get away.
We met at a hotel. I balled the shit out of her. That old lady never had sex the way I gave it to her. It's a wonder her heart didn't stop. But I was very careful about keeping her alive.
In fact, I was a little reluctant to screw her for fear of short-circuiting her heart. She was worthless to me dead. Alive, there was a good chance she'd cash in the Old Man's chips, in which case I'd get an immediate divorce from Harriet, marry her mother, and just sit around and wait for her to kick off. After a couple of years, Frita would be in her grave and I'd be left with an empire to play around with.
Of course, I was surprised that the Old Man didn't change his will after Frita had split. But he's an eccentric old cuss and, as I say, no one knows what the hell he's thinking from minute to minute.
When Frita and I met at the hotel in the mountains, I was going to keep her busy with some business details. I didn't want to put that old woman's health in jeopardy while it was still useful to me. It was obvious that she was horny and that she wanted to show her love for me in a physical way and I had to do some fancy broken field running to keep her off my back.
But then she said something about a new beneficiary and I knew enough to immediately change my game plan. I did exactly what she wanted me to do. She wanted to suck me off, I let her suck me off. She wanted to fuck on the bed, we fucked on the bed. She wanted to do it on top of me, I let her do it on top of me. Whatever she wanted, I did.
This is not to say that I didn't enjoy any of it. That old lady is still, even at her age, pretty damned sexy. She still has the most talented tongue around. Old age didn't screw her in that regard.
And her tits-in fact, the skin all over her body, felt woven. Touching her was like sinking your hands into the fleshy, overripe skin of a rich mango. Those tits of hers were full bags of vanilla pudding which were held loosely to her body and corked with bulging cherry spheres.
No one's tit discs are quite the size of Harriet's, but it was clear that Frita was indeed Harriet's mother judging by their almost similarly freakish expanse.
I could do without Frita's other physical attributes, even though she kept her body in remarkably good shape for her age, but I would love to keep her tits locked up in a box somewhere so I could sink my face into them from time to time.
When she got on top of me (it was her request, not mine), she started revving up the motor in her cunt like a kid, ramming into me as if she was racing the clock. The woman was going insane from the stiffness of my prick as it tore into her body. I thought she was going to have a stroke or something the way she was going.
I don't know how many times she came, but it seemed as if she never stopped exploding. One would think that to ball at her age would be more for ego reasons than for physical reasons, but she was humping my cock as if nothing in the world besides coming all over it meant anything.
I couldn't get enough of her tits. I was grabbing them and feeling them continually, but in the back of my mind I was still thinking about the new beneficiary. I was also wondering exactly how she came by this information.
But Frita had ways of doing things like nobody else. She was always a very shrewd, sharp chick. When she wanted something, she got it-and that includes me.
I had no idea she wanted to fuck for me years ago when she was still married to the Old Man. She had everything to lose and nothing to gain by balling me. She was risking her entire fortune just to get a couple of inches of my cock in her twat.
Of course, I made love to her like nobody else she ever made it with. I used to fuck her until she was blue in the face. She used to practically beg me to ball her and to let her suck me off.
I couldn't understand why she decided to run off with Douglas. He couldn't have been a better ball than I was. It pissed me off no end. But it left the door open for me to get into the family. Harriet was available when Douglas divorced her and she was deeply in love with me, so I had no trouble insuring myself of at least some of the leaves on the money tree.
My law practice was going fairly well, but I gave it all up to be the Old Man's lawyer. When Harriet and I are screaming at each other and she wants to say something to really gnaw at my gut, she always pulls the line about the Old Man taking me on because his wife, Frita, was responsible for taking Douglas away and that he was only compensating for his guilt.
But shit, I knew better than that. The Old Man needed me to manage his affairs because he couldn't trust Richard to run the business smoothly. Richard needed someone in the business with a little legal expertise.
After Frita and I finished fucking and I gave her a chance to catch her breath, I asked her who the Old Man was going to leave his money to. She told me that it was going to be split up, which I pretty much assumed, but that the biggest slice of the pie would go to Dawn, my step-daughter. I could have been bowled over by a cunt fart when she said that.
The little piece of ass I was playing the role of father for all these years was going to be the heiress to the Old Man's fortune!
I had to get out of there fast and do some quick thinking. If I was going to hand pick a more comely cunt to soak my meat into, I couldn't have come up with anyone quite as well put together as my step-daughter. I had thought about fucking the shit out of her for a long time. And I knew she wanted me. There wasn't any question about it.
She had been eyeing me from the first moments she learned what a cock was. And I had been watching her pretty closely through the years, too. It seemed as if she sprouted a pair of chest torpedoes overnight. One day she was a girl and the next day she was a woman who dwarfed any other woman I'd ever seen, body-wise and face-wise.
Now there was plenty of reason to get my hands on her twat. If I had grabbed her before I found out she was going to inherit the Old Man's fortune, it would only have been to get my rocks off for a few minutes-and I would have been risking a lot of the time I had invested in her mother. Harriet was bound to get some of her father's estate-for a while, I thought she'd be getting most of it, so at that time, it just didn't pay to risk the finances involved for a tempting cunt.
But now things were different. Now the cunt I wanted also had, or soon would have, the money I wanted. A perfect parlay. It couldn't have worked out any better.
Nothing else was on my mind for the rest of the weekend. The drive back from the mountains was quiet, which gave me more time to think.
And when we got back home, I learned that the Old Man wanted to see Dawn. He was obviously going to tell her that she was the big sweepstakes winner.
I had to get to her before she knew. My plan was to try to convince her that I was going to get a large chunk of the Old Man's fortune and that I might be willing to split it with her. If she was receptive, if I read her reaction as a positive one, I was in-in more ways than one. If she didn't react the way I hoped she would, well, then I'd have to play it by ear.
When Rosalie, the Old Man's maid, called and said that the Old Man wanted to see Dawn, I immediately figured that the perfect chance-the only chance-I'd have to be with her alone before she found out was to take her up to Spring Manor. When I asked her if I could give her a ride up there, Dawn was surprised. She smiled and said she'd like that. Rosalie also happened to mention that the Old Man was in "bad, bad shape." The doctor had been with him throughout most of the night and he had been checking on the Old Man three times already during the morning. Sounded to me as if there was very little time left for him.
If I could only have found out exactly how much longer the Old Man had to live, I might be able to influence the fate of his fortune. That is, if, for example, I couldn't get it on with Dawn and if I knew he wasn't going to last until the end of the day, then I could conveniently postpone their meeting until after he died.
In that case, the bulk of his fortune would end up in Frita's hands and since Frita was still in love with me, there would be no problem dumping Harriet and marrying her.
Even if the Old Man left a sizable chunk for Harriet, who I was already married to, the money would be mine.
But if his plans were to make Dawn the major beneficiary, and if Dawn wasn't as emotionally and physically attracted to me as I thought she was, then I'd be up shit creek.
My only hope was to get to Dawn. If I could, I'd have every angle covered.
It was an eleven-mile drive from our house to Spring Manor, hardly enough of a distance to enable me to lay the groundwork. But I drove slowly and minimized the seriousness of the Old Man's condition to the point where I convinced Dawn to stop off along the way and have breakfast with me.
She seemed as interested in talking about the inheritance as I was. I started off by reminding her that I was her grandfather's attorney and that I knew exactly where the Old Man's money would be going after he died. She was more than casually interested in what I had to say after that because until that moment, she had assumed I knew no more than anyone else.
I got her to believe that a large share of it was going to her mother and myself and that she was only in for a relatively small share. For some reason, she was interested in her brother Doug's share, but I told her he was only going to get a minimal amount as well.
She was looking at me with an unmistakable look of lust in her eyes. Her true feeling for me surfaced soon after she was given the additional incentive of my soon-to-be wealthy position.
When we finished breakfast and began to drive toward Spring Manor, I kept looking over to Dawn and meeting her stare. She was wearing a braless knitted blouse and I could see the wart tips of her full, sumptuous tits which bounced harmoniously to every bump in the road.
I was growing a rock between my legs, not only from her body, but from the inviting expression on her face as she stared at me. She saw the lump in my groin pushing a pyramid against my pants and smiled out of the corner of her mouth. Her arm was thrown over the seat, allowing for a full view of her chest pack as they jiggled to the crevices of the unpaved roads leading up toward Spring Manor.
Finally, I pulled over to the side, between a cluster of trees and stopped. We could not be seen from the street. I had to make my move right then or it would be too late. I couldn't let her find out that she, not I, was going to be the major share holder in the Old Man's death.
"Why are you stopping here?" she asked, as if inviting me to be physical with her.
"I've been thinking about what I'm going to do with the money," I told her.
She laughed, shrugging her shoulders as if she had something more important on her mind-like the pyramid of cock she happened to be staring at.
I took her hand. She didn't resist. "Dawn, when I get the money, I want to be with you. I want to do everything I can for you to make you happy. We can travel, we can do whatever we want."
I kissed her hand and worked my lips up her arm to her neck. But she was too shy to open up.
"Come on, Edward, you must be joking. You're my step-father. You're my mother's husband. Let's cut out the nonsense."
I wasn't put off by her initial reluctance to act out her desires. I was confident that she wanted me. I pressed on, grabbing her face and forcing my lips against her lips.
But she wrenched herself away from me, grabbed the door and opened it. Before she could run from the car, I dove toward her and clutched her sweater. Her own movements caused the garment to rip away from her body. Part of her sweater was still on, the other part was in my grasp.
She turned toward me with an enraged expression on her face. She was partially bare-breasted and not even bothering to conceal her enormous, erotic tits which shook like gelatin before my eager eyes.
"You stupid fuck," she screamed behind a flushed face.
But those gigantic chest twins of hers demanded too much of my attention to pay any mind to her words. And I knew she wanted me. If she didn't, if she wasn't trying to egg me on, she would have tried to conceal the two white lumps of flesh which fed more fuel than my cock could bear.
When she saw me opening my door and coming toward her, she ran into the woods. I caught up to her and tackled her from behind and then crawled along her partially naked body.
Again I forced my lips against hers while I grabbed a handful of her raw flesh pouches which trickled between my fingers. She was still struggling, but she could not overcome my strength even if she wanted to. Her struggle was merely a token maneuver to get me to demonstrate my desire for her.
With my left arm holding her down, I reached below and tried to remove her skirt. It did not unfasten easily, but I managed to peel it from her body. Only a scant pair of blue panties separated her twat from my feelers.
I didn't have the patience to slide them down her continually battling legs so I clutched the inch-and-a-half seam on her right side, just below her hip, and tore it apart. Like the shell of a nut once it is cracked open, all I had to do was uncover the treasure within.
And it was indeed a treasure. Lodged between the youthful, shapely loins of this magnificent creature was an animal-not merely a beaver, more like a bear. This "thing" sleeping atop her legs was, without a doubt, the most enormous sex hole I had ever seen in my life. It was carbon black and it puffed inches away from her skin. Billows of hard, brittle hair seemed to ooze from her crotch like a full Afro hair-do in a triangular shape.
All of a sudden, Dawn stopped her struggling. She was watching my grateful eyes take in the seat of her beauty. She knew the full extent of my appreciation of her delightful genital surprise package. One needn't be a cunt connoisseur to revel in the magnificence of a snatch the likes of Dawn's.
I sank my hand into her vaginal fluff, burying my fingers within its blackness, fondling the coarse bristles of teased hair which protected her fist-wide hole.
"How badly do you want it?" Dawn asked.
She was much calmer by this time. Her voice was even and her rage had subsided.
I looked into her eyes and said, "You know how badly. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."
"Then take it, Edward. It's yours."
She spread her lovely loins and leaned forward to remove her clothing, which consisted of her shredded panties and her torn sweater. Her body was like nothing I had ever seen. Her tits grew from her rib cage as if they were separate entities, individual creatures. And her belly was tender and flat.
Her nipple discs did not cover as much of her breasts as her mother's, but Dawn's breasts were even larger than Harriet's 'D' cups.
She lay back on her elbows and watched me eat up her flesh like a hungry animal. I forced her tits in my mouth-or, that portion of her tits which would fit into my mouth. I sucked on them until they became corrugated from the moisture of my tongue.
All the while, my fingers delved deeply into her cunt. I lost them inside her enormous cavity.
Her attitude was one of total detachment, but I knew she was loving every second of it as much as I was. I could tell by the dewiness which saturated my probing fingers. Still, she did nothing to add to my involvement. She remained in the same position throughout, leaning on her elbows and watching me feast on her gifts from nature.
I don't know how long I played with her, but I do know that I was growing increasingly impatient to wedge my prick between the unbelievable growth which surrounded my fingers.
As quickly as I could, I pulled my pants down and climbed on top of her, jerking my cock into her hollow, hairy hole. My prick was lost somewhere inside her body, just as my fingers had been seconds earlier.
Even as I pumped into her, Dawn was resting the weight of her body on her elbows and watching me ball her as if she was a spectator at an unexciting wrestling match.
But I couldn't let her attitude discourage me, not with all the physical delicacies I had to work with. It would have been like a sweepstakes winner feeling badly about his winnings because the letter accompanying the check didn't meet with his approval.
Any attitude would meet with my approval so long as I had Dawn's sweepstakes to sink my pecker into.
When I was finished teasing my prick and I allowed it to shoot its thanks into her' pubic canyon, I collapsed against her. My body weight was too much for her elbows to accommodate and for the first time since I had her down on the ground, she was flat on her back. But it didn't do any good by that time. I was totally drained.
"Let's get up to the Old Man," she said a few seconds after I came.
I was anxious to get up to the manor myself. Now every angle was covered. If the Old Man left his fortune to any one of three women, each of whom would be a logical possibility, I would have no difficulty whatsoever scarfing it up for myself.
Now that I had Dawn pretty much under foot, I was favoring her as the recipient of the Old Man's estate. Once she loosened up a bit sexually, she'd be a joy to sleep with every night. Her twat would be almost as valuable to me as the inheritance itself. Not quite, but almost.
Of course, if Frita got the Old Man's fortune, I couldn't complain either. She was getting on in years and it wouldn't be long before she followed her husband to his grave. Then I'd have it all to myself without having to share a nickel of it with anyone.
Harriet, my wife, was the least likely possibility. I was sure she'd get some of the Old Man's money, but not the biggest chunk of it. We wouldn't be millionaires from the amount she'd inherit.
And that's where it's at ... to be a millionaire. Anyone who doesn't agree with that is either a liar or a fool.
DAWN
Sure I wanted to get a nice sum of money after my grandfather passed away and yes, I did a little extracurricular balling to guarantee myself a share of the spoils. But it wasn't the only thing in the world that mattered to me. I never really allowed money to dictate my life.
It didn't do anyone any harm that my brother Doug and I slept together. In fact, I genuinely enjoyed it. He was good in bed and we both got quite a bit of pleasure out of it-not to mention a bigger portion of the estate.
I was surprised at my grandfather for wanting Doug to put it to me-and on tape, no less! I couldn't understand his thinking. I thought about it afterwards for a long time and the only possible reason I could see for him wanting his two grandchildren to fuck and produce a tape of it was that he was hot for one of them. Once I arrived at that conclusion, it didn't take long to figure out which one of us he was hot for.
When Rosalie called and told me that he wanted to see me, I wore the sexiest outfit I had-a snug skin-colored sweater and a very short white mini skirt which would show off my tan nicely. I didn't wear a bra, but then, I rarely do.
I talked to Doug about bringing the tape (from when we balled the second time, which was even better than the first) up to the Old Man, but we both decided it would defeat the purpose of having recorded. We didn't want the Old Man to know that I was aware of being on tape while I screwed my brother.
Edward offered to take me up to see my grandfather, and I accepted, not knowing what he was going to pull on me. I should have known better than to trust that creep with even a minute of my time.
I could never understand what my mother saw in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer-wasn't even physically attractive or anything. An empty shell of a person. He was a living, breathing practical joke that my mother fell for in a moment of weakness. Even she eventually saw the light. She no longer loved him.
My mother was just staying with him out of force of habit, just looking for an excuse to unload him. I would be able to furnish her with that excuse from what he did to me on the way up to Spring Manor. It was my sacrifice for the woman who gave birth to me to allow her husband to fuck me.
I'm not saying I wanted it to happen. Not even close. I was sick to my stomach when that disgusting clown raped me. But it wouldn't have done any good to fight back. Edward is an ape and that makes him a hell of a lot stronger than I am.
Everything was going smoothly until he decided to have breakfast. I was anxious to get up to Spring Manor and to find out what my grandfather wanted to say to me-and to figure out what I was going to do to coax him into giving me a nice share of his estate. I had a fairly good idea of what that might be.
But Edward stopped off at a restaurant and I thought I might as well eat breakfast with him since I had no other way of getting to my destination.
As we ate, he started feeding me some bullshit about how he was going to get the bulk of my grandfather's fortune. I almost laughed in his face. My grandfather saw through him like everybody else saw through him. Edward must have thought I was some kind of mental paraplegic to believe the shit he was spewing.
I played along, thinking it was some harmless fantasy he was acting out with me. It didn't occur to me that it was a plot to warm me up to him so I'd spread for him. But when we left the restaurant, he started coming on hard and strong, pulling off the road and grabbing me. I was awestricken.
The salami and eggs he had eaten only moments earlier were fresh on his breath when he came after my mouth with his. The stench was nauseating. Almost as nauseating as Edward himself.
I told him to flake away and to drive me to my grandfather, but he wasn't giving an inch. He kept coming at me with that shit-eating breath of his and I kept getting nauseous. And pissed!
When I opened the door of the car and quickly turned to get away, I discovered that he was more than just playing around. The man wanted my body and he was going to get it one way or the other. It was mating time at the zoo and you don't tell the animals they can't fuck.
I knew I was in for trouble when he ripped the sweater from my body-I didn't know what to do-I just followed my natural instinct and ran as fast as I could. But he caught up with me in the woods-I should have run toward the road-and threw me to the ground.
Edward began ripping the clothes off of my body and I was trying with all my strength to get free, but it was to no avail. He pulled down my mini and tore off my panties. By that time, I realized whatever I did to fight him off would be fruitless. I couldn't even come close to matching him muscle for muscle. He wanted my cunt too badly for me to even try to stop him.
So I did the only thing I could possibly do to make the experience a worthless one for him. I leaned back and let him use me, not as a woman, but as a fuck machine. I took no part in what he was doing. Didn't lay a hand on him, just opened up and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. I told him to go right ahead and take me.
He was reaching all around my body like a mad man, pinching my tits, shoving his hands into my cunt, feeling the contour of my legs and ass, and taking in the sight of my, let me say, unusually large sex hole.
He was on top of me and inside me before I knew it. I was surprised that my body had produced enough gravy to help him enter. I guess I'm just the type of woman who gets wet easily. Shit, if I got wet from what he was doing, I'd be totally drenched between my legs from riding Trigger. I was always very strange that way. No man I ever made love to ever failed to get me to achieve orgasm. With the exception of Edward, of course, who was the only man who ever balled me against my will. And I usually get off a number of times when I have sex.
But to be honest about it, I wasn't really having sex with Edward. He was more or less jerking off into my body. Instead of using his hands, he was using the lining of my cunt. When he was finished, which didn't take very long, I realized that my sweater was torn to shreds and I had nothing to wear for my meeting with my grandfather.
Fortunately, or semi-fortunately, there was an old trench coat in the trunk of Edward's car. I must have looked as if I were a soldier who had just returned from the war when I walked into my grandfather's house. I was so pissed at my mother's creep of a husband I couldn't stand it. I couldn't wait to tell her what that prick did to me.
He dropped me off at the front door of the Old Man's circular driveway and, as if nothing had happened only moments earlier, he asked whether he should wait for me to take me home after I met with my grandfather.
I told him to fuck-off, that Rosalie would drive me home.
The Old Man was in worse shape than I thought. His face was paper white and the lines in his skin were more deeply imbedded than I'd even seen them. He looked like a ghost.
But as my sister Clara left the room and closed the door behind her and as I came closer to him, he saw me and his face seemed to come alive. He was genuinely happy to see me.
I wondered how long he had left. He wasn't going to last too much longer, I observed. I hoped that within the next few days, he'd call for Doug so that Doug could produce the tape the Old Man wanted before he made out his final will.
"Well," he said, cutting out all unnecessary words "this will probably be the last time we see one another."
"Don't talk like that, grandfather," I protested unconvincingly.
He raised his hand as if to silence me from my bullshit and then, strangely, he asked why I was wearing a dirty old trench coat in the summer heat.
What could I say? I wasn't about to tell him that my step-father had raped me-although that probably wouldn't have been a bad idea. But I told him I rushed out of the house and this was the first thing I grabbed out of the closet.
"Take it off," he said. "It's hotter than hell in here."
"I can't, grandfather," I told him.
"Why?"
"Because I have nothing on underneath."
That's when I realized I was better off than if I had worn my sweater. If he persisted, it would be a perfect opportunity for me to excite him with my body. That, of course, was my best hope of cashing in on his estate-to fulfill his dream, which was my original intent with the sweater as the lure. I knew how much of a sex fiend he was and I knew for sure he'd eat up my body. After all, that was why he asked Doug to ball me-so he could listen to me making it.
"Take it off anyway," he said with a half-smile on his face.
I had him pegged right all along. He was dying to get into my crack.
I played up the modesty bit for a moment or two longer and then I gave in and slowly shed the coat from my body, exposing my love mountains. His face made the transition from death to life as he studied my breasts.
I held my chest up high with my fingers and stepped closer to afford him a good close-up view. He made a motion for me to come still closer, which I did as if I was walking through mud. I wanted my body to provide the greatest thrill the Old Man had ever had in his lifetime.
He reached for my tits with his crusty old hands and squeezed lightly. Then he pressed the flat of his palm into them, cupping them and dropping them into his grip.
"As beautiful as I thought," he murmured. "Take off your skirt. Pull it down for me."
"Grandfather, this isn't very healthy for you," I said teasingly.
He repeated his order and I did as he asked, dropping my mini to the floor. I didn't have any underwear on. They were still in the woods where I left them. I peeled my skirt from my bottom and flashed my crack in his face, and saw the unmistakable joy it produced.
He felt my twat softly at first, lightly pressing the fluff of my pubic triangle. And then he began jamming his fingers up into my hole.
I was standing next to his bed and spreading my legs to give him plenty of room to excavate my cavern, but I soon sat down to give both of us more comfort. Then I reclined on his bed with my feet at his head so he could easily reach into my groin.
His palms stroked the length of my loins and then he stuck his fingers into my sex puff as if pulled by a magnetic force. His feel was smooth and gratifying, despite the fact that his feelers were coarse with age.
I tried to spread as widely as I could, but I had little room at the edge of the bed. When the Old Man realized this, he moved over and lifted the blanket underneath me to cover me. Both of us were underneath the covers with our heads touching our feet.
As he continued to fondle my crack, I began to massage his feet, first with my hands and then with my tongue. After another minute or so, I leaned toward him and tenderly wrapped my fingers around his stiffened old cock, which was harder than I thought possible for a man in his condition.
His balls were heavy, fleshy and oval, like eggs almost. I loved losing my fingers in the fleshiness of his sack. It was truly erotic for me. I'd never felt balls like the Old Man's in my entire life. And I was sure I never would again. It was as if all the other testicles I'd ever toyed with belonged to boys and I was finally making it with a man who had fully matured passion oats.
The wetness between my legs was now becoming apparent-both to me and to him. His thumb was saturated with my inner dew as it poked in and out of my vaginal mane.
I was ready for him to stick his cock into me. I was ready to give him the best lay he ever had in his hole-fucking career. I was going to really put it to him, to give him something to remember me by as he scribbled out the course of his fortune.
I twisted my body around and situated my cunt right on top of his hard-on, teasing it with the tickle of my pubic thatch, encouraging it to penetrate my love cavity. All the while, the weight of my body was on my straddling arms which were placed on both sides of the Old Man's arms.
It wouldn't be good to ball him that way, I realized. My tits were bobbing in his face and he was loving their well-hung dimensions, but I couldn't expect his ailing body to cope with my body weight once we started fucking.
So I struggled to get beneath him. He was breathing more heavily, as if something was blocking the passage to his lungs or something. And his face was all red and sweating as he climbed on top of me.
I saw the veins in his throat jumping in and out and I began to get scared.
The very instant he guided his stiff cock against the lips of my hole, the second it entered my crack, my fears were justified.
I heard what sounded like a belching noise and a gasp come from his throat. It was an ugly sound. And his mouth opened and his face turned sour with pain and he remained motionless for the briefest time.
Before I could say "Grandfather," the full weight of his being crashed down into mine.
The Old Man was dead.
I don't think I shall ever overcome the guilt I felt from that moment on about my actions that day. I cut short the Old Man's time. He wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway, perhaps, but I most certainly contributed to his death. And for what? For money! Lousy, rotten money!
As I turned out, I got plenty of it anyway, although I appreciated it less than I would have under different circumstances. The bulk of the estate went to Frita, my grandmother. The Old Man never changed his will. My mother received her fair share, Doug got some (I didn't split his share because I ended up with more than he did), and Clara, my sister, got a nice sum for taking care of him.
Uncle Richard got to keep the business, which he wanted pretty badly. Rosalie got more than anyone thought she would, but she deserved it. She was always wonderful to the Old Man, very loyal. In fact, she asked my mother if she could work for her. My mother told her that she couldn't, but that she could live at the house with her.
As for Edward, well, he ended up making a complete asshole out of himself. I had told my mother what he tried to pull on me, and it wasn't long after that when their marriage legally disintegrated. Edward then went to Frita, I am told, and tried to get her to marry him. But she saw through him as if he were glass. Imagine that! Out of nowhere, "coincidentally" running after a woman who had just inherited a fortune!
My grandmother had class all right. I saw her for the first time since I was an infant at her husband's funeral. No one expected her to show up, but she did. I think she knew deep down in her soul that her husband didn't just "forget" about drafting a new will. He did it to show Frita that he never stopped loving her. And although the money isn't supposed to be important to her, she took it as a token of his love.
And she cried when they lowered the Old Man into his grave.
