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Message-ID: <29142asstr$983329808@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: dweller planet <pdweller@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Ad, Chapter 3, (MF, romance, M/F/young teen, dad/son, dad/son/stepmom, menstrual sex, light DSBD)
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2001 22:10:08 -0500
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The Ad, Chapter 3, (MF, romance, M/F/young teen,
dad/son, dad/son/stepmom, menstrual sex, light DSBD)

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<1st attachment, "thead3.txt" begin>



The Ad, Chapter 3

by

PlanetDweller

(MF, romance, M/F/young teen, dad/son, dad/son/stepmom, menstrual
sex, light DSBD)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standard Disclaimer & Legal Stuff: The following story is adult
fiction intended for private reading by adults over eighteen (18)
years of age ONLY or a higher age if required by the political
jurisdiction where you reside...if you are under eighteen years
of age, you are required to exit now from your browser if
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accessing it through a local disk system...the following story
depicts sexual acts which if they were perpetrated in real life
would be against the law in all countries and localities; if
merely possessing descriptions of sexual acts which would be
against the law if committed in "real life" is against the law in
the political jurisdiction where you live, you are required to
exit access from this story and/or delete this story
immediately...the following story is a work entirely fictitious
and the characters, names, places, dates, acts depicted etc. bear
no resemblance to  any persons living or dead or events and acts
which may or may not have taken place at some point in
time....the author who is using the pseudonym above retains all
rights of publication to this story...individual readers of legal
age my freely possess this story and distribute it to other
readers of legal age on a strict non-commercial basis...storage
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prohibited without written consent of the originating author.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our dating pattern consisted of once-a-weeker's or so for the
next couple of months. I could tell Sandy still was going through
the grieving stages over his now longer-deceased wife, his
protestations to the contrary. And he could tell that while I was
definitely falling in love with him, I had my own past defensive
walls to chip away at, and didn't push things. Sigh.

His 12-year-old son, Greg, was becoming more a part of our mutual
lives, too. I thought it odd when Sandy asked me some dates into
our budding relationship if he could bring Greg along, especially
on basically non-romantic ones like going out in public to the
movies or out to a lesser-expensive restaurant, but after the
first time or two I didn't mind, mainly because Greg was so
mannerful and respectful of me. Just like his father.

The first time Sandy and I slept over at his place on weeknight,
I admit it was a little weird having Greg in the house,
especially when I would hear him as he'd get up in the middle of
the night to use the bathroom at the end of the hall which was
next to Sandy's master bedroom, I always insisting of us stopping
if we were making love so Greg wouldn't have any chance of
hearing us until he finished peeing and pittered-pattered back to
his room.

Towards months three and four of our growing romance, we all were
so comfortable with the situation that we invited Greg with us to
a beach trip down at Carolina Beach for the weekend. While there,
Sandy mentioned he knew of a semi-public semi-tolerated nude
beach not too far from The Oceanview Motel where we were staying,
and just blunted out "...do ya' wanna go, Pat?"

I grinned. I couldn't help but giggle. I was hopelessly in love
with the man, but was still trying to hide my feelings a little
from him. Okay, well, a lot from him. But to me, he was THE ONE.
If he had asked me if I had wanted to go eat broken glass covered
with chocolate-covered South American fireants for dinner, I
would have said "sure".

"You mind if Greg goes along with us?"

I gulped h-a-r-d. Then a very pregnant pause as we cuddled
together on our chaiselounge on the elevated oceanview deck
facing the Atlantic just a couple of hundred feet away.
"Shhh...sure, Honey, if that's what you want...sure."

In one way, I really didn't mind. I mean, what twelve-year-old
boy hasn't seen a ton of naked women in Playboys and Penthouses
and such by the time they're that age anyway. But seeing me, his
probable potential stepmom naked, well, that was another story.

"Anything wrong?..." my Dearry asked me, seeing me retreat
inwardly in thought.

"Oh, nothing..." I lied "...it's just that I'm on my period and
all, and I while I don't think I'll mind Greg seeing me nude, I
don't want him seeing evidence of my period..."

"Oh, that won't bother him..."

"...but it will bother ME..." I protested.

"...just wear a tampon, Patty.." calling me that name he knew I
didn't like.

"...but the string'll still show..."

"...so cut the string off, first..."

No use not agreeing with him. "...Okay...you win...we'll all
go..."


We put on our bathing suits for the trip down there. Driving as
close as we could get to it, Sandy ignored the "Fourwheel drive
vehicle only past this point!" sign and scooted on past the
official State Of North Carolina State Park sign and plowed the
borrowed Mercedes convertible from work right on through the
rolled-over foot-high sandruts in the sandy beach road which
wound its way through the dunes like an expert offroad driver,
which I knew he wasn't. "I do know how to drive, Hon'.." he
mumbled in answer to my unspoken question.

Almost but not quite getting stuck once as we headed as far south
as we could away from the "official" part of Ft. Fisher State
Park near the Seaquarium to the northern end of the peninsula,
the sight of the first topless woman told us all that we were in
the unofficial nude beach zone. Greg looked at her but didn't
gawk, acting like he had seen a grown nude woman before, which I
knew he couldn't have.

Another half a mile or so further down two or three vehicles were
congregated together as their respective owners, two or three
nudists families together for an outing, sunned themselves.

"Is this the unofficial nudist area for Ft. Fisher Park?..."
Sandy asked an older and somewhat paunchy middle-aged guy who was
holding a cigar in one hand and a surfcasting rod in the other.

"Yep...you folks here for the sun?..." he replied in semi-code.

"...uh-hu...I'm Sandy, and this is my son Greg and my fiance'
Pat..." he replied. "Fiance' ". I felt a totally pleasant cold
shiver run up my spine and make me slightly "bbbrrrr" shake for a
split-second. My love called me his "fiance' ", even though
neither one had ever proposed to each other. Happy Sigh.

"Nice to meet you folks...I'm Ronald...the only rules are please
no public sex..."

"..don't worry about that!.." I giggled.

"...and..." Ronald's face changing to express irritation with my
attempt at levity "...if you see a red parachute flare shoot up
in the sky, run get your clothes, a red flare means that a Park
Ranger is on his way down here to make us put on our
clothes...don't worry...this has been an unofficial nude beach
since the 60's, and no one's ever been arrested...the only reason
they come down at all is because some prude will accidentally
stumble this far down the island and complain and they'll wander
down here to tell us to cool it for today...okay?...good...have
fun!" he finished, slapping Sandy on his shoulder with a
half-love-tap.


Parking the Mercedes on the hardsand above the hightide line, we
rolled out and set up our  little daycamp. First the large beach
umbrella, then a small changing tent, then the cooler, then the
surf fishing gear, then the small charcoal grill, then a small
cooler with the drinks and beers,  than finally the lawn chairs
and loungers. Mercedes have big trunks and big backseat areas,
but it's a wonder all of it fit.

Sandy and Greg didn't bother using the changing tent, stripping
off their tee-shirts and swim trunks right then and there after
finishing setting things up. Neither bothered to look in my
direction to see if I was shedding my clothes or not. Greg ran
into the surf with a laugh and a giggle, his member the size of
my Sweetie's flapping in the breeze as he stomped through the
incoming waves before hitting the third row of waves to bodysurf
some. Sandy unfolded a lounger and got himself a beer, motioning
me over to sit with him.

We kissed and cuddled for a few moments as his son played in the
surf. He didn't say a word to me about my shyness, the fact I was
still in my bathing suit. "C'mon..." he motioned as he rose,
nudging me up and off him "...let's go see what seashells we can
find".

Rising with him, I slid the straps off my reasonably sexy
one-piece suit and let it plop to the sand, Sandy reaching and
playfully tweaking a nipple as I bent down to pick up the empty
bucket we had brought just for beachcombing, I in return grabbing
and pulling on his slightly rising cock as I stood back upright.
"What's good for the goose is good for the gander..." I clich d
him back.


About a quarter-mile down the beach, almost to "The Breakwater"
where the peninsula ended, Greg popped up behind us, crashing out
of the waves. He had been following us just a hundred yards or so
offshore, swimming parallel to us as My Love and I walked
hand-in-hand naked as jaybirds down the sandylane. Splitting
between us, Sandy put his arm around his son's shoulder and
hugged him close to him. I joined our "family" hug, my arm also
going around this handsome specimen of a burgeoning adolescent
male, being careful not to let my breast nearest him touch his
naked chest as we walked akimbo together. Greg would turn to
smile at me as we made smalltalk as we hiked together, looking me
right in the eye and never trying to "cheat" a glance at the rest
of my nakedness. Nakedness, as opposed to my "nudity". 

"Strange behavior..." I thought to myself, for a young man on the
throes of approaching manhood, my own glances down at him not
being able not to notice the darkening hair on his pubis "...but
no different, not much at least, from his Dad...just perfect
gentlemen".



Reaching the concrete barrier that separated the Atlantic from
the Cape Fear River, we turned to walked back towards the vehicle
as the overhead creeping sun let it be known that was near
lunchtime already. Greg broke away from us and began splashing in
the waves once more, being the kid he was. 

Back at our daycamp, I simply had to change my Tampax. Scooting
into the changing tent to do so in some relative privacy, Sandy
came in and wanted to smooch a little as Greg worked to light the
charcoal in the grill and drag things out of the cooler just a
few feet away from us, but me being me I didn't want to make
noise which I knew he could hear without even trying.

"Wuuuu..why not, Hon'?..."

"Because Greg's just outside, Silly, that's why..."

"Awww, Honey, Greg's heard me and his Mom make love lotsa times,
it won't bother him..."

"...San--d---eeee!!...you can't be serious!..."

"...-uh-hu.." was all he replied as his cock slipped inside my
bleeding pussy, the new Rayvon in my life not caring about my
period one way or the other, his eyes locking lasers on mine, as
I stood with one leg propped up on the beer cooler to do so, my
lover slowly fucking me as we stood together, he embracing me
from behind, my neck craning around to kiss him. Ending up on the
bare sand floor of the partial privacy tent, our passions rose as
our lovemaking became a flat-out fuck, until Greg's banging of a
pot announced to us that he had already mostly cooked oursteaks.

Damn! We were covered with my menstrual fluid from our knees to
our chests. What an incredible fuck we just had. And yes, in the
back of my mind, knowing that Greg was probably listening to us
as My Love and I made love in the three-side-and-a-half tent did
make me hotter. But there was no way I wanted Greg to see such
plainly red evidence of our lovemaking. We couldn't leave the
tent without him seeing us for all we were worth. No way to run
to the waves and wash off, and the jug of icewater was outside
near the grill. Damn. Improvising, Sandy wasted three or four
beers to wash the worst of the pinkish lubrication off, then
taking my hand we darted down the surf with a "be back in a'
gif!" yelled to Greg as he finished getting the paper plates and
plastic silverware out for us. Darting back to the tent from the
surf after we finished our saltwater bath, I fished another
Tampax from my pocketbook. Damn! Forgot to bring scissors to cut
the string so Greg-gy couldn't see it. Fussing about it Sandy, he
just grinned back at me. I felt silly.

Finishing up our naked lunch, with all apologies to William
Burroughs, we headed back to the car, then back to the motel,
then the next day back to Raleigh, a family. Yes, engaged or not,
Not, married or not, Not, not yet to either so far, we became a
family that weekend.



Some weeks later, Sandy invited me to some
get-drunk-and-fall-down pig pickin' barbecue that some friend of
his was having that following Labor Day weekend. I had only been
to a couple of pig pickings, and hated them. But is was Sandy's
friend, and therefor Sandy, so I went with him.

We both got wwwaayyyy too drunk. Jimmy, his friend who was the
host, helped hold me up as I grabbed my knees and wretched my
guts out behind his working equipment barn on the farm outside of
the hamlet of New Hill where the soir e was being held.

"Damn, girl, you need to quit drinkin'" Jimmy half-belched
half-drunken-slurred with breath equally horrible to my pukey one
as I fell to the ground on all fours to finish my involuntary
stomach purge. Helping me to my feet, I gave him a friendly peck
on the cheek and staggered back to the main party area behind
Jimmy's house to find Sandy and ask him if we could leave now.

Driving back up US 1 North heading back to west Raleigh, I made
Sandy stop the car as I half-staggered half-fell to the paved
shoulder, skinning a knee pretty bad before expurgating pure
stomach acid out. As drunk as I was, and as much of a  candidate
for a DUI as much as anyone could have been and placing himself
squarely in the line of being seen by a passing Highway
Patrolman, my Gentleman Lover Sandy staggered around to my side
of the car and  helped me to feet as best he could.

I kissed him squarely with horribly tasting lips and from
somewhere, where I do not know...well, yes, I do know where, my
unconditional love for this man, this real man that was making my
precious memories of my precious Rayvon from my youth a more
passing memory of  my life with each passing day...and without
hesitation blurted out..."Goddamit, Sandy, I LOVE YOU!!!...I want
to MARRY you!...let's go to your place, sober up some, take a
shower, you get some clothes, take to my place and I'll get some
clothes, and then we'll head back down this same highway all the
way to South Carolina and get married today...TODAY!, Sandy,
TODAY!...I'm asking you to marry me, and marry me TODAY!"

If I had pulled out my little snubnosed .38 I usually kept in my
nightstand drawer unless I was going into a rough part of town at
night at which time was usually stuck in my purse and shot the
man right then and there in the gut, he couldn't have been more
surprised. Shot-stunned, that was the look on his face, not that
I've ever shot or seen someone shot up close before.

Dead silence as we just stood cavepeople-like both half-hunched
over from our alcoholic stupor beside his car on the side of the
road of one of the busiest highways in North Carolina as the love
of my life pondered his past, our past, our present, and our
future.

"I juist can't, Pat, I just can't...." he mumbled as I fell back
into the passenger's seat as he half-pushed half-slid me in.

"Why not!?!...why the bloody hell not!.." I yelled back in anger
to him as he staggered around to the driver's side and cranked
the car back up to head back "...why the fucking bloody hell NOT,
love of my life???..."

Dead silence for several more minutes as we drove through the
south edge of Cary,  heading back past the I-440 interchange and
to our Jones Franklin Road exit. Then "...I just can't...I love
you SOOOO, soooo much, Pat...you are the love of my life
too...but I...I...I just can't..."

He helped to my door and walked away without a good-bye kiss.



Devastated. Beyond fucking devastated. Wiped down and out so low
that snailshit looked like a mountain range to me. Actually
contemplated suicide for a split-second, then contemplated paying
someone else to kneecap the still-love of my life for an even
splitter-second. Then decided the right course of action for me,
which was to do nothing. Fine. If Sandy didn't ever want to call
me again, fine. Fucking fine. Yeah, fucking fine.

A month and some weeks passed without a word from him. Of course
I didn't call him. He was the one who turned me down, not me
turning him down, so he could wait until the proverbial Hot Place
down below froze over before I'd ever call him. Then, as it
always  does, fate intervened.

After my shift ended two nights before Thanksgiving and I was
perusing the aisles so familiar to me to get my turkey and
dressing and fixins' at the Harris-Teeter where I still was the
Assistant Produce Manager at, there he was. My Sandy. In the
canned goods aisle picking out what candied yams he wanted, there
was my Sandy. Our eyes met. He rushed to kiss me. I kissed him
back, firmly but politely. Then he broke away as quickly as he
had rushed to me.

Trying to walk away from me, I grabbed him on the shoulder. He
literally bolted for the front of the store, running out to the
parking lot to seek refuge in his car. I was younger and quicker
and still madly in love with the man. No way was he leaving
without giving me at least the common courtesy of telling why he
wouldn't marry me. 

Pinning him against the car, my hands pressing his larger body to
the side of it, I yelled at the top of my lungs just inches from
his face "Dammit, Goddamit, Sandy you're not leaving her without
giving me the common fucking courtesy of telling me why you won't
marry me!!!...understand?!?...just tell me why, and you can
go...but you ain't going until you tell me, UNDERSTAND!!!???..."
the force of my voice making him close his eyes to its power.

"I....I....i....I just can't....you'd never understand, Pat...not
in a million years, you'd never understand...I'm sorry...I have
to go...let me go, or I'll coldcock you and leave you for the
paramedics to attend to...now, let me go!" he enforced back.

"Then go ahead and slug me, punk...I LOVE YOU!!!...I am totally
IN LOVE with you!...are you so fucking stupid that you just don't
fucking get it!?!...I love you!...I don't care if you've served
time for murder, I don't care what you've done in the past,
killed someon, embezzled a million dollars, run over small puppy
in the middle of the road on purpose for the fun of it..."

Looking me dead in the eye as he pushed my hands away with ease,
he screamed back at me "...you just don't get it, you stupid
bitch who I still love more than any woman I have ever loved in
my life including my dearest departed one, it's much worse
than...it's much worse than that."

We just stood there motionless for a moment, neither one of sure
what we should do next, if anything. Inches away, I saw him begin
to cry. Tears flowed down his face like tiny arroyo streams in
spring rains. "Okay...okay, Pat...if you really want to know why
I can't marry you..."

"...and I do, love of my life...I do...nothing you have done
could ever change my mind about how much I am so truly in love
with you...NOTHING..."

"...then come over to the apartment Friday night...all your
questions about why I you don't want to marry me will be
answered..."

"Promise?"

He left the parking lot slowly as I stood there, blowing me a
kiss through the driver's side glass as the power steering
screeched its lonely whine.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


The thought of Thanksgiving alone, without him, him and Greg,
without my "family" was simply too depressing to contemplate. I
called him as soon as I got home. He had gotten home before I did
despite living a couple of miles further away from the store.

"Sandy?..."

"Yes?..." he replied in monotone deadpan.

"..the thought of not having you in my life is simply too
depressing to contemplate, Honey...the thought of not being with
you and Greg, my family, is simply too depressing to
contemplate...you' not going anywhere for Thanskgiving are
you?..." I sweeted as pleasant and non-threatening as I could.

"...uh-uh..." was all he said in reply.

"...then why don't I come over first thing Thursday morning and
fix dinner for us all, you got Thursday and Friday off don't
ya'?...

"....yeah, I do..." the tension in his voice rising "...but, Pat,
love of my li-io-fff-e..." he inflected almost sarcastically "..a
couple of things..."

"...yes, Dearest Love Of My Life?..."

"...bring over enough clothes for a couple of days...and if you
don't have anything to get married in, something white, buy
something tomorrow, white, with matching shoes and
everything...sure, you can come over and fix Thanksgiving dinner
for me and Greg, but..."

"...uh...uh-hu?.."

"...but I promise you, after dinner, you'll have answers to all
your questions...either you'll go with me down to South Carolina
to elope with me Friday, or you'll storm out of the apartment in
total disgust, once I tell you the truth of  why you can't marry
me..."

I breathed heavy into the phone, wondering what the hell could be
so terrible that My Love would keep insisting that I'd leave him
once I found out his secret. "There?" he finally spake, breaking
my inward looking moment.

"Yeah, I'm here..."

"You still coming over?"

"Of...of course...I'll be there 8AM sharp...you got everything to
fix Thanksgiving dinner?..."

"...yeah...all we want is turkey and dressing and yams, and we
have all that...see ya' 8-ish then?..."

"....yeah..." silent dread and fear entering my mind on exactly
what he was hiding that was so terrible.

"...bye...and Pat?"

"...yeah?..."

"...I love you..."

"I love you too..."...then click.



Greg and Sandy both were out gone walking in the woods on that
cool North Carolina Thanksgiving morn, my key to Sandy's
apartment slipping into the front door lock with a well-worn
ease, a note from Sandy on the small butler's table telling me he
and Greg would be back by noon and that everything was basically
ready for me, all I had to do was turn on the oven and cut the
stove on, everything else being ready in the refrigerator
basically.

For a moment I thought bad about it, but brought my suitcases on
in, despite my gut telling me otherwise, to leave them in the
car. Clothes for a couple of days in the Pullman and the wedding
dress bought and kept in my hope chest for years and years
freshly dry-cleaned in the garment bag along with matching shoes
and my good Pentax camera shoved inside my makeup bag too.

Then, I changed my mind. Everything went right back out to car,
along with all my extra clean underwear and the assortment of
clothes and stuff that had accumulated in Sandy's apartment since
we had been going together. Photos, ticket stubs, my favorite old
sneakers, a large teeshirt that Sandy had given me with
"largemouth bass fishermen give better head" screenprinted on it,
a couple of changes of clothes that I kept for emergencies,
everything of mine went back to the car. Something told me that
indeed today would be the day that we would indeed break up, for
good this time.

I already had the Lions-Packers game turned on for them, was
absentmindedly sipping a Michelob while sitting at the table
staring into space through the kitchen window and had everything
ready to come out of the oven and off the stove when my two loves
playfully stomped into the house, carrying a .22 rifle each
having come out of the deep  woods that backed up to their
apartment complex just outside Raleigh's city limits and
presenting me with what looked just like a freshly-shot turkey
with a more playful "we men killed this, woman, YOU clean it and
fix it!...hehehehe" before I realized it was a rubber joke one.
Those guys.

Greg and Sandy really devoured my homemade biscuits I had
fresh-made that morning without telling them I was going to, as
well as the fruit jello and bowl of giblet gravy and two other
kinds of dry and moist dressing and cremed potatoes and topping
it all off with homemade egg custard pie. Greg began to whimper
just a little as he ate his egg pie.

"Isn't it good, Hon'?...if you don't like it, please don't eat
it, my feelings won't be hurt..."

Silence for a moment as Sandy continued to eat his piece of it
and I mine before speaking "...it's just like his Mom used to
make when she was alive, that's all, and we've not had it since
she..."

Greg went to his room as I picked up the table and Sandy helped
me rinse everything off before putting what we could in the
dishwasher and I getting out the Lemon Joy to begin washing the
turkey cooker and larger pots that wouldn't fit in it. Sandy
helped scrape and then helped dry as I washed. We didn't say a
word hardly, but did begin flashing smiles to each other.
Finally, we kissed. Damn, I love that man. Damn how I love him.

"Whatever you need to tell me, Sand-eee, go ahead and tell me...I
promise....I SWEAR to you that no matter what it is...I swear to
you that I won't leave you...I'll marry you tomorrow...you'll
see...so, now's'a good a' time as any...tell me my love, tell
me..."

Silence. Dreadful silence.


We finished up the pots and pans and walked back into the living
room together, sitting side-by-side on the sofa. Reaching for my
hand, he took it like a minister does as they get ready to tell
someone that a family member just died. He looked into my eyes as
deep as he possibly could, as deep as he ever had, and intoned
"...I can't possibly tell you, Pat..." he choked out.

I was ready to hit the fucking ceiling. No, if he was such a
total liar, I was ready to cut my losses, crank up the old
rustbucket, and get the hell out of Dodge for good.

"...I can't tell you...I have to show you...Greg, it's
time...come in here, please!" he yelled to his son who had
retired to his own bedroom. 

Greg came into the room wearing only a pair of gym shorts.

"Pat wants to know why she can't marry me...it's time...let's
show her, okay?"

"Okay, Dad..."



Greg, twelve-year-old precious Greg of tossled mussed hair and
taller height at twelve than me and thin limbs and a cock as big
as his Dad's, took the clue and dropped his shorts as he stood in
front of us, his cock springing to halflife almost immediately.
Breaking his eye contact with me, Sandy turned to begin fellating
his son. They both closed their eyes and almost immediately went
into some sort of lover's dance. It was obviously not the first
time they had done this together.

I sat there. I just sat there. Greg's cock stood erect inside his
father's mouth as he stood before him. Moans of light passion
stirred from them both inches away me. As far as they were
concerned, I was wasn't even in the room with them.

Greg dropped to in front of Sandy as Sandy kicked off his loafers
and Dockers, leaving his navy-blue Golden Bear golf shirt on and
took his Dad's cock in his mouth, a cock which was already
leaking a tiny bit of pre-cum in its three-quarters erect state.

Sandy leaned in and kissed the top of his son's head and kept an
open hand there as he leaned back to enjoy the blowjob. Greg so
expertly was sucking his Dad that I could have taken lesson from
him. Hell, I "was" taking lessons from him. Neither had said one
syllable to me in all of this.

Sandy was right, though. It was so vile and disgusting that no
woman in her right mind would stay and watch them. They were
definitely two sick puppies. But one of those sick puppies was
the man I was so deeply in love with that I would have sucked his
pet donkey dry if he wanted me to, not that Greg was equivalent
to a pet donkey, you know what I mean. And the other sick puppy
was a young man whom I respected totally and loved
unconditionally. I didn't hesitate. My weight shifted and I
leaned into My Love's lap to join his son's suck of him.

"Damn, Dad, you were right!..." Greg exclaimed "...I didn't think
she'd go for it..." he said between slurps of his father's shaft
as I also kissed him on the lips a little "...but you were
right...she's just like Mom was!"

That hit me like a bolt of clearsky lightning. Raising up my eyes
met Sandy's, half in trepidation, half in being slightly pissed
off for some unknown reason. "Okay...okay..." I mumbled with
somewhat real irritation "...the whole story, and now, or I
leave, for good this time".

Greg got up and sat beside me as Sandy finished taking of his
clothes on the other side of me still.

"It's real simple, Pat..." Sandy spoke in measured timing.

"Yeah...uh-hu..." I replied with equal metronome measurement.

"Beverely..." Sandy began, using his deceased wife's name for the
second or third time I had ever heard in the whole time I had
been going with him "...was raised in an incestuous family...she
was initiated into her family incest way from the time she was
born almost...her and her two brothers and sister too...they all
regularly participated in incestuous play with their parents and
siblings while growing up on an almost daily and at least weekly
basis, up until the time they left home, when it was understood
that each could make their own decisions as adult to continue to
be incestuous with each other, or not as they might choose..."

I just sat and looked as deeply into his eyes as I could, looking
for any trace of doubt, any trace of a lie whatsoever. I didn't
see any.

"...when Beverely and I were first married, she didn't say a word
at first...then after she got pregnant with Greg, she told me the
whole story, mainly because she wanted to raise our child, or
children when we had more later, the same way she had been
raised, because she thought it was the healthiest way possible
for a child and for the parents too..."

Sandy took a couple of deep breaths, exhaling them slowly, eyes
cutting back and forth to me, looking for any sign I was going to
run screaming for the front door. I wasn't.

"...from the time Greg was an infant, Bev' would routinely
masturbate him every single day...when he was finally out of
diapers, she began giving him blowjobs again each day...when he
was six or seven, she persuaded me to let him join in our bed for
a few hours a couple of times each week..that first time, when he
was seven, I think..."

"Yeah, seven, Dad..." Greg confirmed as he sat naked next to me.

"...his Mom took his virginity right there in front of me...that
same night, she persuaded me to give him some head, even though I
am not, never have been or will be gay, she convinced me that
it's part of a healthy relationship the way she was raised...she
also became our slut, if you will...she enjoyed being a total
slutwife to us both, until....until...anyway, she enjoyed being
tied up and whipped and spanked sometimes, we'd do that for her
even though neither one of us were into that much, but we did
enjoy having her at our total beck-and-call for any and
everything, didn't we, Greg-eee?..."

"Yeah, we did, Dad..I still miss her, soooo much..." his voice
trailing off in sadness.

"..I still do to, Son...but now, it looks you might have a new
Mommy, and I a new wife..." Sandy grinned before leaning into
kiss me as Greg also joined our kiss.

Made sense. It did explain a LOT of things. A lot of behavior or
lack of it thereof, like when we three of us were at that nude
beach and Greg seemed totally nonplused by my nudity. He must
have seen his mother naked literally thousands of times, made
love to her hundreds if not thousands of times too. 

We three just easily grinned and laughed and giggled together as
we joined our group hug while the two perfect men in my life
kissed me together for all we were worth, I grabbing their naked
cocks one in each hand while they groped me through my clothes.
Clothes which were almost immediately shed in a trail as we
headed to "our" bedroom.

"Marry me, Sandy...." I whispered aloud as the last of my
clothing as well as my defenses were voluntarily shed, almost
tripping Greg as it caught under his feet, he stumbling into me
more, I kissing him firmly on the mouth as a lover as well as he
soon-to-be stepmom.

"Yes, I'll marry you, Pat, I'll marry you!" Sandy cheerfully
replied.



In our bedroom, Greg motioned for me to get on the bed so that my
rump was sticking high in the air my face down in a doggie-style
position as my legs hung in the freeair off the edge of the bed.
Smiling, I complied. Hearing the drawer of the nighstand slide
open, a second later I felt the cold of the KY hitting my rear, a
practiced finger working some inside me as Greg crawled onto the
bed and bent down to kiss me. Sandy's cock slid into my asshole
with ease. 

In all our months going together, we had never assfucked at all.
Of course I would have if he had asked me to, but he never did,
so I never pushed it either. God, it felt so good! Finally.
Slapping my buttcheeks a little, Greg tied my wrists behind my
back with some well-worn dacron cord fished out from a box pulled
out from underneath the bed. My tail was soon being lightly
paddled with an old ping-pong paddle as My Love continued his
assfuck of me as Greg ran his hands all over my back and body,
pulling and squeezing on my tits as he kissed me up and down my
spine.

God, GOD, GODDAMIT!!!...heaven...sheer bliss...heaven.

My Perfect Love and My Perfect Love Junior. Yes, I would be their
wife and mother and slut for the rest of our lives, if they would
have me. Anything. Just don't let this end.


Rolling me over to my back, Sandy got some more lengths of rope
out from the box and tied them to my ankles before standing on
the bed and looping the ends through some eyehooks in the ceiling
near the foot of the bed, eyehooks he had previously explained
away as being for hanging plants, something I never quite
believed but up until that second never could figure out what
exactly they were for.

My wrists still tied behind my back, my rear now elevated off the
bed, my legs spread-eagle like a wishbone, my sex open to
whatever My Loves wished to do to me, Greg now took his place
between them and just rammed his man-sized 12-year-old cock home
inside me deeply.

"I...I love you...Son...Greg..." I half-coughed out from between
breaths of rising passion.

"I...I love you, too, Mom..." he replied back as he grinned
ear-to-ear as his fuck of me continued, Sandy now shoving his
cock in my mouth to get an oral fuck.

"I love you, too...Wifey..." Sandy horsewhispered to me as he
held my head in his hands and just plain fucked me face.

Slipping his cock out and then poking it my asshole, Greg
replaced his cock with his hand, lubing it up with more KY, and
began a one then two then four then whole-hand fistfuck of me as
he continued fucking my ass simultaneously. God, it had been
literally years since anyone had fisted me, probably not since
Rayvon, and I was in heaven.

"As hard as you want, Baby, fist your Mommy as hard as you
want...Baby!" I coarsed to Greg as he held my alofted tail with
one hand while fisting and assfucking me still.

Sandy in the meantime had gotten a small and mean looking riding
crop. I didn't like the look of it. Still poking his cock in my
mouth, he began flicking my erecting nipples with it, using a
horizontal swiping motion while cocking his wrist to roughly
brush across them, hitting them but not hard enough to really
hurt, just enough to bring them perfect peaks.


"My turn, Son..." he barked at Greg.

Between my legs for a moment he took his son's place, fucking my
cunt while shoving a couple of fingers up my tail for effect, my
pussy still tenting open from Greg's fisting of me a second
before.

Motioning to Greg, my nearly six-foot tall stepson-to-be soon
untied the loops of rope from the ceiling hooks which held my
ankles and lower body elevated, the circulation running back to
my increasingly sore muscles in my calves, Sandy untying my bound
wrists from behind my back. 

For the longest moment, we three just lay there together, me in
the middle, my two Perfect Lovers cuddling me, petting and
caressing me as I purred contentedly between them, a cock in each
of my hands, keeping them up. "Time for your 'double', Pat".

Greg lay flat on the bed as I staddled him, his cock
three-quarters hard but a quarter-limp rising harder to fill me
once I actually started pumping him. His thinnish new adolescent
body feeling strange, at least stranger than his father's hard
muscled body that I had become so accustomed to lately,
underneath my approaching middle-aged body. His hands lovingly
played with my breasts, his fingers pulling and pinching my
nipples. Yes, that hurt some, and I wasn't used to this kind of
play, but I didn't care. I was his, I was his father's, I was
theirs, I was their toy and slut and wife and mother to do
whatever they wanted to with, and they both knew and loved it.
But no more than I.

Feeling Sandy's strong arm grasping me around my waist, he
entered me from behind as Greg continued to fill my other space
as I rocked back and forth atop him. Completely filled,
completely satisfied as a woman, for probably the first time ever
in my life. I simply had to let go.

"Fuck me!...fuck me, you two studs...show me how real men fuck
their wife and mother...FUCK ME!"

Greg grabbed and mauled my tits h-a-r-d, pulling me into him for
a kiss as Sandy began slapping and grabbing my ass even harder,
driving his cock deeper inside me. "Harder!....faster!..." I
demanded.

"Shit, Dad, Pat's as wild as Mom was!" Greg excitedly exclaimed
as my bronco ride of him continued atop him.

Taking a free hand and almost losing my balance doing so, I
mauled my own open pussy between my own legs as Greg cuntfucked
and his Dad, My Love, assfucked me, playing with my clit and
gorging pussy lips as hard and rough as I could.

Their pace picked up as fast as they could, then BANG, Greg went
off inside me and seconds later Sandy did to. I licked them both
clean as we cocooned together on the bed, they almost going to
slumber on me, but I wouldn't let them, licking their assholes,
bathing them, while licking their spent and now-limping cocks. 

For the next few hours, we just did whatever we felt like. Each
of us sucked and fucked and kissed and felt and poked and frigged
whatever we felt like. Dad and son in a loving sixty-nine, I
helped them each such each. Sandy and I or Greg and I in a 69,
whoever wasn't yin-yanged with me joined their tongue in my
loving of the other part of who we were. They tied me up against
a wall and gently flogged me with a felt cat o' ninetails, each
blow lovingly delivered with precision and passion as whoever
wasn't whipping me would be kissing me and feeling me up as well.
Passion upon passion upon passion, act of passion upon act of
passion, until all energy was spent, leaving only unconditional
and purely unselfish love. Yes, l-o-v-e. Love, which displaced
the darkness of the night with a soft and steady glow of hope.


And, in the morning, my suitcases already packed with my wedding
gown and extra clothes in my car, the South Carolina Stateline
sign gleaned at us in the rising sun of a new day, a new day
which would be that way for the rest of our lives, the new day of
being married to both my new Husband and his son my new BestMan.


-30-


Send comments to: pdweller@yahoo.com


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