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(MF romance only in these first two chapters ;
evolves into a BDSM marriage later on, the husband's
young son also getting involved with his new stepmom,
having been his dad's lover since his mom /
his father's wife died and all having an incestuous BDSM relationship
before she died)
I can't help but getting that old feeling of nostalgia and souvenir remembrance rising to my consciousness around June 1. That's the day my childhood and teen-age sweetheart, Rayvon Koch, and I promised each other we'd get married when we grew up and got older. We never did. But from the time Ray took my virginity a week after my thirteenth birthday (he was fifteen at the time) until his parents suddenly moved them all cross-country because his dad was with IBM which stands for "I've Been Moved" and I lost touch with him, he and I had to most incredible, totally mind-fucking-blowing sex any male-female couple could have. Regular sex. Oral sex. Manual sex. Anal sex. Toe Sex. Menstrual sex. Ear sex. Navel sex. Vaginal-Menstrual-Oral-Then-Anal sex. Breast-fucking sex. Clit-fucking sex. Urethra-fucking sex. If it involved "unarmed" sex between a girl and a boy, we did it. No lover since Ray has been so totally, completely uninhibited with me, reveling in the deep pool of my femininity using his masculine submarine to dive deep and explore well. My entire sex life, not necessarily my life but definitely my sex life, has been a search for my next Ray, my next lover who's unafraid of my unbridled feminine power and being.
It's hard being an average "Jill" with average looks (5'6", 135 lb.s, 36B bra size, 32" waist, size 6 shoes, curly brunette hair that I can't do anything with, have to wear glasses when I drive, nipples the size of half-dollar coins, pleasant but rather ordinary-looking face, unblemished but undistinguished, if you know what I mean) with an average job (I'm the assistant manager for the produce and vegetable sections at the Harris-Teeter down off Jones Franklin Road) and average education (dropped out my Senior year at 'State because I couldn't pass a required advanced calculus course that I needed to get my degree in computer science) and an average car ('94 Corsica with 53,000 miles on it) and average apartment (had a 1-bedroom unit at Dutch Village near the Harris-Teeter supermarket where I work) with an average sex life and track record for someone thirty-four years old (around eighteen-nineteen male lovers over the years after my Rayvon) to attract the kind of male, no, the kind of MAN, someone who's stable and mature and fun-loving and funny and secure yet who's as much of an absolute and complete monogamous slut in bed as I am, as Ray and I taught each other to be, totally free and without fear with each other in expressing our total sexuality.
If it sounds like I'm bitching and pissing and moaning, yes, I am. With good reason. I don't know what it is with men my age, myself preferring to date someone who's not close to my dad's age or someone who would be close to my son's if I had a young son early in life which I didn't, but men my age seem to be either total pussies or total jerks, with very few in between. Their dating strategy either seems to be be a total doormat and try to give you everything you want in order to get your panties off, or just the opposite, be a total jerk and try to demand and cajole with extreme pressure, trying to boss you in not only taking you panties off but then making you wash his underwear with yours and fold them up after he's through fucking you like HE wants. Shesshhh. And the few guys that are seemingly in the middle, who are nice and polite but also can be assertive and strong depending on what is called for at the moment, yep, they're either married and looking for some side action or are gay and looking for a date so they will appear straight and won't get fired from their work.
About a year ago, my best girlfriend and former roommate before we each started earning enough money to get our own places with our own privacies, Carolyn (and no, we've never fooled around with each other, neither one of us has those impulses...well, not unless we get drunk and a little silly and start playfully picking on each other) and I and another girlfriend, April, were sitting around bored silly one Saturday afternoon on what passes for an excuse of a postage-stamp-sized deck at the backdoor of my apartment, getting some sun, laying on beach recliners, cooking some kabobs on my large hibachi, when April decided to go make a beer and chips run down to my store.
She came back a couple of six's of Mich' and a couple of bags of chips and a bottle of MontForte red and a local freebie weekly arts-and-personal-ads rag, "The Independent". It's fun just to read the ads, just to poke fun at some of then. "Successful (has at least some sort of job) SWM (single when wife's not around) businessman (sells Amway part-time), 37, tall (-er than 4'11"), dark (put too much self-tanning lotion on last weekend), and handsome (haven't been arrested for impersonating a gorilla yet), drives a Porsche (that I borrow from the garage where I actually work) seeks attractive (installed pussy required) SWF (or female in general) for discrete daytime encounters (yep, definitely married), will be generous (will buy condoms and spring for my half of the beer money) to right special lady (who's not a pre-op TS)" ...sorry...I can't help myself, it's just too much fun seeing through the facades.
So April (who I have never fooled around with, either...well, okay, except for the one really drunk sloppy kiss we did just to freak a couple of morons out one night at the Longbranch Saloon & Nightclub) and Carolyn and I were having our fun with that week's ads, when April reads the next one aloud to us, one that got our attention. "SWM, actually single, 31, 6'1", Hispanic mother and American Indian father, works as janitor with Wake County schools, high school graduate but no college, drive an '81 Ford pickup truck, lives in a tiny cheap rental house in southeast Raleigh, loves long walks and cheap dates and reading poetry by moonlight to my special lady as we canoe Falls Lake under a clear night sky, NS, ND, light social drinker but no beer gut, will trade photos before meeting, seeks the one special lady who can see me through this ad for what and who I am...reply Box@@@@".
"I'm going to answer this one, girls!" April cheerfully announced as she took her last swing from her Michelob, asking me to come around and fasten the strap of her bathing suit back on so she could rise from having laid flat on the beach recliner sans strap so as to not have a tanline on her back, Carolyn and I mumbling politely "sure, yeah, April, whatever girl, go for it..."
I'd like to be a bit of a snob and tell you that I had never placed or answered a personal ad through The Indy, but that would be a fib. Sure, we all had. And except getting a couple of one-night stands between the three of us and Carolyn getting a bout of chlymaedia from her own personal ad Prince Charming that time, we all had as much collective luck using the personals as a vegan vegetarian trying to get laid at a cattleman's convention. But still, when we would have one of our lazy weekend afternoon henparties, invariably one of us would pick an Indy, and begin the game of poking fun at the poor, desperate people who placed the ads, our own pots calling their collective kettles black.
Anyway, April did write to her bald-faced truth-teller, she jumped his bones on their first date, and she let him move with her a couple of weeks later full-time since he was staying so much at her place or his place anyway. That was close to a year ago, and they're still together. I admit it, her luck answering her Jose Altimataha's ("call me 'Al' ") bluntly honest to the point of self-brutality ad got me thinking. That, and the fact I hadn't been laid in months myself, having had only two real dates in those same said months.
I knew, I KNOW how average I appear to most people. But, I also know that, I am NOT. My first Rayvon opened my sexuality up like someone growing then picking the first perfect rose, and since then all I had been ever to find were guys who weren't interested in growing and tending my flower, only picking it, but picking it only on their terms. I admit, hell yes, it had been a frustrating twenty-one years going without a man who was unafraid of my femininity, i.e., who'd didn't think my periods were a total turn-off instead of a total turn-on like Ray did. Jheezzz. They want you to swallow their Clorox-smelling come and wash their dirty shit-stained underwear for them, but then when you have your period, instant fucking celibacy like my tiny flow of blood was some sort of fucking communicable disease that they could catch (yeah, I wish!) or something instead of not just natural but also such an integral part of my femininity and sexuality. In other words, while in relationships, I was getting damn tired of having to play with myself while on my period and give way too many damn blowjobs to keep them happy instead of getting some nice hard cock "during" like any REAL man like my Rayvon showed me that a real man enjoys. And oral sex during my period? Ha! Forget that.
My menstrual flow tastes a lot more palatable than their vitamin-and-beer-smelling whiteshit that comes out of their wee-wees, just tasting a little metallic but nothing more, but would they ever go down on me on my period after they nagged me to death for a blowjob because they were just too much like frightened little boys instead of like a real man, because they were too damn squeamish about putting their cocks inside my pre-lubricated pussy, like little boys too afraid to put their wormies on a hook? Nnnnnooooo....damn wusses.
But, now, don't read more to this than what I'm trying to say. It's not, repeat, NOT about me enjoying just sex on my period (most days and times that is, unless I'm clotting a lot). No, it's about attitude. A correct and proper masculine attitude that says to the world "I am a man, not a wuss...I am man, hear me be quietly strong...I embrace my own masculinity as much as I embrace my ladypartner's femininity...her human condition and reality does not scare me, nor does my quiet but very real masculinity frighten her". Know what I'm trying to say? It's about having the self-confidence, self-assurance, self-knowledge, maturity, but also what my dad called "keeping the fun-loving, kid-part of life" always in you. It's about my real-man partner accepting me as his real-female one, his yang matching my yin.
So, perhaps inspired by my girlfriend April's success of meeting her Al through the Indy personals, I decided to try my luck one more time, one LAST time, two or three previous tries producing the non-luck mentioned earlier. This time, no-holds-barred. Either I get exactly what I want, or screw men, well, at least the personals, for good. To get what I wanted, I had to say what I wanted. My verbatim ad copy, the first 25 words of which each week were free because I was a single female placing an ad for a single male but the rest of which I had to put on my Visa since it was going to run four consecutive weeks for a total of around fifty bucks, that I used is below.
"SWF, 34 (will show DL if requested), 5'6", 135 lb.s, br. hair and eyes, average looks, average figure, ND, NS except when I'm out clubbing, light drink, small feet, average job, car, and apartment, seeks an extraordinary man. He must be within five years in age of either side of mine and within five inches of height of either side of mine. He must not have ever used intravenous drugs, or ever had sex with another man under any circumstances. He must be able to read a newspaper aloud to me (I'm also literate) to tell me the funny parts over morning coffee. Being divorced and even kids are okay, as long as your ex isn't a nutcase. Must have job, car, telephone, and not be homeless. If you're online and computer literate, great, if not, no biggie. Must not have current girlfriend. Must give me a reason in your letter to me to WANT to pick up the phone and call you. I want someone who's unafraid of their own masculinity, but isn't a jerk. I want someone who is unafraid of the totality of my femininity, but who isn't a doormat. I want someone who is basically monogamous, but who is totally free in their own sexuality and enjoys all aspects of their partner's sexuality, including every-day-all-month long expressions of it. Must send non-nude full body and face photo, which will be returned if you enclose an SSAE, along with your HOME telephone number (absolutely no pager numbers, and no work numbers either) and best time to call. I'll send you my photo in return, before we meet, if requested. Reply Box@@@@@."
Boy, did that ever bring "them" out of the woodwork! I didn't want to come right out and say bluntly "hey guy, don't bother writing if you don't enjoy or at least mind having sex during your partner's period", so I used the closest non-offensive euphemistic phrase I could come up with, "enjoys...every-day-all-month long expressions of it". Boy, did that ever bring "them" out of the woodwork!
While I did get a handful of sincere responses from some seemingly nice guys who were "potentials", the perverts really smelled the blood in my ad, pardon the pun. Several sent me tampons or pads to wear for them during my next period, along with ziploc bags and postage-paid envelopes for their prompt return. One sent me a maxipad for me to (and I swear I'm not making this up) autograph and return to him (I still don't get that....why?). Another handful wanted to buy my used blood-stained underwear and/or used Kotex's and Tampax's. One guy offered me $50 for a set of blood-stained panties and fresh-stained maxi from my next period, and hey, $50 IS $50, and sure I thought about it, for all of less than a millisecond. In the end, all the moronic crap went where it belonged in the first place, in the trash...my neighbor's trash.
But among the three out of the over one hundred responses that I kept and meditated on for a few days before beginning to make the initial phone calls, Sandy's stuck out, so I saved him for last. Reginald Jerome was a nice young black guy with a Porsche (his photo showed him shirtless, his nicely built bare chest, contrasting to the red of his Porsche 911 as he propped up one knee on the front bumper) but in the end, was still just 24 and ten years younger than I, five too many, and Dwight was a nice single guy who had his own house and was partners in a podiatric practice but who didn't know what zitta was and who basically lacked self-confidence so badly that he couldn't string two sentences let alone two thoughts together while talking to me that first phone call, so that left Sandy.
I don't know why, but almost from getting his letter, I just felt that Sandy was "the one". Maybe it was because he lightly scented his letter with a dab of Blue Water cologne, my favorite. Maybe it was because in his llllooonnnggg five page letter he didn't talk about sex at all, except in his alludation to a menstruation-related quote from a poem by Sylvia Plath "...as the moon riseth high/my heart runneth over gladly/in the endless night sky/as deeply as my feminity doth badly...", a perfect coupling of my request and his acknowledgment of it. The fact he included two photos of himself by himself, and two more of he and his twelve-year-old son. The fact that without pity or too much pain, he talked of losing his wife two years ago, and enclosed a copy of her death certificate, which I first thought was a tad too morbid for a first letter, he explaining that he wanted to make sure I understood he was definitely single. The fact that he used his street address at an apartment complex not two miles from where I lived, not a post office box, for me to reply to, enclosing an SSAE for the return of his photos and requesting one or two of me with their return. The fact that while he was a Mercedes mechanic at Masden Motors, who sold rebuilt and re-conditioned used Mercedes not too far from where both he and I worked and lived, he only made $35,000 or so a year, and "while I can give you my heart, my soul, my passion, my honesty, and my eternity, I'll never be able to give you a Mercedes, not even a used one like the kind I work on all day for my daily bread". That WAS sweet.
I waited a couple of days or so until I knew the return SSAE with my photos would have been stuffed in his box, and then called him. That first night, we talked for almost five hours, from eight until two a.m., about any and everything. Half-bragging, half-complaining, he told me that he had been to bed with less than half a dozen women before marrying his wife fifteen years ago at age twenty-two, and only had one serious relationship translate:sex since her passing two years ago. He made it very clear he was looking for a committed, serious, monogamous relationship, though he also admitted that he would consider all and any options that a potential partner want to bring up as potential fantasy, reality, or something in between as long as there was total one-hundred-percent emotional fidelity, and that he was not just looking for a stepmom for his son, but rather, a lifepartner for himself, "as long as she likes to fish, and will bait her own hook". "I've never fished in my life..." I told him honestly "...will you teach me?".
Even though one of the two photos of himself that he had originally sent me was he in front of what looked to be a nice-looking jonboat (which I soon found out was a very expensive bassboat), hell, I didn't know, it was still a great surprise to me that he insisted that for our first date, that he take me fishing on Harris Lake.
When he came to pick up for our first date that Saturday at 5 a.m. for our "fishing date", instead of the jeans and sweatshirt he asked me to wear I had put on a nice, black, form-fitting miniskirt, figuring he had something special planned for me. He had indeed. Two hours later, we were on Harris Lake, me in jeans and sweats, baiting my own hook at the end of a bamboo cane pole with a squirmy, wiggly worm. The conversation was going well all morning, almost a continuation of our one long phone call which had gone on for several nights running prior to our actually meeting face-to-face that morning, but our words were paced between and betweext casts from his various rods and reels he was working with. Along mid-morning, I was getting tired of killing innocent worms and crickets and even a couple of live coachroaches (yyyeeccchhh!) he had brought for me to use as live bait yes but more of a test of my sincerity I think and wasn't catching my first fish ever anyway, so he gave me a rod and reel and showed me how to cast it. My second or third cast, I caught a large, largemouth bass he said it was, which weighed in at six pounds or so, Sandy saying it was the largest anyone with him had ever caught. He caught a couple of smaller ones a while after that, and for the rest of the day, we just baked in the sun and ate Nabs and drank Old Milwaukee and Rolling Rock pulled from beneath the icey water from the built-in cooler in his Bassmaster Classic boat.
Around noon-ish, we hadn't had any nibbles in over an hour, so he fired the engine up and kicked it in and went zooming down the expanse of Harris Lake to a small cove within sight of the massive nuclear cooling tower of CP&L's, which Harris Lake supplied the cooling water for. Gently, I asked him if it wasn't time or close to it for lunch.
"Why do you think I brought you back here for, Patricia?"
Easing the boat up on a shallow, sandy part of the shore, he helped me off the boat and onto dry land. Boy, did my legs feel wobbly. Not so much from the rocking of the boat in the waves, though that was part of it, but from my Sandy's devastatingly handsome smile plastered across that secure face atop that nicely built but obviously thirty-seven-year-old frame of his and those deep brown almost India-ink-black eyes as he smiled and talked with me as we stretched our legs walking along the shore, his arm reaching and pulling to him. As a crazy seagull a hundred miles too far inland buzzed us looking for a handout from us or dead fish that we might throw to back in the lake, my arm clutched at his waist, and he planted one on me. He didn't try to do the tongue thing. He smiled through his kiss of me. I kissed him right back, and smiled, my tongue licking his lips, not piercing between them. We turned and hugged and kissed for a moment, connecting. Damn, he felt good holding me. It felt great being held, held and kissed like that. I didn't pull away until I felt that roll of dimes start to grow into quarters inside his pants pocket.
Leading back to near the boat, he pointed to a faded, worn old blanket laying on the ground in a clearing under a big oak tree near the shore. Lifting it up, a picnic lunch, no, a picnic buffet awaited us. He must have gotten up at three that morning to make his way to this isolated spot and set everything up. Impressed, yes, more by the fact that he had gone to all that trouble just to try to impress me. Sweet.
Champagne, a decent domestic, inside a small Igloo cooler along with two fluted glasses. Inside a larger cooler, several kinds of cheeses and deli meats. Inside a woven picnic basket, several pieces of chicken he confessed that had been bought from the Colonel, a loaf of French bread, and a couple of different boxes of crackers. Nice. No, not nice. Perfect. Popping the plastic "cork", he insisted I have the honor of doing the toast. I felt like offering "to us", but this was our first date, my rising hormones and horns for this man aside. So, I partook of "to a perfect day with a nice new friend, and many more hopefully to share". Glasses clicked. Cheeses and meats and crackers were shared, feeding each other. My sweattop was getting hot, as the heat of the day was rising along with my desire for my Sandy. So, it came off. He looked a tad shocked for just a second, realizing quickly that I had put on a bikini swimtop and not a regular bra underneath, almost looking disappointed for a split-second, poor thing.
Despite having slathered on half a bottle of SPF 35 sunscreen earlier that morning, my arms unaccustomed to being out in the sun all day were started to show some redness where my short-sleeve sweatshirt hadn't covered. Sandy noticed them and noticed my slightly less-stage of dress and offered to lather my arms and my newly bare lilywhite almost pale skin up with more sunscreen. His lathering up of me turned into a slow, sensual massage of my back and neck. His hands opened my backclasp of my swimtop open, as my folded arms held the front part of it in place still, covering my breasts from his view, not teasing, just not letting things get out of hand. His strong, somewhat rough hands from grinding his living working on his Mercedes millstones during his workdays worked their strong but tender magic into my back and neck muscles as he continued to lather enough sunscreen on me to protect me if we had been on Mercury instead of Earth. I didn't mind. His attentive touch felt sssooooo good to me, not having been touched in sssooooo long. As he leaned in and began trying to nibble on my earlobe as his hands reached around to try to pry my hands away from holding my swimtop tight to my breasts and away from his eyes and touch, I bounded standing up, telling him but making sure I used the right tone of voice not to discourage him too much that "this is our first date...Sandy...I like you, I really do...but not...this much on our first date...I only meet you four hours ago, Sandy...I hope you understand".
He seemed a little miffed as he knew he had to feel and a lot disappointed as I also knew he had to feel, but my Sandy was a keeper, and I wasn't going to let him get away by breaking the line by trying to reel him or let himself be reeled in too fast. Later that afternoon, as the fish continued to refuse to bite any more and the sun began baking us, I asked him to retreat to a shady cove I noticed on the other side of the lake. In the shade, as we both fished beers from the cooler, simultaneously bending kind of down and to one side, our mouths came dangerously close to one another. Rising up a tad, I planted one on him. God, how I wanted him.
God, how I wanted him. I just wanted him to kiss me back with all the passion that I felt rising in me, throw me down on the floor of the boat, and take me right then. But my Prince Sandy, after being gently rebuffed earlier from proceeding further, wasn't going to take the chance of being rebuffed again, not today. So, I let him get to second base. Using the trolling motor to slip in this tiny slip of a shady alcove part of this cove away from any possible prying eyes save someone coming clear across the lake and dead right on us, Sandy sat down atop his captain's chair as my still-jeans-covered butt ground into his lap. We made out for a half hour or more like two high schoolers, not two grown-up mid-thirty-somethings. Pulling his hand to the back of my bikini top, he took the hint and flicked the clasp open, letting my top drop. His face buried itself in my cleavage. God, Sandy, I wanted you soooo baddddlllyyy, right then. We kissed and kissed more as he passionately sucked on my nipples and played with my boobs. I'm glad he took the hint. I wanted him, and wanted him badly, not just all the way, not just right then. "I guess I 'better not start something that you don't want to finish on our first date..." he mumbled with trying smile through his mild frustration, as he stood up and I slid off of his lap, retrieving my swimtop from the floor, eeerrr, deck.
Our second date was a more conventional but none the less not less boring one. Dinner, and a movie. Not just any dinner, and not just any movie. Another picnic meal, but this time not at a lake, but inside a huge, white, stretch Mercedes limo with eight passenger doors and more room inside it than my apartment that he had been reconditioning at work and which his boss let him have permission to take to test drive and use on our date. Eating from two large grocery bags full of assorted Chinese take-out he had ordered from Canton Cafe, we just snuggled and smooched in the cavernous rear passenger area as we stuffed food down each other's gullet as a friend of his drove us aimlessly around Raleigh. He having picked that part of the date, he let me pick the second part, the movie. Wanting to show him I was no prude and hadn't been fibbing in the intent by the words of my original ad that had brought us together, I picked "Sands Of Passion" playing over at the Carolina Theatre in nearby Durham, a foreign film like the Carolina was wont for scheduling a lot.
"Sands" was according the reviews in the "Weekend" section of the paper an import from Israel about two women archaeologists who meet and fall in love while excavating some archaeological site in Palestine. While the review mentioned it had nudity and sex, I hadn't expected half the footage to show the two main characters in bed, actually, in "cot" together or in bathtub or anywhere they could be naked and screwing together. Their love story as portrayed on screen as we continued our non-offensive mild PDA (public display of affection) snuggling and light kissing was hot, passionate, believable. Their incredibly hot lesbian lovemaking as portrayed on screen as we continued our non-offensive mild PDA (public display of affection) snuggling and now full-blown kissing was hot, passionate, believable. Coming out of the theater, our door being opened by Sandy's friend dressed out in full chauffeur's uniform playing his part to a "T", we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and could barely keep our clothes on. Sandy told him our date was about over, as he winked that sly wink of his at me, and for him to drive on home, that he'd take over from there.
My Sandy took over from there alright. After his friend drove us and himself to his apartment in north Raleigh, Sandy speed through town, sometimes going 40 or 50 through downtown's 15 and 20 miles per hour speed zones, until we got to Brown's Mill Lane, a dirt road that used to be an infamous "parking spot" when I was in high school. Off of Lake Wheeler Road, with the best view of what there is of Raleigh's modest skyline, it was the closest thing our little hometown had to offer to be a relative of Mulholland Drive. As the traffic lights bleed their colors onto I-40 way below our vantage point and the light of the Raddison Plaza and One and Two Hanover square sparkled downtown several miles away like giant concrete trees covered in early night moonlit night dew, Sandy eased himself from the driver's seat to his king's throne beside me in the passenger living room, it was way too big to call it anything else, in the back with me.
It was already close to midnight, and it was a weeknight. Damn. Why couldn't it have been a fri or sat night? Shit.
"Sandy...what about your son?"
"What about him?..." he half-fussed at me as we tore into each other's clothes, unzipping and unbuttoning ourselves and each other as fast as our fingers would let us.
"What about his school tomorrow?"
"He's twelve years old, Pat, don't worry...ever since his mother died, he's become quite the indepedent young man, he has his own alarm, he gets his own self up in the morning and gets his own self dressed...okay?..." he replied with rising irritation "...don't worry, he'll be fine...here, I can't unbutton this damn collar button...here, do it for me, please, Pat...I WANT YOU, NOW!!!"
Naked, we jumped each other like two snakes coming out of our respective long, dry, celibate winter hibernations. Writhing around on the massive leather-covered benchseat, our legs never touched the "suicide seat" facing us, the passenger cavity inside the limo being so big, as our tongues and mouths and hands found whatever they were looking for in our shared passions.
I wanted his cock and wanted it NOW. Sandy urging me for a blowjob, I told him "no way, Sandy-Zay, that hunk of manhood's not going to be wasted in my mouth, it's going in my pussy, and it's going there NOW!!!".
Shoving me roughly but not cruelly against the back of the seat as his weight and mass scrushed my tits flat into the flush leather as I knelt facing away from on the seat, his Trojan-rolled cock slammed it's way home, popping open vaginal muscles that had become too tight and some atrophied from lack of recent use. His hands reached for my breasts and mauled them as he literally screwed me, rotating his butt and leg motions into random clockwise and counter-clockwise circular rhythms, as I craned my neck around to kiss him and his hand one moment ago on my boobs now found my clit as he reached around and his fingers mashed at it.
"Your face...Sandy...flip me around...fuck me on top...I want to see your face..."
He didn't just flip me he tornadoed me around, throwing me down onto the limo's passion furniture as he plunged once again into me. "Kiss me...SANDY...KISS ME!!!" I screamed at him as the tip of his cock finally burrowed its way to my cervix, making me hiccup a few times from painful pleasure as it bumped its pointy end into the eye of my femininity. Grabbing his ass, begging for more by my own assertive actions more than my mere passive words, I pulled him even tighter to me as he thrust deeper, rubbing my clit and G-spot inside me with his cock-motions, forcing not one but two quick cyprinne-squirting orgasms from not just inside my cunt but from inside my very soul. No, well, yes, it was the passion of the moment, but it was also the epiphany of patience rewarded, that I knew right then what our future would be. Sandy looked at me with a mild surprise at my flooding him out with my liquid G-spot come volume, but just smiled, continued to kiss me as he continued to pound even harder if possible away at my pussy, with a "wow, Pat, that was great, you ARE all woman, aren't you?."
Feeling his hard dropping maybe just a tad but it also pulsing slightly with the impendence of his orgasm to come soon, having had mine, I rolled him off me, pulled his condom off his beautiful hard, and sucked his cock with every bit of skill and passion I could. And, for the first time in my life, in thousands of times making love with my toes-and-fingers-full-count of lovers past, actually enjoyed swallowing his load as he pumped it like a Clorox-y geyser to the back of my throat. From feeling almost tooooo good, he simultaneously tried to shove my head further down on his cock, then an instant later from the same pleasure wave would tell me to stop as he pushed my head away, then would be beg me not to stop, this going for a full minute or more until his hard finally went limp and the last of his come slid into my stomach.
Being ever my Prince Sandy, after a moment's recovering his mouth sought out mine, as our tongues exchanged saliva and the residue of his come from my mouth to his. He didn't mind at all. He reveled in it, his tongue scraping mine clean as we kissed and our hands pulled our passions tighter to each other. Nudging me back down, his face buried in my cunt, lapping at me like he was licking a large bowl of cyprinne-come-icing clean. Though a hair surprised I think by the volume of my come, he wasn't afraid of it, wasn't shy about seeking to swallow every tasty drop of mine as I had done with his moments earlier. My eyes closed and my lips smiled as my legs fell open wider and his fingers poked and prodded my happy pussy as his oral ministrations of me continued. Then, he stopped as I half-faked half-realed another little orgasm, knowing we both had to go to work tomorrow. As we got dressed in the light of the dim domelights and interior door lights inside my Dear's borrowed limo, a Raleigh cop pulled up behind us and flashed his blue lights and siren. Being fortunately dressed by the time he walked first to the driver side window and then to one of the rear ones, he quite literally laughed at us when I rolled the window down and he saw that we weren't teen-agers. "You two old farts go on home now, before you have a story which will be funny to tell your grandkids fifty years from now but won't be funny for the next twenty-four hours for you two, if you get my drift". We did. Dropping me at my front door in my white princess carriage that had to be turned back into a pumpkin once more in a few minutes, we kissed at my door for the longest time. I didn't want Sandy to leave, I wanted him to come in, but we both needed at least a couple of hours of sleep before work the next day. I didn't sleep at all the rest of the night, hugging my extra pillow tight to me as I dreamed a waking dream of my Prince Sandy.
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 clichéd 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.
"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 our steaks.
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 soirée 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.
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.
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 Best Man.
My soon-husband-to-be Sandy drove cautiously down from Raleigh on US 1 towards Chesterfield S.C. as I know my manual stimulation then blowjobbing of him had to be distracting, distracting on purpose. The rising passions offered and accepted from the night before continued without abatement. Sandy's 12-year-old son, Greg, watched with bemused disinterest from the backseat as now matter how hard I tried I couldn't get Sandy to even acknowledge getting a supreme blowjob. After last night, it's not like he was watching something new.
Stopping for gas in Southern Pines, I hopped into the backseat with Greg.
"Mom" he said "let's play some like we did last night" I nodding "sure", his hands gently mauling my breasts through my top, he calling me "Mom" each time just thrilling me to no end.
"What would my handsome stepson like to do, hhhmmm?"
"Pull your pants down and masturbate for me, now, please."
For a twelve-year-old, shoot for a forty-two year-old he had a masterful way about him, just like his Dad. I complied immediately. My hand found my slit as I wantonly splayed my legs open for him. He just smiled as my hand gently frigged myself.
A trucker passing by us on the narrow two-lane US highway beeped his horn in appreciation of the split-second show. Greg shoved a single index finger up my cunt as I played with myself, worked it in and out a little, then licked my juices on it clean. God, what a perfect life! What a perfect marriage, what a perfect stepson, what a perfect husband I had lucked up on!
Stopping at the rest stop just across the South Carolina line, we went to our respective restroom sides to change clothes, Sandy and Greg into business suits, me into a nice white formal-looking but not necessarily bridal-looking dress.
The wedding ceremony itself was a blur to me. I do remember that the Justice Of The Peace was evidently the same one that married Sandy and his first (now deceased) wife Beverly. I do remember both Sandy and Greg kissing me full on the lips after the ceremony. No, wait, that was 24 hours later. Damn, it was a blur, and we didn't bring our video camera either, damn it all, shoot!
I remember now. There was a 24 hours waiting period after getting the license before we could legally be married, and the Clerk Of Court office was closed on the weekends. Sandy had to bribe the JOP a hundred-spot to marry us the following afternoon at the Justice Of The Peace's house.
That night our pre-wedding-honeymoon went full bore. Lots of fucking and sucking both and they each other, sure, and lots of tie-up and whipping games for me, too.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I mentioned to Sandy through my gag as I lay completely bound and helpless on the bed that while Greg was going to be his best man, I didn't have a maid of honor.
"Oh yes, you will, Pat-ty Dear. That was going to be a surprise tomorrow, but I'll go ahead and tell you now. My sister Kate, Kathryn, you remember meeting her when she came over that time for dinner when we first started dating, is driving down early tomorrow morning. She's going to be your maid of honor, is that okay?"
"Well, I would have preferred to have my best friend Carol be my maid of honor" I choked out as my ballgag was removed "but sure, I like Kate, that's fine."
"I'm glad you like, Kate, Dear, because she's also going to participate in our honeymoon tomorrow night."
All color in my face was lost. I tried to get angry, but I couldn't. I simply loved my loves too damn much. "What else you want to tell me, hu?" I asked with noticeable irritation.
Greg went up to go the bathroom, sliding off the bed without glancing back at me, as my Sandy undid my bounds and pulled up me up close to him.
"I told you how Beverly was raised in an incestuous family, and that's how she got us to be one?"
"Uh-hu, yeah, your point?" my slight hurt not being hid.
"Well, of course, Bev was bi, with her mother, her sisters, her aunts, etc., and when to make a long story short, she 'seduced' Kate when Greg was around five or six, then set up a scene where I pretended to catch the two of them in bed, which in the end resulted in the four of us having regular but not frequent sex together. Beverly loved women too, Pat, and I was never going to deny her anything."
"And just why didn't you mention this before now? It's not like you couldn't have" my irritation now rising into mild anger and more hurt.
"Because after you accepted Greg and mine's relationship and your place in it, you are our sex slave, Pat, my wife, I didn't think it necessary."
"You didn't think it was - necessary - ?!? What the fuck were you thinking!?! Not necessary!!!"
He turned to look away for a moment and just stared at the bed quietly. "Nope, it wasn't necessary. Pat, I love you more than anything or anyone else ever, save Greg" as Greg came back naked into the cheap hotel bedroom from the Lysol-smelling bathroom, plopping down on the bed with us "but you accepted your place as our sex slave the other night, when you agreed to be my wife. Beverly was our sex slave too, Dear, but she was our willing one, she was the one that introduced us to this lifestyle."
"But I've never been with another woman, San-ddddd-eeee" I hissed back at him.
"That's not the point. As much as I love you, the only way you'll ever be wife to -us- is not just freely but eagerly be our sexslave, just like Greg's mom was. And that means you do what we say, when we say, how we say. You can ask for anything, Pat, my love, but I, we, decide."
"Well, I decide that this is a crock of shit and I want no part of it. Take me home, now!"
Dead silence for more than a couple of moments. Greg got dressed, then Sandy, as I lay joined them in putting on some clothes. Neither of them looked at me. Greg's face showed a single tear drop running down his cheek. Sandy's face was beet-red with disappointment and hurt. The still quiet of the rural South Carolina night rung like a giant churchbell portending of something major to come. I didn't know what, they didn't know what.
"You never said how long this thing with your sister Kate has been going on."
"Since you've decided not to be my wife, I don't think it's any of your damn business."
"Sandy . . . Sandy, I love you more than my life itself, but you can't keep springing shit on me like this. Answer this one question, and I'll never ask anything like it again."
My love sat down the foot of the bed with a thud, burying his face in his hands for a moment as he did. Greg eased down beside him. I took my place across from them, setting on the old and cigarette-burned chest-of-drawers.
"I just told you, stupid bitch, that it's been going on since Greg was six or seven."
"You just told me since he was five or six, which is it?"
"Stupid bitch, why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"
I don't know what came over me. Leaping up just three or four feet from him, I slapped him hard across the face. It couldn't have hurt much. I didn't leave a handprint. "Don't call me 'stupid bitch' or anything else like that ever again, got it?!!?"
A look of rage came across his face for a split-second then immediately went away. "Got it" was all he said.
I was at a loss. Damn, the one true love of my life, and I couldn't get a rise out of him. A flood of future memories swept across my mind. Memories of times to come happy, times to come sad, times to come in all colors and shapes and sizes. I started crying. Not just crying, bawling worse than a baby.
Greg came over to me and sat beside me atop the low dresser with a "Mom, Mom, please don't cry, please don't cry!" his own crying chorusing, tears running down his cheeks.
Sandy came over and joined our hug. For the longest time, we just hugged as we all three cried tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of relief. Then from nowhere, Sandy pulled back for a second and slapped me across my right cheek as hard as he could, with a "Pat, if you ever strike me again, our marriage will be at that moment over, got it?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what, yes?"
"Yes, Sandy, your stupid bitch gets it; yes, Master, I get it."
A grin so wide he could have played four harmonicas simultaneously came over him as he kissed me passionately on the lips, Greg joining in too.
"And you will obey us at all times in the future?"
"Yes, my Masters, I will, your wife, your slave promises."
"Then let's go to sleep, it's been a long day" we three sleeping like puppies in a basket all contented and happy that night.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Morning light was accentuated by a sharp rap at the door. I knew it had to be Kate. Sandy was good, very good. I had been with them for seventy-two hours straight and still couldn't figure out how he managed to call Kate and set all this up without my knowledge.
"Mom, get the door, please" Greg sweetly commanded me as his hand gave my tit a good-morning squeeze.
Easing off the bed I tried to ease my old nightshirt, one of Sandy's old oversized teeshirts, but half-sleepily he mumbled fussed at me "no", a "you will stay naked when you're with us from now on" admonition.
"But what if it's the maid?"
"Then she'll see a naked slave" he only half-jokingly replied.
Kate gave me a warm hug as I opened the door for her. If she was to be my first woman, at least she was going to be a nice one. Sweet by nature, smiling always and easily, her natural dirty blond straight hair and wonderful figure stretched out on her five eight frame, it was going to be okay, I had to keep telling myself that.
"Did Sandy explain things to you?"
"Not really, Kate, other than the fact that Beverly seduced you then set up a scene where Sandy pretended to catch you and her and that was that."
"Yes, that's true, but there's more. Have you guys had breakfast yet?"
"Nope, we were alseep, you woke us up."
"Good. I've brought breakfast. Biscuits from Hardee's okay?"
"I'm still not sure about this, Kate."
"What's there to be sure of, hhhmm? I know what Sandy told you; either you are his and Greg's slave, or he won't marry you."
"How did you know that?"
"I've known everything since day one, Pat. Tell you what; let's leave the biscuits for them, let's you and I go somewhere and talk, just us girls, okay?"
We left the guys still asleep cuddled together and drove back into downtown Chesterfield to the Hardee's there, getting some sausage biscuits and a couple of coffees before walking the two or three blocks to Esterling Park which also happened to be right next to the courthouse. Finding a secluded bench away from the main footpaths, we sat next to each other and talked as we ate.
"If Sandy had told me about this, about you, Kathryn, before bring me down here to get married, I wouldn't have been as upset."
"Don't BS me, Pat" she smiled without sarcasm "you're about as straight as they come, we've known that since Day One."
"Who's this 'we' shit, Kate?"
"Sandy, Greg, and me, silly. They've told me everything since Sandy answered your ad way back when."
"Everything?"
"Everything. Pat, it's not like this is strange to me. Beverly was sex slave to me too, within the context of her and Sandy's marriage, and remember, she was the one that seduced -me- then eventually let me in on their family secret. She was the one who showed me how much fun just letting go and enjoying can be. I was also sex slave to her sometimes, I'm what they call a 'switch', and am always sex slave to Sandy and Greg, though it's never really formal, they simply do what they will with me."
"And how long has this been going on?"
"Ever since Greg was six. I used to come over around once a month to play with them. Since Bev died, I've been coming over around a couple of times a month, when we all want the sex. It's no big deal."
No big deal. No big deal?!? How could she say such a thing?
"Sandy made it very clear to me last night either I accept my place as his and Greg's slave."
"Which you already have, judging by your actions the other night."
How the hell did she know about that?
"And part of that is evidently being your lesbian slave to you, too, correct?"
"If that's what Sandy said, uh-hu."
More thoughts raced through my mind than I can recall right now. One thought stuck out in particular.
"Kate?"
"Uh-hu?"
"What's the real plan? Are you going to become part of this family, live with us full-time? If so, then I'll just tell Sandy no-thanks when we get back. Sharing him and Greg is one thing, having to share with some sort of co-wife is unacceptable, simply unacceptable.
Her face went blank for a moment before she spoke once again.
"Pat, Sandy truly does love you more than anything else in this world. He's not a liar, and he hasn't lied about that. His love for you is very real."
"Uh-hu; I hear a 'but' coming?"
"But he and Greg got spoiled by Beverly and they never thought that could find that kind of love, that kind of marriage ever again. Now they have, in you. I can't speak for Sandy, Pat, my dear soon-to-be sister-in -law, but I will tell you that I've been living with a long-term boyfriend whom I also love very much and whom I'll marry one day and who has no idea what I've been doing with Sandy and Greg nor will he ever, so the short answer to your question is: no, except for coming over every now and then to play some with you guys, no, I won't ever be what you call a 'co-wife'. Okay?"
I shuffled my feet on the concrete walk below the park bench, staring at the tops of my shoes as I thought for a moment.
"I've never been with a woman before, Kate."
"Oh, I hadn't either before Bev; trust me, you'll enjoy it, you'll see."
"Okay, then, okay. I do love Sandy and Greg so much."
"I know you do. Now, kiss me, slave."
An old couple sat on a bench just a hundred feet or so away from us. They had been feeding the pigeons and eavesdropping on our conversation best they could, not making an attempt to hide such. I kissed Kate firmly on the lips, just to give the oldsters a thrill. My hand lightly squeezed one her breasts for a second before releasing as my tongue wrestled with hers.
"Ready to go back?"
"Uh-hu; ready to get married?"
"Yes, yes I am; and thanks for being my maid of honor."
"You're welcome."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The ceremony at the home of the JP that Sandy had to bribe to marry us because it was a Saturday is definitely a blur. I do remember being kissed by Sandy and Greg both, and come to think of it, Kate too, much to the delight of the same old Justice O' The Peace who had also married Sandy and Bev all those years before.
Chesterfield South Carolina being a very small town right off US Number One Highway in the middle of northern South Carolina nowhere lacked a decent steak house or fancy restaurant to have our impromptu wedding reception at, so we ate at Yellow Bird Barbecue, ate some sort of pork BBQ that was smothered in some sort of heavy mustard barbecue sauce. Different, definitely different.
Back at the old roadside motel just inside the town limits on old US 1, it was virtually empty that weekend save one other car at the far end, my Sandy carried me over the threshold much to delight of Kate and Greg, my new stepson continuing to take photos of the proceedings. Once inside and the door closed, Greg kissed me again full on the lips then Kate too. My crotch was becoming damp with anticipation.
"Well, hate to do this, but gotta run, guys" Kate said as she hugged me good-bye. What the hey?
"Thanks for coming down to be Pat's maid-of-honor, I owe you one."
"I'll cash it in later, brother, but Tom is waiting for me at home, gotta run, see ya!"
I know I had a look of total disbelief on my face. All this set-up, and now she wasn't going to stay to play with us?
"I . . . I thought she was going to stay and be part of our honeymoon; Sandy?"
"We let you think what you wanted to, Dear; she will play with us sometime, just not right now."
"But; but?; but"
"But what Dear? You really want to be with her that badly?"
"Uh, yeah, Hon', I do."
Kate and her brother my husband shot each other looks and then shrugged shoulders at each other.
"Okay, slave, you can be with me for a short while, then I gotta go."
As Sandy and son Greg undressed each other and climbed naked atop the lumpy motel bed, hands slowly jacking each other off, Kate stood before me, her pink dress nicely contrasting to my all-white near-bridal-dress. She caressed my face in her hands, removed my bridal veil from my bunned hair, letting my hair fall to my shoulders as she unclipped it. Her hands massaged by breasts through the thick fabric before she turned me around to unzip me, helping me slip out of it and clipping to a hanger so it wouldn't get wrinkled. Then shoes, then pantyhose. I stood before her in my bra and panties as Sandy got up from the bed for a second to help her undress, sitting back down with Greg as he finished.
"You are so beautiful, Pat, Sandy and Greg are so lucky."
"I'm the lucky one, Kate."
"We are all lucky. Remove your panties and bra. Bend over my knee after I sit down, slave."
"Yes, uuhmmm, yes Mistress."
Sitting on the side of the bed with Sandy and Greg very close to us behind us, I knelt over my Mistress's lap, exposing my bare bottom to her touch.
"Count, slave."
"Yes, Mistress."
Seee-llaaappp! I don't think I had ever been hit so hard by anyone in my life. I knew she had to have left a bruise.
"One!" I cried out. Then two, then three, then before I could catch my breath good, had counted up to twenty. Mistress now hand her hand shoved inside me, fisting me for a moment.
"Taste!"
I licked my feminine essence for all I was worth. All I wanted to do was please her. Please her and my Sandy and Greg.
"Is my Mistress pleased?"
"Yes, slave. Now, on your back."
Mistress shoved her tongue up my pussy as Sandy and Greg began a slow sixty-nine of each other just inches away. She licked my pussy for three or four minutes before grabbing my shoulder with a "now do me, slave!"
I didn't need any orders. Spreading her legs wide for me, my mouth found her pudenda. I licked her pussy and pussylips with every ounce of passion I had. She grabbed by hair and forced my face harder into her crotch, coming quickly.
Her eyes closed as she rested for a moment, my face still between her legs. A thought popped into my head.
"Sandy, my love?"
"Yes Dear?"
"You said I could ask for anything I wish for, correct":
"Yes, ask for, but not necessarily receive."
"I understand. Master, would you please make love to Mistress, you and Master Greg? It would excite me so, watching you and your sister and son make love."
Greg stopped his part of his sixty-nine with his father to raise his eyebrows with a "hey, why not?"
Sandy nudged me out of the way and took my place, his firmness sliding inside his sister's well-lubed cunt with ease. As Greg shoved his cock into his aunt's mouth, I took my place underneath my Master and Mistress, licking Sandy's cock while it slid inside his sister and licking her pussylips and anal bud while he fucked her.
"Damn, Pat, that's perfect, keep going!" my Master barked at me.
Greg moved around us and took his position at my rear, shoving his cock inside my vagina as I licked his father and aunt.
"No, honey, make love to Kate, please!"
Bodies scooting around, Kate got on top of Sandy facing him as Greg also entered her cunt as well from behind , their two cocks completely filling her as I took my place to the side of her, cupping and massing her breasts as my lips sucked on her neck. That's about all it took. Sandy soon came, then Greg, then Mistress, then even me just from the passion of the moment, she and I both plopping in a heap next to our menfolk.
"I hate to do this, Pat, you were terrific, really, but I really do have to go back to Raleigh" she whined while getting up to get dressed.
"See you soon, Sis" Sandy called to her from his sexed-out snooze.
"Yeah, see you next week, Aunt Kate?"
"Yeah, probably, Greg-gy."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Over the next three or four months, Kate did become a fixture in our lives, just like she had been when Sandy's first wife Bev had been alive. I was so, so happy. She'd come over sometimes once a week sometimes every other week, sometimes twice a week, just depending. And she was right, not only in my role as slave to her but also just in general I really was starting to enjoy making love to her, woman-to-woman.
One afternoon Greg came home from school with a friend. A -girl- friend, as in friend who was a girl, specifically. A pert, cute, very polite 12-year-old from his fifth grade class by the name of "Beth". I knew what was up from the get-go. Living with my two loves + a half (Kate) for almost six months now, I could read them all like the proverbial books. I knew what was up, and I didn't mind.
"Mom, this is Beth, a friend of mine from school."
"How do you do?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Stewart, thank you."
"Mom, is Dad going to be home soon? There's something I need to talk with you and him about."
"I don't think he's going to be later than usual, Dear, 'should be home around six or so like usual. Is there something -I- can help you with, Hon'?"
Greg looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulder as Beth sat down in Sandy's easychair.
"What's wrong, Hon'?"
"Nuthin', Mom, it's just that . . ." he placing my arm around his waist in a gesture of open affection meant for Beth's benefit "it's just that I like Beth, and she likes me, and I want her to be my girlfriend."
"And you've already told her about us, haven't you?"
His mouth dropped so open I could count his cavities.
"How; how, how did you know, Mom?"
"I can read you and your father like a book by now, young man, that's how."
"Are you mad, Mom? Do you think Dad will be mad?"
"No, I'm not mad. We've had this talk before, haven't we? Your father and I knew this day would come eventually. You knew it too. It's okay, son, it's okay. Give me a hug."
"Thanks, Mom!" he replied under muffled breath as we hugged then kissed on the lips. I watched for any reaction from Beth but there was none. A nice long hug, then I turned my attention to Beth.
"Beth?"
"Yes, Mrs. Stewart?"
"Call me Pat, please."
"Okay Mrs. Stewart, eerrrr, Pat."
"Would you like some milk and cookies? When are you expected to be home?"
"Yes, thank you, that would be nice, and my mom doesn't care when or if I come home tonight."
"Would you mind if I call and confirm that with her?"
"No not at all. My number's 467-8884, you can look it up if you'd like, it's under 'Linda Bond' "
I called the number with suspicion, looking it up in the phone book as the machine caught it. Starting to leave a message, a woman on the other end picked up.
"Linda? Mrs. Bond?"
"Yes, this is Linda, and it's just Ms. not Mrs. Bond; and this is?"
"This Pat Stewart, Greg's mom; he brought your daughter Beth home with him today, and Beth told me that you had okayed her spending the night tonight with us. Is this true?"
"No, it's not. I told her she could spend tomorrow night, Friday night with you and your husband and fine son Greg. Tomorrow night, not tonight."
"Linda? What else did Greg mention to you, if I might ask?"
"Mrs. Stewart, Pat, Greg very discretely told me what kind of relationship you and your husband and he has. Don't worry, I won't call the cops."
"He was supposed to clear any such telling with strangers with us before doing so."
"Please don't punish him, Pat, he's a very good boy, a fine young man. Truth is, he and Beth became friends last year, and it was she that told him what kind of relationship she and I have had since she was seven or so. That's when he told her about his 'real' mom, then about you when you came into their lives. Pat, let me call a spade a spade. I've had an incestuous relationship with my daughter since she was seven. I'm not interested in being with you or your husband and son along with my daughter. Beth is becoming a grown woman, and she needs to make her own decisions. I've had her on the pill for six months now. If she wants to be with Greg and you and your husband, that's her decision. But your secret is safe with me, just as I trust mine will be with you."
"Of course, errrrrr, Linda, of course."
"Let me give you my pager number before we hang up. As long as you and your husband agree, I'll send her to school with enough changes of clothes and all in her gym bag so she can come spend either Friday night or the whole weekend, as you and she wishes."
"Pardon my skepticism, Linda, but could we meet briefly first?"
"Sure. Why don't I come by and pick Beth up later, we can meet then."
"Sounds good. I was going to fix spaghetti for dinner. Can Beth have dinner with us, and you pick her around eight-ish?"
"Sure. That way you can get to know my Beth a little better before tomorrow night."
"Thank you, Linda. You're a great mom!"
I fucking couldn't believe it. My 12-year-old stepson wanted to bring his 12-year-old girlfriend into our relationship, and his girlfriend's mom had been her lesbian lover since age seven and was cool with it. Damn. I wasn't sure what Sandy would say, though.
"Sure, Dear, as long as Linda's for real and doesn't mind, I'm cool with that" was his response. Like I expected him to say anything else, that man of mine.
Linda was a short, somewhat frumpish woman with short brunette hair and glasses. We exchanged hugs at the door as she came in, she and Sandy also exchanging a polite hug. We talked small talk for a while, then another while.
"You're obviously a bit skeptical still, Pat, Sandy; let me put your concerns to ease; Beth, come here please."
Beth walked over to her mother as she sat on the couch between us. Linda kissed her full and hard on the lips. Beth groped her mother's breasts through her black knit top which matched her black knit slacks, Linda rubbing her daughter's twat through her jeans. This went on for a couple of minutes.
"Convinced now?" she asked politely but with mild irritation.
"Yes, for the final time, I don't mean to be ill but yes, Sandy, I'm okay with this. I just don't want to participate. Whatever my Beth chooses to do or not do is fine with me. I know you'll respect her limits and boundaries."
"Of course we will"
"I know you will, Pat."
Greg just grinned ear-to-ear, Beth similarly grinning as she hugged myself and Sandy with a "thank you, Mother Stewart, thanks, Sandy."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Beth and Greg got off the school bus together hand-in-hand, coming through the door with a mutual hug for me.
"Mrs. Stewart"
"Pat, please. Please call me Pat, please."
"Pat, I'm so excited. This is what I've been waiting for, for over a year. I do love Greg."
"I know you do, Hon'."
"And I can't tell you how excited I am that you and Mr. Stewart will be part of everything, too."
"We're looking forward to it ourselves, Beth. Do you need to freshen up before dinner?"
"Yes, please. I remember where the bathrooms are. I'll be right back."
Beth came out from the bathroom sans jeans and teeshirt, wearing a pair of tight gymshorts and an elastic halter top with no bra that formed out her budding 32B breasts.
"Can I help you with anything in the kitchen, Pat?"
"Yes, you can set the plates and silverware for me if you'd like. The chicken ala' Sandy is about ready, it'll stay on warm until Sandy gets home. All I have to do is fix the salad and that's it."
"You are so nice, Pat. Greg's lucky to have you as his mom."
"Thanks, Beth, you're a dear" I whispered to her as I firmly but gently pulled her near to me in a slightly passionate hug, kissing her forehead before she raised up to kiss me on the lips.
"The only real woman I've been with is mom. I'm looking forward to being with you, Mrs. Stewart."
"I'm looking forward to being with you too, Dear. The only other woman I've ever been with is Kate, Sandy's sister, Greg's aunt."
"Cool!"
"Yes it is, isn't it?" my hand rubbing her tits underneath her top a little before getting back to my kitchen chores.
Dinner went off without a hitch. Beth really was a well-mannered and well-groomed young lady. Sandy eyed her the entire time, but that was okay. It wasn't like I wasn't eyeing her as well, imaging all sorts of things to come with her and my boys. Greg sweetly held her hand all through, exchanging little puppydog kisses with her during the meal.
Greg helped me bring out the dessert, a plain cheesecake with strawberries and cream on the side, as Sandy changed the tone of the conversation from vanilla to a definite chocolate.
"So, Beth, you excited by tonight?"
"Yes, Mr. Stewart, I mean Sandy. Greg and I have waited all these months to make love. I told him I wanted tonight to be as special for him as it is going to be for me. I just wish my mom could be here, but she said she had rather not, not tonight."
"Maybe having Pat with you tonight will help make up for it some."
"Yeah, I like her, she's nice, I can see why the three of you are so happy together."
"We only talked briefly about it last night; is there anything about our, the three of us's relationship that you are curious about, that you don't know and would like to?"
"Not really, Mr. Stewart. I would like to ask: could you and I make love later tonight or this weekend, after Greg and I do?"
"Sure, you're a very pretty young girl, Beth, and I'd be honored to" Beth just beaming back at him as we dove into our slices of cheesecake.
"Beth and I go first, Dad!" Greg gently scolding and warning his father.
'Sure, son, sure" he replied with mock amusement.
We went into the living room and put on a home movie of the three of us and Kate making love, Kate doing a lot of the filming before setting the video camera up on a tripod and let it roll as she joined us. Beth's eyes got wider and wider as she watched the action on the screen. Sitting beside her, Greg started feeling her up, pulling her top off with one motion.
"How far have you guys gone?" husband asked.
"Dad!" Greg shot back as he kissed Beth's tit.
"Greg's taught me how to suck his cock, Mr. Stewart, and he's eaten my pussy a lot, but we've been saving actual sex for tonight."
"Cool!" I replied under my breath without thinking as I knelt before Sandy as he sat in his easy chair and whipped his cock free.
"Pat, Sandy, can I watch you two make love before Greg and I try it?"
"Your wish is my command, Beth" meant literally from my mouth.
I sucked Sandy hard and then stood up before him, he pulling my pants and panties down to my ankles, my tampon string hanging between my thighs. Beth came over to me and gave me a nice hug, naked body to naked body, and pulled at my string, pulling my tampon free from its fleshcage.
"My period won't bother you tonight, will it, Beth?"
"Oh no, Pat, mom and I make love all the time when she's having hers, not a problem."
Sandy made a mumbling sound about heading to our bedroom as he stood up and put his arm around my waist, the kids following behind us.
"Dad, after you screw Mom, I want to fuck her before Beth and I fuck."
"Sure, son, whatever you want."
Clothes by all what was left of them hitting the floor, Sandy and I scooted on the bed as he dove between my legs to eat me. God, how I loved being eaten out on my period, and he knew it. His cock hard now stood beyond rock hard. I knew he ate me out to please himself, not me, but I was his slave, so it didn't matter.
To the side of us, Beth played with Greg's hard and he her pussy as they knelt near us. Sandy crawled on top of me and easily entered my blood-lubricated cunt, Beth scooting down to get a closer look of my husband's cock poking deep and deeper inside me. I could feel her touch my labia and play with his member as he rode me.
"God, Beth, that feels good, play with my cock a little firmer, please" husband called out to her.
Greg's hand also joined hers, more firmly pinching and pulling my cuntlips and stroking his father's cock.
"Like this, Beth" he instructed her.
I could see the look of amazement on her face from below. A finger joined Sandy's cock inside me, then two, then three. It didn't feel like Greg's. They were Beth's.
"Pat, can I play with your pussy some myself?"
"Sure" Sandy replied as he rolled off top of me.
Young Beth began an easy fisting of me, her small hand going past her wristbone inside me as Greg started licking his father's bloody cock clean as they lay beside us, Beth watching with glee as he did.
"Damn, Greg" she sputtered out "you weren't lying about you and your mom and dad!" her fisting of me becoming more rapid.
I just lay back and relaxed as Beth went to town on me. She had obviously done this lots of times with her mother, and enjoyed doing it.
"Now for a really good look at a man and woman making love, Beth, scoot under us" as husband shooed her away for a moment, grabbed me by my waist and flipped me over to all fours and just rammed it home inside me, not that my pussy wasn't a'gaping from 12-year-old Beth's fistfuck of me.
She offered me her crimson-stained hand before scooting under, and I accepted, licking my hemoglobic essence from her tiny fingers as I would have been sucking five little cocks.
"Wow!" was all she said a couple of times from a point of view to the side and underneath me, watching Sandy's beyond fully erect cock slam its way home. She and Greg both touching us as we fucked, dearest hubby didn't last long, and neither did I, he slapping my ass hard several times as he came inside me, my cervix feeling the force of his blast before collapsing on the bed next to me.
"I'm sorry Greg, but I just got to have this" Beth whispered as she dove down on Sandy's cock, licking and sucking my sticky rouge residue from him, licking him as clean as she could. Greg looked a little hurt and jealous, so she play-poked at him with a "why don't you fuck your mom a little, then I'll lick you clean too, 'k?"
I got on top of my most handsome of stepsons as I had done a hundred times in the brief calendar of our lives together and began riding him.
"Dad, hand me a crop, please."
I thought things were going to stay vanilla for fear of Beth's 12-year-old sensitivities, but I was wrong. Retrieving one from under the bed, Sandy handed my favorite crop, a thin little black-leather-clad short buggywhip actually, to Greg as he then began flicking my nipples then striking my breasts at a 45-degree angle as they hung pendulously in front of his face.
"Who's my slut, mother?" he barked.
"I am."
"Hmmmm?"
"I am your slut, my son" replying meekly as I continued to ride him and Beth now scooted beside us to kiss me.
"Do you enjoy that, Pat, being whipped?" she asked.
"Yes, Beth, a lot."
"May I whip you some too?"
"Sure, if you'd like."
Greg handed her the whip and she began immediately working my ass over, the reddening welts rising on my buttocks almost matching my menstrual blood flow covering Greg's cock and balls. Sandy had been allowing things to progress without him but now wanted part of the action.
"Slave, turn around and face away from Greg and lean forward so you can suck my cock."
Beth stopped her whipping of my tail long enough for me to flip around before starting to flay away at my back as husband shoved his cock roughly into my mouth and down my throat. I could see from the corner of my eye that our little Beth was enjoying things a little too much.
"Greg, this is so cool; can I do other things to your mom?"
"Sure Beth, anything you like, she's our slut for our pleasure. But first you got to suck me off like you promised?"
Beth pushed me off and dove onto Greg's cock which was now a solid crimson tide red, Sandy then myself joining her at his perfect 12-year-old manhood. He hadn't come yet but our three mouths and tongues were pushing him towards it. Beth sensed it.
"No, everyone stop, I want my Greg's cock in me now, everyone stop, Greg, you get on top and fuck me, now!"
"Would you like me to open you up a little first, Dear?" I politely inquired.
"Thank you, Pat, but that's not really needed; mom's been frigging me since I was ten or so, and I've been using tampons since getting my period; Greg's cock won't be a prob'."
Beth lay down in the middle of the bed with Sandy and myself on either side of her as Greg scooted between her legs his cock still bloody from my period leakage and with an ease which surprised us all entered her, taking her male-to-female virginity.
"MMMmmmmmmm . . . " was all she could say.
I sucked one perfectly puffie 32B breast, her nipple getting hard between my teeth, as Sandy sucked the other one and our son, yes, -our- son fucked away at his girlfriend.
"Mom, lick my cock as I fuck her."
My tongue bathed my loving son with all the passion I could muster. Ferric feminine essences of my own touched my soul deep inside me. My son was taking a virginity offered from love, and was loving every moment of it. Sandy in the meantime had shoved his cock to Beth's face as she began a polite nibble of it.
"Greg, come inside me, I want you to come inside me, now!"
"Mom, lick her asshole, lick my asshole, help us come!"
"Yes Dear."
My tongue found their respective anal buds which indeed drove them over the edges of imagination. I felt my own orgasm then felt a slug of fresh uterine shed gush from inside me to run down my thighs.
Greg began pumping away furiously then unexpectedly came quickly and rolled to her side, pulling her close to him.
"Mr. Stewart, Sandy, fuck me, please!"
Husband didn't need any further encouragement. Pulling away from her mouth he quickly slid atop her and entered her, she gasping a little at his force. If only I had a cock to join in the fun, if only I had a cock.
"How does that feel, Beth?"
"Wonderful, Mist-, eerrrr, Sandy, wonderful."
"Hey Dad, let's double her!"
"Okay Son!"
She didn't object. I'm not sure she knew what they meant at first, but she didn't object. Rolling over to atop him, Beth began a slow rolling rock fuck of my sweety as Greg motioned for me to suck him back hard, his 12-year-old hormones quickly achieving another erection. Fucking me for a couple of moments for lubrication, he used my blood to help part Beth's anal tightness, she audibly gasping for air at first but not protesting as he entered from the rear my two loves double fucking little Beth for everything she was worth.
"How does that feel, Beth?"
"Uhhhhh, uhhhhh, wunnerful, Pat."
I wanted to help them all get off but didn't know what to do next. Getting the toy bag out of the closet, I handed Beth some nipples clamps and needles as Sandy fucked our guest. She shot me a silent look of "what are these for?".
"Stick the needles in my breasts and nipples if you'd like, it'll turn the guys on!" I audibly answered her.
Sandy was flailing away too much for her to safely work the IV needles in my breasts, so she just began pulling and squeezing them as hard as she possibly could.
"Harder, Beth, squeeze them harder!"
Little sweet 12-year-old Beth instead leaned over to put her mouth on my right nipple and then bit the living shit out of it, drawing blood with her young sharp teeth while chewing on it before letting her weight fall back down to atop Sandy. That did it. With Greg pumping away as hard as he could inside her asshole, grabbing her hips and holding on, both he and Sandy seeing what she did to my poor tit little rivulets of blood running down from the teeth bite marks, they both came as she did too, all of us collapsing in a heap on the bed.
For a good fifteen minutes or more we just kinda of dozed a little together. My blood puddled underneath where I lay. Greg and Beth lay face-to-face, as Sandy and I did as well, our four bodies a'jumbled all over each other.
Silence. Pure golden silence. Then a "wow, Mom, Beth, Dad, that was incredible, thanks, thanks a lot!"
"Sure, Son, your Mom and I are glad you enjoyed it so much. Beth, did you enjoy everything as much as you seemed to?"
"Yes, Mist, yes Sandy, sorry, yes I did. It was beyond my wildest dreams."
"Is there anything you'd like to do that you haven't?"
"No, Pat, not really. Tomorrow I would like to invite mom to come over, if that's okay."
"Sure, but she told us she didn't want to do a scene with us."
"I know she will, once I tell how incredible you all are. Can, would you invite your Aunt Kate tomorrow too?"
"She does have a live-in boyfriend that doesn't know about things, but sure, if she can get away, sure."
"Pat?"
"Can you and I make love while I watch Greg and his Dad make love too?"
"Not a problem" Sandy interjected "not a problem at all."
I held Beth tenderly in my arms as Sandy and Greg began their play inches away from us. First s sixty-nine, then Sandy entering his son from the side, fucking his ass with a practiced rhythm. As they made love, Beth's hand once again pushed my legs open and her fingers delved deep inside me. We kissed passionately. My hand found her pussy, she jumping a little from my touch, apparently still sore from its heavy-duty workout moments ago.
"Sore a little, Dear?" she just grinning a sweet fuck-you grin in reply.
Greg now on all fours as Sandy fucked him in the ass, Beth now rolled underneath to kiss him as his face lay atop a pillow and I playfully lapped at her exposed cunt in my face.
It was going to be a perfect, perfect weekend indeed.