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(It has been a while since Chapter Two and readers may want to read the first two chapters. As always I very much appreciate your comments.)
June, my mom, on the bed, on her hands and knees. I, behind her, kneeling, my cock stiff as steel and balls deep in her hot pussy, fucking her as hard as I can, holding her hips and slamming deep, loving the sucking sound and the slap slap slap as my belly hits her ass, her butt flesh quivering.
Mom groaning, throwing her head up and down and from side to side, her hands gripping the headboard, her breasts swinging back and forth, pushing her hips back to meet my thrusts.
I look down at my cock, feeling every inch caressed and enveloped by her tight pussy, and see with amazement how it is growing, already the size of a salami but ribbed like an ear of corn, about 10 inches long and swelling.
Mom moaning yes yes yes, don’t stop. Then, God I can’t take any more.
It is still getting bigger and thicker, almost 4 inches across and 12 inches long. Ommmmmmmmmmmm, she is saying, please Tommy, it’s too big!! But I keep ramming it home harder.
Then, oddly, for the first time, I notice Jane, standing in the corner by the bed, naked, one hand on her full breasts, kneading them, the other on her pussy, stroking it, rubbing her thighs together, licking her lips, staring at us, at me, her face flushed.
Amazingly, Karen Wollinski walks in, wearing a pink blouse with two buttons open at the top and a very short, pleated, mid-thigh black skirt. She says she and her husband, Walter, can hear the yelling from next door, saying Tommy, what are you doing. Then, realizing what is happening, shrieking Christ! You are fucking your mother! I am surprised at her language. Mom lifts her head, telling her to shut up. My cock gets even bigger. Karen looks at Jane, saying mom’s crazy. Jane doesn’t take her eyes off me, as if she didn’t hear Karen.
Mom is moving her ass back and forth, her tits swinging under her. I am too close to cumming to stop. Mom looks up at Karen, again, and tells her to shut up. Walter walks into the room saying what’s going on. I inform him that I am fucking my mother. Karen is yelling oh my god oh my god. For the third time mom tells Karen to shut up. Walter tells me, in his stiff, prudish way that, well young man, you’re going to have some explaining to do.
Karen suddenly calms down, looks at mom’s face all contorted with pleasure. She looks at me as I ram my monster into her and says, you know, maybe it’s not so bad. She looks at me, smiling, and says Hi. I smile back. She pulls her blouse free of her skirt, unbuttons the rest of it, and starts rubbing her breasts that billow up over her sheer pink bra. She asks if I would like to fuck her. She says Walter isn’t interested anymore. Still thrusting, I look at her and say sure I would like that very much. She looks at Walter and tells him to watch and says he should try that sometime. She says it feels good and women like it, Walter.
Jane is now staring just at me, her red tongue wetting her full lips, her brown eyes smoky and hot, one hand with her red-painted fingernails still rubbing her pussy, her thick, brown pubic hair wet and glistening, her other hand on her beautiful milky breasts with their tiny blue veins, their whiteness framed by her tan. She’s tugging and pinching her nipples. Her thighs, tight together, rubbing back and forth. Walter has taken his pants down and has his cock out. He is jerking himself, his chalky-white, fat belly with its thin mat of dark hair hanging down. He steps over to mom and begins feeling her soft, yielding tits with his other hand. Mom smiles up at him. She raises her head to Karen and asks her if she would mind if she sucks Walter’s cock. I hear a phone ring. No one reacts. I think it’s Karen’s cell phone. Karen, still caressing her breasts, not looking away from me, her eyes glazed, says sure be my guest.
The phone rings again. Still no reaction. I tell Karen to answer her phone and Karen mouths the words to me that she doesn’t have a phone. The phone nobody has rings a third time. I am still pumping away at mom, almost there, almost cumming. Mom is moaning, swaying her butt back and forth and pushing back at me, saying yes yes yes, sounding like she is close, too. A fourth ring. Mom turns her head to the side and takes Walter’s smallish cock in her mouth. Someone says answer the goddamn phone and someone else says what phone….
I opened my eyes after the fifth ring and reached over, quick, to pick up before the answering machine kicked in. I managed a distracted, “Hello.”
“Hi, Tommy,” said Jane, brightly. “It’s almost 4:30. Are you coming over?”
Wow! I fell back on the bed. “Yes,” I said. “I feel asleep.” What a dream! I was still trying to clear my head. “Sorry. I’ll be right over.”
“Is June there?”
“She’s been called in to cover for someone. She’ll have to work late.”
“Oh, too bad. I was going to invite her for dinner. Can you stay? After the illegal bahis shelves?”
“Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”
“See you soon,” she said, and we hung up.
I turned over, the dream not quite faded, then got out of bed, my cock still half hard, hurrying into the bathroom for a quick shower. I was shocked at how real it seemed. My idea of Karen Wollinski had sure changed, the thought of fucking her having entered my mind big time. I took a few minutes, relaxing under the hot water, soaping my skin, making sure I was clean. Then I dried myself, put on a sleeveless sweatshirt and jeans and was out the door. Just as I cleared the carport I heard Karen calling me. She was in her front yard, street-side, working her flower beds.
“Tommy, hi.” she said. She got up and walked a few steps toward me.
“Hi, Mrs. Wollinski.” An image of her, her blouse unbuttoned, rubbing her breasts in her pink bra, lingered and it took me a split second to put her clothes back on.
“Walter isn’t home,” she said, smiling at me. “One of the planter boxes fell. The bolt gave out. I think the wood is rotten. Can you help me put it back? I can’t reach that high.”
“Sure,” I said, and I followed her inside.
“It will just take a second,” she said, “I don’t want to hold you up.” She had changed from breakfast when I saw her on the porch and now wore blue shorts, a white blouse and blue sandals, her pretty feet accented by red toe-nail polish.
“Beautiful day today,” she said. I was walking just behind her, noticing the wide bra strap under her blouse, watching her firm butt cheeks moving from side to side in a kind of double-jointed action, her flip-flop sandals making smacking sounds on her heels as she walked briskly through the house toward the back porch. It was cool and shady inside. She had her shoulders back, and her breasts pushed against the blouse fabric, outlining them nicely.
“Here,” she said, when we had reached the back porch and walked to the side where she had been sitting this morning. We were standing at the rail, just across from our house. She handed me a heavy-duty eye-bolt and a vise grip.
“Can you put it right about there?” she asked, stretching and pointing up to the porch roof cover beam. I could see the rotten spot where the bolt had given way. The stretch pushed her breasts against the blouse again. I could see the jab of her nipples.
I reached up with the bolt, testing a little here and there until I found a good spot. “How about here?”
“That would be great, Tommy.” I clamped the vise grip around the eye of the bolt, reached up, got it started after a few tries, and screwed it in. She went over and got the planter box with its fresh potting soil and carried it over to me. I got the wire into the eye of the bolt and stepped back. Karen brought a little more water for the plant as a sort of finishing touch, stretching up to sprinkle it, again pushing her breasts against her blouse and we both stepped back to admire our work. Just then my eye dropped to our house and the window by the breakfast table that I had been standing at this morning and saw that the curtain I thought was giving me cover had done no such thing. It was better than nothing but not much. Karen had had a veiled but clear enough view of me as I sipped my coffee and played with myself.
“The box fell after I watered it this morning,” she said. “Just after I saw you. I must have put too much in it.” She was smiling at me, looking amused. “But, I got it cleaned up and now you’ve fixed it for me! Thanks Tommy. I love to sit out here on nice mornings. It’s so peaceful and quiet and the views are wonderful,” she said.
“I’m glad I could help,” I said.
“Walter is not very good at things like that,” she said. “I’m glad you’re next door.”
“Anytime,” I said, as we made our way back through the house, Karen leading the way, my eyes fixed on her bottom, on those nice cheeks with their slight jiggle moving so easily from side to side. I wanted to stay and talk to her. “I mean it. If your husband isn’t around and you need anything, just call.”
“Yes, Tommy, I will.” she said, as we walked back out to where she had been working. We stopped. She was standing close to me. I turned to her.
“I’m on my way over to Jane’s. We’re going to put up some shelves.”
“Shelves,” she said. “How nice to have a young man who’s handy with tools to help when you need it.”
I was nervous. “I’m no pro but I can get by and I’m at your service, Mrs. Wollinski.” What a stupid thing to say, I thought. I was so flustered by my dream memory and her standing so close to me. I couldn’t help but look at her, allowing my eyes to take her in, a full scan of her face, her firm breasts, her shorts, her shapely legs.
“I’ll remember that, Tommy. Thanks again, and you can call me Karen.” She was looking directly at me, a small friendly smile on her face. It seemed to me that she was noticing me looking at her and saying I am letting illegal bahis siteleri you look at me and I don’t mind.
“We’ve been neighbors for years and I don’t think we have ever talked this much,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “I hope we can change that. How old are you now, Tommy.”
“Nineteen,” I said.
“Wow, nineteen. All grown up.” She laughed. She looked wistful for a moment, her eyes down, then came back to the moment. “Yes, I have some projects I’ve put off because Walter is so busy or doesn’t have the time, or doesn’t want to.” A slight frown crossed her face. “I could use some help if you wouldn’t mind.”
Mind? Are you kidding? “Sure, Mrs. Wollinski, Karen,” I said, and I noticed a little tremor in my voice. “I would be happy to help you. Just call.”
“Thank you, Tommy, I will,” she said, smiling at me again.
“I should be going. Bye, Karen,”
“Bye, Tommy,” she said, watching me as I turned and started down the sidewalk.
It must have been about 85 degrees and I started sweating as I hurried over to Jane’s, arriving just after 5:00.
“Hi,” I called out from the entry way, walking in the open door of her ground-floor condo. “Sorry, Jane, I was asleep.” I shut the door.
She was bending down to pick up some books she had been piling at the base of the wall, below where the shelves were going to go.
She had a two bedroom unit on the ground floor. A small but adequate living room in coordinated tans and browns, with the back wall where the shelves would go a darker brown. There was a propane fireplace, impressionist prints on the walls and some flowers, a stereo and television combo, a couch, a coffee table and a couple of chairs. An open slider off the eating area led to a patio that had a table, chairs, barbecue and two lounges. Beyond the patio was a small lawn with a few feet of garden planted with more flowers that were in full bloom and a high gray cedar fence behind that. It was all quite cozy and comfortable.
“Woof!” she said, straightening up and looking at me. “That’s OK, Tommy, I need a break. It’s so hot!” She was wearing a red and white checked blouse with the top buttons opened and white shorts. I could see a little sweat staining the shirt under her arms and on the back of her neck. “I’ll get us a beer.” She started into the kitchen, her hands tucking strands of her brown hair that had fallen free back into the red bandana she wore on her head, saying “I’m just about ready. I measured everything. I’ve been moving books out of the boxes I’ve been keeping them in from the garage. God, books are heavy!” I heard the refrigerator door close and the sound of the bottles on the counter, then a fizz as she opened them and the hollow taps of caps falling on the vinyl countertop, the clink as she set the opener down. She came back into the living room, her face lit up in a smile, looking directly at me, a beer for herself in one hand and extending a tanned arm holding another bottle for me in her red-tipped fingers, condensation clinging to the surface of the bottles. “Here,” she said, and plopped down on the sofa. I sat down next to her. She was pulling her blouse away from her chest in and out, using it as fan.
“God, it’s hot. This bra is so uncomfortable. You took a nap?”
“Take it off,” I said. “Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Jane, get comfortable. Of course I don’t mind.”
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll be right back.”
She skipped into her bedroom and emerged a minute later in a different blouse, white, not tucked in, the top two buttons undone, her full breasts moving as she came back over to the couch and sat down.
She turned toward me with her elbow on the sofa back, her head resting on her hand. She had to move her legs some and they opened. I was looking at the smooth skin of her inner thighs, then looked up to her breasts filling her blouse, then up to see her looking at me with an affectionate smile. She took a drink of her beer.
“It’s fun to have you here. I need the help.”
“At your service,” I said.
She took another long drink. “It shouldn’t take long.”
I found myself looking at her breasts again. She noticed. “I’m glad you like them,” she said, and we both laughed.
She got up and showed me where she wanted the shelves. We finished our beer and got to work. The shelves didn’t take long. We had them up in an hour, thanks to the prep work she had already done. Then we started putting her books away and I was impressed by the scope of her reading, everything from contemporary history and books on current culture to general history, to poetry and serious and some not-so-serious literature and the usual smattering of self-help books. One caught my eye called “Surviving Divorce.”
“Ever hear from Roger?” I asked.
“Too often,” she said. “He says he is so terribly sorry and sometimes I feel sorry for him. But I’m not going back.” She kicked one of the boxes out of the way canlı bahis siteleri for emphasis. “He says he knows he has control problems. Whatever that means.” She looked at me. “Whenever someone says that I know he doesn’t have any idea what he is talking about. People have to live in Roger’s world, be characters in his movie, be who he wants them to be.” She was bending down, picking up a few books at a time and wiping the dust off before putting them in their new digs. “Lets him live in the world. Lets him think he’s making sense of it.”
“Do you still like him?”
“Some,” she said. “But I don’t love him anymore and I know I never will. We had a lot of memories together. Almost ten years of them. But the last two were hell. Pretty much like your mom there.” She smiled at me. “But, you know, Tommy, some things about marriage are very nice.”
“Like?” I was putting books on the shelves, four or five at a time, wiping them off first, like her.
“The sex, for one. But don’t get married for it. You can get that anywhere,” she said, as she slid her set of Jane Austen in place.
“That’s what you think.”
“Oh I know. You’re impatient. But a handsome young man like you. You’ll have lots of pretty girls. The campus will be crawling with them and a lot of them are going to like you.” She stooped down to pick up D.H. Lawrence and the blouse with its two buttons undone exposed her breasts almost completely. I was staring at them, transfixed, imagining how they would feel in my hands, then quickly looked away as she straightened up and slid him in next to Jane.
“We won’t let you marry a bimbo just because she looks good,” she continued. “Your mom and me. We will stop you. We have to give her our stamp of approval. Otherwise, it’s no go for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
The job was finished. We took the boxes the books had been in back out to the garage and tore them flat, then stacked the cardboard for recycling.
“Hungry? Let’s eat. We can grill hamburgers.”
“Sounds great,” I said. I was very, very hungry.
I finished with the boxes while Jane went to the patio to start the charcoal. When I came inside she was in the kitchen opening a bottle of wine. She poured glasses for us both and we went out to the patio, sitting down on her lounges, waiting for the charcoal to get hot enough.
We chatted back and forth for a few minutes, sipping our wine, then put the meat on the grill. We sat back down and talked and drank and listened to the meat sizzling and spitting. She had a device that turned the patties automatically. It was still warm but beginning to cool. A light breeze had started up and the late afternoon light had softened and was beginning to fade.
Jane went into the kitchen and came back with a green salad. We built our hamburgers and ate them with the salad and the wine, sitting at the patio table. It all tasted great and I was surprised how at home I felt, how comfortable it was being with her. Jane tried to refill her glass but the bottle was empty. She got up and went into the kitchen, returning with a full bottle and refilled our glasses. I had moved from the table back to the lounge chair and she sat down next to me on the other one. We were quiet for a while, talking a bit now and then. She had stretched her legs out. I was admiring her smooth silky skin. I wanted to touch it, reach out and stroke her thigh. I pulled my chaise closer to hers. She was drinking a lot. I wondered why, and found myself hoping that she was trying to get a little drunk. I was feeling very relaxed myself and very very conscious of Jane.
“I love evenings like this, Tommy, but sometimes it gets a little lonely living here. Not that I want to give that up, but, sometimes, you know…”
“What about guys? I would think they would be after you.”
“Yes, some are but I haven’t met anyone special, or anyone I really want to go out with. I feel guilty letting some guy wine and dine me when I know he’s after sex and I know I’m not going to give it to him.” She took another sip of her wine.
“I think you look terrific, Jane. You’ll find someone you like,” and I reached out and stroked that silken thigh. The touch was electric, her skin so smooth and warm. I was startled by the spark between us.
She turned on the lounge toward me and put her hand over my hand on her thigh. “I hope you’re right, Tommy. And soon.” One creamy breast was trying to get out of the top of the blouse where she had opened the buttons.
“Do you like them?”
“My breasts. You keep looking at them. Do you like them?”
“Would you like to see them?”
“Jane…I don’t know…You’re my aunt…”
“Would you like to see them?”
“Yes. I guess I would.”
“Come inside” she said. She got up and walked into the kitchen. I followed.
She turned to me at the wall at the back of the kitchen. “Will you do as I tell you?” She was smiling at me again, her eyes taking me in, open and warm.
“Yes,” I said.
“Take my blouse off.” she said. “Unbutton it and take it off, Tommy. But don’t touch them.”
She was looking directly at me. She backed against the wall. I took a step toward her.
“Unbutton it,” she said.
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