Tammy & Jane

He nails both daughter and mother same night.

I stopped the car in the driveway and turned to Tammy. I didn't want to turn off the car. That would mean the air-conditioning would stop, and that was having a wonderful effect on her pink, little nipples, the ones I'd been slobbering over earlier. She ignored as she looked at herself in the mirror, trying to straighten out her wispy blond hair. I smiled at the thin, cold figure in front of me. She finally returned my stare.

"Well?" she smirked.

"Lip-stick still a little smudged," I grinned, trying to be helpful.

She rolled her eyes and reached for her purse, opened it and took out some Kleenex and began wiping clean her thin, pale lips. I breathed in deeply, taking in her fresh, soapy smell, remembering how they'd gotten so smudged less than an hour ago, in her parents' bedroom. She'd been on her back, thighs open wide, writhing back and forth, side to side, a convulsing mass of eighteen year old flesh, as I pounded into her. She put the stained Kleenex away and turned to me, grinning. I smiled back. How different she'd looked when I'd quickly pulled out of her gripping little cunt and pressed myself into her mouth, releasing gush after gush of sticky goo into her surprised mouth. She pretended she hadn't liked it. Much of it spilled out and onto the pillow. "It's not your sperm" she'd said, afterwards, "it's, you know, that I could taste myself on you still." I shuddered, excited. Wonderful stuff.

"Well?" she asked, bringing me back to reality. She was waiting for me. "Are we going to stay in your drive-way all night or get to the party?"

I shook my head, stepped out of the cool car into the humid summer night and walked to her door, opening it for her and helped her out, always the gentleman.

"I hope my parents aren't mad we're late," she said, as we walked to the front door.

"They're probably soused like everyone else," I replied, smiling to myself. What could be more perfect? Her parents were over at my parents' house, while I'm at their house, fucking their little girl in the master bedroom. It hadn't been the first time either. Life shouldn't be so good.

I was home for the summer, my sophomore year done, and after a couple of weeks of boredom in the old town, I'd called Tammy, a good friend's younger sister, out of the blue for a movie. Tammy, I remembered, was one of the cuter younger classmen when I was in high school. It would be nice to hang out for a couple weeks. I had no illusions of fucking her that night or even, really, during the summer. Christ. Her mother and mine were good friends, although I hated her old man, a real big, mean- looking bastard and the last thing I wanted . . . In any event, Tammy'd agreed, somewhat surprised, but obviously delighted, I'd called.

The movie set the tone. "Eyes Wide Shut." She knew almost as little about Kubrick as I did, even though I pretended I knew a lot. Christ. What I really wanted was to see Kidman's tits. But that became irrelevant as the messed up movie went from one wacked out scene to another. We were both blown away, almost clinging to each other by the end. It was the perfect set-up for fucking. And, boy, did we fuck that night. And since then just about every day we'd go at it. Everywhere. In the car, my room, her house, her parents' bed. Anywhere I could get my hands on her. It blew my mind. The girl was insatiable. She'd lost her cherry at the senior prom or some such garbage and was out to prove something. Or maybe she was practicing for her professional debut in college. I didn't care. I was more than happy to be a notch on her bed-post.

Few people were in the house, most everyone out in the back yard drinking themselves blind, so Tammy and I hung out a bit alone in the living room. I mixed her the sweet muck she enjoyed, rum and coke, and she plopped herself on a couch, to watch a Ricky Martin video, blaring on the TV. I looked down at her and grinned. I loved eighteen year old's, so unselfconscious. Her light, summer dress was riding high up her smooth thighs and she made no move to fix herself. I loved it. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her thigh. She shooed it away with her free hand, ignored me, and continued watching Ricky do his grind. I waited. The loud nonsense ended and she turned to me.

"What?" she asked, a little annoyed.

"Let's go up to my room?" I smiled.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now?"

"Yeah now."

"My parents are here," she whispered.

I laughed. "They don't know we're here, so, you know, let's go upstairs, have a little nookie, nookie and then come back down like we just arrived."

"Nookie, nookie?" she giggled.

I nodded, thinking how great it would be to hang out with her old-man with his daughter nearby dripping with my fuck honey. That would teach him to be such a ball-buster. It was obvious he didn't approve of me even though he knew my folks, I'd been a friend of his son, etc. The problem, from his perspective, was I'd come home from college a little changed, my hair was long and I didn't stand at attention every time a grown up walked in the room. It would be wonderful to extract a little cheap thrill at his expense and his daughter's pleasure. I began tracing my fingers along her silky thigh, again.

She was thinking it over and just as I was about to get underneath the hem of her light little sun dress, just as I was about to cup that soft, almost bald, puffy cunt mound of her's, which I was certain would bring a quick resolution to the question, she pre- empted me, and jumped up. I looked up in surprise and saw her sticking her tongue out. "Nope," she laughed, crossing her arms over her ripe little tits. "You've had enough for one day, mister. I don't want to spoil you," she giggled.

I was upset, about to say something stupid, but stopped myself. Idiot. Why ruin an entire summer of easy--really effortless--quality fucking for one silly night of adolescent bullshit? Who gave a shit about her old man? Besides, I'd already stained the old man's bed for the night. What more could I hope for?

I got up, smiling, and took her hand. "No problem, love," I said. "Let's go see what the old folk are doing."

The old folk, and there were a lot of them, were drunk, most of them in a middle-aged stupor of bad jokes and tasteless, ill-fitting outfits. Not a few of the balding, round men, I noticed, however, were taking a moment out of there dumb laughter and leered at frolicking Tammy as she skipped lightly across the lawn to her parents somewhere near the pool. Dirty fucks, I grinned to myself. I didn't blame them. Tammy was nice to look at. Very. And most of the old bags they'd have to face later that night in the darkness of their bedrooms . . . I didn't want to think about it.

"Tammy, honey," I heard gruff voice calling to us. "You're late."

"Sorry, daddy," Tammy chirped and bounced to her old man to hug him. As she did, I noticed the creep eyeing my mug with not a little malice. Fuck you, I wanted to tell him. That's right. Your worst nightmare is true, asshole. I just got done reaming your little baby. And, pops--and

here I imagined myself sticking my index finger in his face--your little baby loved it. Tammy let go of her father and turned to smile at me.

"Jonathan," the hulking man said and reached out with his ham of a hand.

"Mr. Blakewood," I grinned, taking his hand and he shook mine, wrapping it around and around, snuggle, tightly. It felt like he wanted to tear if off my arm.

I pulled my hand away and smiled at the creep. He didn't smile back. He looked at his little angel next to him and then turned to me again.

"Jonathan," he said, after a moment of studying me in my long, unruly hair and cut-off jeans. "Jonathan," he repeated, a little more disgusted than before, and then stepping forward, putting his huge, sweaty arm around me. I could smell him. "We need to talk."

And I was about to say something as we walked away from Tammy and towards the house, but he stopped me. "Not here," he said. I wasn't afraid. What was he going to do? Kill me in my own house, dozens of witnesses around? This would be hilarious. A little fatherly talk about being good to his baby or some such crap. I would have a hard time not laughing in his face.

"Alan," a woman's voice stopped us. "Where are you going?"

I smiled at the blond woman in the conservative Stuart skirt and cotton blouse.

"Hi, Mrs. Blakewood," I smiled. I liked Tammy's mom. A good egg. How she could deal with the creep next to me I'd never been able to understand.

"Hi, Jonathon," she replied and then looked at her husband, questioningly.

"I'm going to have a little talk with Jonathan," the lard said and I was about to laugh at the deep blush coming across Mrs. B's cheeks.

She nodded, nervously, and walked away without saying "bye".

I watched her walk away and for the first time felt a little nervous, myself. What the hell was that all about? I wanted to be alone to think a little, but the gorilla would have none of that and he dragged me away. We walked into the cool house and stopped in the kitchen.

He looked around to make sure no one was around. No one was.

"Jonathan," he said, after a deep breath. "I'm not an idiot."

I didn't agree, but said nothing. Let him have his little self-delusions.

"Two nights ago, guess what happened?"

I thought for a moment. It rained? Someone won the state lottery? Your hemorrhoids were giving you trouble? I gave up. "Don't know," I said.

"I came home, after a hard day working, had dinner, and got ready for bed and as I did my wife walked up to me with a long hair, quite similar, nay, strike that--Identical to your own, and she told me she'd found it in our bed."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Everything was clear. Shit. The problem with dating young chicks is that they're not careful. Christ. She should've changed the sheets, something. I tried not to take a deep breath and remained unresponsive, attentive, staring straight ahead and he continued.

"Someone, someone who did not belong in my bed, had been in my bed."

I was going to ask him if his marriage was a little shaky, but decided I wanted my teeth during the remaining years of my life, which seemed to be getting fewer and fewer as I watched the big goon in front of me driving himself more and more into a quiet furor.

"Do you know who that person would be, Jonathan?"

Well, fuck it. Clean cop. What are you going to do? Fuck it.

"That was my hair, sir," I answered.

He nodded, gritting his teeth. "Yes, I know it was," he breathed in and seemed to hold his breath. His face was getting redder and redder. He let out the deep breath he'd been holding and that seemed to calm him a bit.

"I don't want to know the gruesome details, son. It makes me sick to think about it."

I was going to tell him I had no intention of offering any gruesome detail, that I was a gentleman who did not make it a habit of fucking

and telling, that I wasn't into the kind of kinky shit he was leading to, but, once more, my more rational angels prevailed and I kept quiet.

"My daughter is eighteen and if you're the boy she wants to . . . You're a good, smart kid, I know. You're at Williams, good school and all. You're parents are good people."

I wanted to laugh. God, he was trying to make himself feel better that I was boning his daughter. What a joke.

"I'm sure the two of you are, you know, being careful and all that," he continued and then leaned forward, looking straight into my eye, "but, son, if I ever get whiff of something like that going on in my house, in my fucking bed again, I'll break your little skinny neck."

I said nothing. What are you going to say when someone threatens to break your neck?

"Do you understand?" he asked.

I nodded, and mumbled, "yeah."

"What was that boy?"

I straightened up and wanted to shout at him, but kept silent as someone walked by and then out of the room.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good," he said. He started walking out and then stopped and turned to me once more. "And, son," he swallowed. "You be good to my little girl."

He walked out. I scratched my head. "Be good to his little girl." What did that mean? Make sure she has at least two orgasms every time you lay the pipe into her? Don't fuck her up the ass until after the fourth date? What was that supposed to mean? What an idiot. Oh yeah, sure, buddy. Your daughter gives head better than a Bangkok whore and you're . . . . And then I froze. Fuck. I'd just blown my wad all over his bed a little less than two hours ago. Jesus. I could imagine the gorilla, later that night, getting into bed and then placing his fat head on the pillow and then he would realize it was as stiff as some Victorian starched shirt and then. . . . I wrapped by hand around my quickly tightening neck. What a nightmare.

My first instinct was to run out to tell Tammy to hurry with me to clean

things up before her parents got back home. But that would mean I'd have to tell her the old man knew she was fully experienced in the dueling dance of the double-backed monster. It'd been my experience, as limited as it was, that most girls aren't comfortable having their fathers know they fuck. It simply isn't something girls like. I don't blame them. I didn't like my parents, and especially my mother, thinking I was some pervert either. Hence, telling little Tammy. . . Shit. My easy fucking days would be over for the summer. And what would I do then? It's not easy finding a chick like Tammy just getting into her groove with fucking. It was a rare treat, something to spread out over several weeks. And now . . .

I made up my mind. I ran out the house, into my old beat-up Buick and drove away. In retrospect, I cannot offer anyone a good reason how I thought I'd be able to take care of things by myself. My course of action would require that I break into another person's house, go up to the big bedroom and probably change the sheets. Would I vacuum the hallways or dust the curtains, too? The sheer stupidity of what I was about to do never entered my mind. I was pure adrenaline. At the time, in the moment, as I was driving to the Blakewood house, I thought I was brilliant. Everything would be taken care of and no one would be the worse. Tammy wouldn't know. Storm trooper daddy wouldn't. No one would know anything. I'd be back home, a cold martini in hand, relaxing by my parents' pool, feeling Tammy up, in less than an hour. And after everyone had gone, stumbling home, I'd fuck little Tammy in the pool. That would be a good one.

I parked the car a few blocks away and walked through a couple of backyards, avoiding the more vicious dogs I remembered from when I was kid playing with Stacey's older brother, David, and in a matter of minutes I found myself in the back of the Blakewood house. I had an ace up my sleeve. David, who was away studying (right!!) In Europe that summer and I, as I've mentioned, used to hang out. Like most kids do, we'd perfected the art of breaking out of our houses after bed-time to go to a party our parents didn't know about or otherwise didn't approve. We'd lay out the pillows under our blankets and then break back in at the first hint of dawn, drunk as skunks or smelling of cheap, stripper perfume.

It would be easy. The best way to break into your typical box-style suburban house is to look for an open basement window. From there, everything is simple. All of the Blakewood basement windows would be closed, of course, because the air- conditioning was on, but if I remembered, one of them didn't close completely, the latch couldn't get hooked in or something. I remembered Mrs. B yelling at Mr. B to fix it

up a few days ago while I waited for Tammy to get ready to go out, but I would bet my left arm (or, in this case, my long skinny neck) that the lazy fuck had never done so. I found it and knelt down and pushed. For a second nothing happened, and I started to panic, but then I remembered David saying you had to really give it a shove and it would open. David and I, like most teenagers, lived off telling our friends, how we'd gotten one over on our parents. I really gave it a shove and . . . . POP!! It opened. I held my breath, praying the Blakewoods were good, honest folk, that there would be no nasty and mile loud alarm triggered (people are becoming so much more distrustful these days), but all was silence and I heaved a sigh of relief. God did exist.

From there it was easy, although I did scratch my knee a little and twisted my shoulder a lot getting through the small window, but before I knew it I was standing in the darkness of Blakewood recreation area of their basement, trying to remember the best way to the stairs. I bumped into a couple of things, and nearly killed myself, twisting my ankle almost beyond recognition, on a stupid baseball, but managed, sort of limping, to get myself to the stairs, to the first floor and then up to my destination.

All was going well, too well, in retrospect. I got to the master bedroom, turned on the lights, looked around calmly for any hair or stains or . . . . when the phone rang. Survival instincts, pure reflex, kicked in. I dove for the lights and turned them off, my heart pounding. The phone kept ringing. And then I composed myself, getting my senses in order. So the phone's ringing, asshole. That doesn't mean shit. Jesus. I peeled myself off the wall and was about to turn on the lights, once more, when I heard a car driving into someone's driveway, close by. I froze again, my hand on the light switch, twitching, and listened. Long moments passed. I heard the car door slam shut and then another and then nothing. Just as I'd convinced myself, everything was okay, that it was a neighbor's car and not the Blakewood's, I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door to the house open.

I was dead.

Dead, like no one would believe. If the sonofabitch didn't kill me on the spot, I'd find myself gang-banged by all the state-wide toughs in prison in a few months, after a pathetic trial and a stern lecture from some senile judge. I debated what would be the better way out: gang-banged in prison or strangled to death. It was a tough call, but, coward that I am, I was imagining how I would look with a shaved chest, armpits and crotch and ruby-red lipstick and matching pumps and nothing else on. Some lucky bastard (hopefully not well-endowed) would really

enjoy me. And If I was good, and I'd had enough women suck me off to know what a good blow-job was, maybe he wouldn't share me with his buddies, but I knew that was wishful . . . .

And then, just as I was about to surrender myself to the authorities, like clockwork, my survival instincts made their move, again. Get into the closet, my mind commanded. Hide, you stupid dumbass. I heard the TV being turned on downstairs, directly underneath me. I held my breath and tip-toed as quietly as I could into the walk-in closet and hid beyond a winter overcoat. It was a nice coat, some expensive fur of some sort, probably an anniversary . . . . I stopped myself. Get it together man. Jesus. An alternative plan of attack came to my mind. I would wait. All night if I had to. Once the Blakewoods were asleep, I would crawl out of their room on my stomach, like they do in the army, you know, and somehow get the hell out of there. I didn't dare leave the room until they did, however. That would leave too much to chance. And my luck was not looking good that night.

After ten minutes or so in the closet, the awful smell of moth-balls everywhere, I started to mull about prison dating etiquette again, but stopped, holding my breath, when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. This would be it. I felt myself trembling, and it became more difficult to breath. The footsteps became louder and I was certain I could feel the whole house shaking with each one when I heard the door open and brilliant streams of light suddenly flashed before me. I shut my eyes tightly, in reflex, the beams almost painful and waited. I heard someone walking about, something being tossed onto a chair and then a stereo turned on to some gawd-awful Kenny G. I felt like crying. I would have to endure that dribble and in my severely excited state it was almost too much.


And then I realized something. Only one person was present a few feet away. As much as I despised him, I couldn't imagine old man Blakewood getting off on something so horrible as Kenny G. I peered out from behind the fur coat and saw the profile of a woman sitting on a chair. Her hands were busy. She was taking her contact lenses out. When she finished she put some thick glasses on, brushed her hair out with her hand and stood up, turning, and walked straight for me. I quickly pushed myself back behind the coat and tried to hold my breath. I heard the closet door open, a bit of rustling sound here and there and the door closed once more, followed by the sound of her walking away, humming, and then the sound of clothes being taken off.

Did I suddenly get an unbearable desire to watch her undress? Hardly. I was too petrified. Sexual thoughts were the last thing on my mind. And

it wasn't because Mrs. B., Jane, was bad looking or anything. She was quite attractive, really, in a mature, middle-aged sort of way. In fact, Tammy looked a lot like her, only tighter, thinner, less droopy and, of course, a lot less composed. As a horny teenager, I'm sure I must have beat off thinking about her, but that was anything but unusual. What horny thirteen year old doesn't beat off thinking about a good friend's mom, especially if she's good- looking and pleasant? Hell, at thirteen you beat off to the sight of elephants going at it on National Geographic. Well, at least, I did, once--maybe twice; I don't remember.

Thoughts of fucking elephants snapped away when I heard her suddenly walking again towards me and I was about to repeat my frozen tree bit, but then she seemed to be turning and then I heard another door almost perpendicular to where I was standing being opened, the bathroom I door guessed, with a sigh of relief. I did not hear the door shut, but rather the sound of soft clothes passing over smooth skin, a sound of skin meeting something hard--a soft little splat--a delicate sigh and then the sound, at first, of a gentle drop or two and then a soft patter and then, finally, a louder, harder unwavering stream, which continued for a good twenty seconds, and then the reverse, ending where it started with a few tinkles and drops. I heard her grab some toilet paper and then a bit more rustling and then a sound that I doubt I'll ever forget--a soft almost scraping sound. She was wiping herself clean..

I have no idea why--I certainly don't think I've got some urine fetish or anything fruity like that--but that sound, the idea of a mature woman, a mother, touching herself like that, just a few feet away made me catch my breath. I swallowed, trying to get myself together for the umpteenth time that evening. The water was running and the sound of a busy toothbrush in action was all I could hear. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine. She'd had her hand there, down between her legs and she'd wiped herself. More than anything at that moment I wanted my hand there, in that crinkly, wet hair. I wanted to wipe her, to stroke her, to shove my fingers in that moistness. I could feel myself harden. I heard the water turn off and her walking again. I had to see her, see what she looked like.

What I saw only made things worse. She was standing in front of a mirror looking at herself. This middle-aged woman, probably over forty-five, had a short, thin t-shirt on that barely kept her tits covered (her nipples clearly visible) and panties no mother of two young adults should ever think of wearing. They were tight, snuggle formed around her hips and showed off some of the most incredible legs I'd ever seen. Her ass seemed to be pushing against the tight constraints, full and luscious. But the worst, the very worst was where my eyes fixed for

long, memorable seconds, The "v" of her white panties prominently pouched out, tightly encasing a clearly visible, darker shade of bush, seeming to be begging for a touch, a tight palming and massaging. My mouth watered and I stared and stared.

She, on the other hand, with a long sigh, seemed to have gotten enough of herself (I would have risked physical violence disputing whether anyone could have looked at her enough) and walked to her bed. She picked a book by a lamp-stand nearby, looked at it and bent over to pull up the sheets and get into bed. As she did, I was offered a heavenly few seconds of the deep cleavage and full weight of her hanging tits, swinging gently, right down to the same small pink nipples she'd so kindly reproduced in her daughter. Just as she was about to get into bed I saw her frown. I was confused and then terror-struck, thinking I'd been somehow exposed, but then groaned to myself as I saw her pick up a pillow. Even from where I stood, terrified as I was, I could see the large dull yellowish stain on it. My developing erection quickly left me.

I expected her to recoil in disgust, to throw the damn thing to the ground, stomp on it, burn it, anything, but she didn't. Instead, she shook her head sadly for a few seconds, continuing her examination. A reddish hue suddenly came across her face, the same one I'd seen earlier in the evening, and I saw her look furtively around for a moment. I was confused. What the hell? After a pause, the pillow now quivering in her hand, she took a deep breath and then quickly darted her tongue out and brushed it against the stain. I nearly passed out and I felt my knees give. She took a deep breath at the same time I did and repeated the tongue thing, but this time more slowly, a lot more slowly, lavishing the damn thing with her saliva. The drooling went on for almost a minute and then she stopped, shaking, her nipples very erect and very obvious and gently placed the pillow back on the bed.

I had never seen anything like it in my life. How do you prepare yourself for the sight of a good friend's mother licking up the dried stains of your cock. It simply didn't happen. I continued watching, mesmerized at this wondrous creature.

She walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the bedroom door, listened a few seconds for any sound and then slowly locked it. She turned back to the bed and rubbed her forehead, I'm sure to try to get back to something approaching reality, but as if unable to stop herself walked back to the bed and picked the pillow up, with a shaking hand, once more. She reached out and touched the stain gently and then pressed it against her chest, holding it tightly, gasping for air. And then, without warning,

she tossed the pillow gently onto the bed and her panties were quickly off. In a blur, she kicked them to the side and got into the bed.

Please. Please, I wanted to scream to her. Please don't get under the covers. Please let me see. I shouldn't have worried. She was much too preoccupied to think about getting under anything. She lay on the bed, breathing heavily, the pillow by her side, and I saw her open her thighs and she was revealed to me, a forty-five year old cunt. My body jerked involuntarily at the sight, the lovely full hair of her downy bush, the full, thick lips of her pink parting vulva. I wanted to die as her hand slowly traveled down her soft stomach and she touched herself gently. I heard her moan and my rigid cock strained against my cut-offs in response.

I saw her fingers slowly circling her clit for long agonizing seconds. I saw her stop and then start again, this time a finger and then two gently disappearing inside her. Turn off the Kenny G. Turn off the Kenny G. I wanted to hear her slurp. I wanted to hear her fingers slurp. Please. I couldn't. She continued, faster, with more urgency and then closed her eyes and reached for the pillow, all the while pumping herself with her now glistening fingers. Her ass began rising and falling, clenching and releasing, meeting her fingers, fucking herself madly. And then, again in a blur, she rushed the pillow between her legs and pressed it against herself, grinding up and down, from side to side, trying to stuff it inside her.

The injustice of it all. My cum was in contact with her cunt and I was nowhere to be found. The thrashing continued. And then she swiftly brought the pillow up to her mouth and bit into it. I heard her stifle a scream. I came, without warning, without hesitation or remorse. I could feel myself jerking, spasming over and over, my underwear and pants flooded with my cum. Stars danced in front of me as I tried to catch my breath. I caught a glimpse of her and she was doing the same thing, her head turning from side to side, trying to catch her breath.

And that's when it happened.

As I strained forward to see her final after-climax signs and shivers, I slipped on a shoe and banged my head against the door. It wasn't a terribly loud bang, but only a deaf person would not have noticed something amiss. I quickly recoiled away in horror, but it was too late.

I saw her jump up, sit up, and look in my direction, her face pale, her eyes terrified. She continued staring right at the door I was behind. Please, don't scream, I begged. Please. Please. Please. She grabbed the

sheets and covered herself.

"Alan?" she called out in my direction, her voice quivering, hoping it was her husband spying on her and not some psycho.

I had a quick decision to make. I could step out and make myself known or wait until she got up and found me. If she found me, she'd scream immediately to high heaven and Alan would come barreling up the stairs, find me and my soaked cut-offs and break my neck. If I stepped out, slowly, she might not scream right away, but I might be able to convince her to call the police before she told her husband. It was hopeless.

"Alan?" I heard her call out once more, her voice afraid. Okay, she's scared too. She thinks her husband's been spying on her, watching her get off with a pillow stained by their daughter's boyfriend and that can't be the most comforting of thoughts for anyone, especially someone married to that brute. That knowledge gave me a little confidence. I slowly opened the door, and all I can remember as I did so was the awful sound of Kenny G. blaring, louder than I knew it should have been under normal circumstances.

I peaked my head to the side and her mouth dropped.

I saw her take a deep breath and I knew she was about to scream so I stepped fully out of the closet and put my hands together in prayer, begging her in silence not to. It was working and I sighed the slightest breath of relief, and then I noticed that all I could smell was her excitement of a few minutes ago. The sharp, pungent aroma was all over. I tried to clear my head. I was in deep shit. Thank God, she seemed to be composing herself. She tugged tighter the sheets around her, aware of her own delicate situation. And then she stared at the large dark blue wet stain on my cut-offs. She shook her head, unbelieving and stared back at my face.

I took a deep ragged breath and started. "I can explain everything," I quivered.

She shook her head and whispered. "What are you doing here?"

I had to make it quick. "Your husband told me he'd be really mad if he found out I'd been with Tammy in your bed tonight and I came here to, you know, get rid of the evidence."

She continued watching me, trying to follow and I saw her thinking it over. It was the truth, but would she believe it? I could see she was

finding it difficult to believe and as she was thinking I could see her caressing the poor, molested pillow next to her. She looked at me and realized what she was doing and then quickly tossed the pillow away on the ground, blushing deeply.

"Did you see everything?" she asked, not looking at me.

I nodded and she looked up and turned away again, looking miserable.

I waited for her sentence.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered, finally.

We? She was on my side. It was evident she felt as guilty as I did.

"I've got to get out of here," I said.

She looked at me, almost pleading. "Are you going to tell Tammy what you saw?"

I shook my head. Who the fuck cares if you humped a pillow lady? I'm here, my load's blown in my shorts, you're naked and your husband is right under us. Forget about the fucking pillow. I breathed to relax. "No ma'am, I'm not. I just want to leave," I said, with as much reassurance as I could muster.

She shook her head. "You will tell. I know it."

Great. Mrs. B. was losing it. Terrific. "I swear I won't Mrs. Blakewood. Just help me get out of here, in one piece, please."

"This is so embarrassing," she continued with her self-pity. "What ever must you think of me?"

I would have to try a different angle, get her to see this was all one big hilarious mistake, take the seriousness out of it.

"I think you're the sexiest woman I've ever seen," I whispered and then stopped myself. Oh, that's great. It was true, but definitely not what was called for at that moment. I needed something funny, not corny.

She smiled and blushed and then giggled softly to herself.

I smiled back. We had to be a team, think as one, if I would live to see my twenty-first birthday. She was at least smiling at me.

"Thank you," she said. "That's very nice, even if you're making it up."

I shook my head. We were heading in a tangent. The main goal was being diverted. Come on. Focus. I tried, again, almost desperate.

"Mrs. B. . . Jane. I'm not joking. You are extraordinarily hot, but . . ."

And she blushed again. Don't blush, I wanted to scream. Come on. I waited, hoping she'd come around.

"Never done anything like that before," she said more to herself than to me.

I nodded, wanting to smile. Liar. You looked like you've had a lot of practice, baby.

She took one final breath and turned to me. "We've got to get you out of here," she sighed.

I wanted to hug her. Dear sweet woman. Wonderful. Things were moving along, finally.

"We've got a little time, though. Don't worry," she said, again, more to herself than to me. And I realized that was the way she spoke, probably from all the years of not having any attention paid to her by that goon. "He won't be up `til late. He recorded a baseball game and he'll watch that until who knows, probably fall asleep anyway, downstairs."

I nodded. Good. There was hope.

"Tammy's not here," she continued. "Stayed. Wanted to wait for you." And then she tried to suppress a giggle, again, to herself.

Tammy. God. Thank goodness she wasn't here. That would be wonderful to explain. Well, gee, babe, it's like this . . . .

"Well," she sighed, again, wrapped tightly in her sheets. "We'd better get going. Go in the bathroom, close the door and I'll tell you when to get out."

I nodded and was about to take a step, when her voice stopped me.

"Jonathon," she said. I turned to her. "Why, um, did you, you know . . . ." and she motioned to my crotch, blushing again.

I shook my head. "Like I said, you're incredible. It just happened. I wasn't, you know, touching myself or anything like that. Kind of spontaneous."

She swallowed. "When did it happen?"

"The same time you had your's."

She smiled. "I wish I'd known," she giggled.

I smiled, a little confused.

"If I'd known I was putting a show on," she said quickly, "I would have done things a little differently, taken my time."

I nodded and smiled. That's right. First time. She must not get a lot from that animal. Wow. What a waste.

"You were perfect," I said.

She blushed again and smiled.

"How much time do we have to . . . you know, get me out of here?" I asked, hoping she'd get with the save Jonnie-boy program.

But no. My question had only made her more uncomfortable.

"About an hour, at least," she whispered, looking straight at me.

I nodded and I could feel my breath getting heavier. She was incredible. There was no denying that. I would play a game. She would be insulted, otherwise, I told myself. She would feel flattered I'd hit on her and we'd be pals forever, everything about the nasty evening would be forgotten.

"Were you thinking of me when you were. . . you know?" I croaked.

She quickly turned away, her face deep red.

Without knowing why, without intending to, certainly, I took a step towards her. She heard me, turned and drew away, the sheets starting to unravel around her. I could see the top of her tits, clearly, rising and falling quickly. I took another step and was five feet away from the bed and reached out for her with a trembling hand.

She saw my hand and held her breath. She looked up at me, down at my crotch, and we touched.

That touch, so soft, so innocent, so comforting for a split second evaporated quickly into something incredibly needy. I felt myself falling onto the bed. She was pulling me towards her, the sheets falling off completely, her heavy tits swaying, as she grabbed at my shorts. Without thinking, almost in shock, I helped her, reaching down with my shaking hands fumbling with her thin fingers and unbuttoned the shorts. I felt her tugging them down, trying to tear them off. She was leaning forward, her face pressed against my chest, her tits splashed against my stomach. I felt my shorts fall to my knees and then to my feet and the she pulled down my boxers.

I hadn't realized the state of my excitement, but she gasped when my erection sprung out, hitting her left tit. With no preliminaries, or introductions of any sort, I felt a rush of hot air and then the scrape of teeth and my cock-head was enveloped in her mouth. I felt her tongue wrap itself tightly around me, sucking me and it took all my concentration not to scream out. I had never thought much of getting head, and I realized at that moment why: Sixteen year old girls and college freshmen don't know what the hell they're doing. This forty-five year old mother of two young adults did. Her hands wrapped around my clenching ass, squeezing me and then one of her hands searched more deeply and I felt a long finger-nail squirming and scraping its way around my asshole and then pushed in. It hurt, for a second, and in response, I felt myself pushing in deeper into her mouth and she took it, without hesitation.

Within two minutes, two incredibly intense, powerful minutes of my cock almost completely submerged inside that heavenly mouth, her finger tugging and pulling inside me, I started cumming. I moaned, started tensing, felt her press her finger even more deeply inside me and then her body began shaking, her gorgeous tits (which I'd not even touched) rubbed up and down on my thighs, and I exploded. I had to hold something. I grabbed her soaked bobbing blond head. I could feel her gulping with each spasm and contraction, sucking me in. I could hear her moaning deep in her throat. I wanted to pull out, the sensation too intense, but she wouldn't let me.

A minute or so after the last drop had been sucked out, I felt her slowly releasing me. Her finger popped out of my ass. I gulped huge gobs of air, trying to steady myself and she looked up, her face and mouth a mess, the saliva and my cum stringing from my red cock to her chin. She smiled and raised herself higher, put her arms around my neck and kissed

me. I didn't know what to do. I'd never tasted a guy's cum before and almost pulled away, but she held me and pushed her tongue deep inside my mouth. The stale taste, mixed with a little bitterness felt thick and I almost gagged, but she continued almost gleefully and after a minute I began pushing my tongue back against hers, more to breath than anything else. My hands instinctively reached up to her tits and I grabbed them, held them tight as our tongues swirled and swirled around each other. I felt her tugging, falling back and I followed, landing between her open thighs, my slick cock scraping along her sweaty thigh.

We continued kissing and sucking on each other's faces. I felt her pushing herself up against my hip. She was burning, sopped with wetness. I wanted to touch her and released one of her tits and reached down between us. Again, the girls I'd felt up were usually tense, dry and it took awhile for them to loosen up. Not my sweet Jane. Her gushing cunt seemed to swallow my hand up, without any pretense. I pressed in a finger and then another and she pushed against me, urging me deeper. I knew my cock was numb, no good after three nuts that day, but I had to get in her. I had to feel her. I pulled my mouth off her.


"I want to fuck you," I gasped.

For a moment, she looked at me surprised, and then shook her sweat-drenched head in amazement at my stupidity. I was obviously not living up to her fantasy of a young stud. And then she smiled wickedly at me.

"Don't," she whispered, the smile disappearing and she looked like she would start crying any second. "Please don't."

I was confused, and then, of course, realized what she wanted.

"Bullshit," I hissed. "I'm going to fuck you so hard." I grabbed my half-erect cock with my sticky fingers and pushed the head against the mouth of her dripping cunt.

"My husband," she moaned, as I slapped my cock-head against her clit. "He's downstairs. Please don't."

"Fuck your husband," I spat out and pushed my cock-head inside her. We both groaned, both tried to stifle much louder sounds. She was like lava inside, hotter than anything I'd ever been near.

Finally, she caught her breath. "There's money. I'll give you money."

I almost laughed. She was so convincing and I almost had a moment of doubt, but I saw deep in her eyes that wicked sparkle, that knowing excitement.

"Fuck," I breathed in her ear and shoved everything in as hard and as deep as I could and then I almost screamed in pain. She was biting my shoulder, stifling an unbelievable orgasm. I could feel her clamping and twisting inside, tugging and pulling on my cock. She was pushing up, lifting my entire lower body and hers off the bed. Her tits were flopping, bouncing against my chest. I would never have believed it, but I became completely erect. I held myself inside her, letting the sensations pass and after a minute or so she opened her eyes, red with sweat. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than any teenager or college coed I'd ever seen. I kissed her softly.

We kissed and we fucked gently for long unbelievable minutes. I would feel soft tremors, after-shocks here and there and she would caress my ass, I would caress her tits. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, after a particularly intense kiss, we started going at each other again, each of us having got our second breaths. And I pounded into her with everything I had. And she took it all, everything. Never had I enjoyed such deep, full strokes into a woman. Never had a woman matched each stroke with her own counter-blow so effectively and with such brutality. I could feel my pelvic bone becoming bruised. We writhed and twisted in each other's arms and started building for an incredible finale, something to write down in the history books and just as I arrived, she suddenly tried to stop me in mid-stroke. I finished my stroke and buried myself inside her with everything I had, feeling her bloated furry cunt-lips smashed, wedged wide open, her clit digging into me, her tits flattened and one with my chest.

"Shhhh," she groaned, holding me tightly and I started coming.

After my second monster spurt, I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. My body shuddered in orgasm and fear, as did her's but neither of us could stop the glorious release. My life would end the back of my mind told me, but I had to finish and continued pressing into her with what little I had left. She humped hard against me, biting my hand to quiet herself and I felt myself being clenched in a fist of swollen, dripping flesh for what seemed like eternity and then everything kind of blacked out.

As we both came to, gasping each other's hot air, the knocks on the door became louder. "Jane," a distant voice seemed to be calling. "Jane." I looked down at my bleeding hand, dripping into her mouth and shook my

head. I was dead. Dead. Oh fuck, me. Dead.

"Jane," the voice tried again, a little more loudly.

She took a deep breath and rasped out: "Yes."

"Are you okay?" the voice asked.

"Bad headache," she called out.

"Oh," the voice said and there was silence for half a minute or so. "I'll sleep downstairs, then, okay?" the voice finally said, resigned.

"Please," she moaned, my cock just now starting to recede, grudgingly inside her.

And the footsteps started again, this time without menace, leaving us.

I stayed the night with Jane. We fucked one more time (how I managed I don't remember all that well). I left at the break of dawn the next morning, sneaking out the back door, after one final squeeze of her magnificent tits under her bath-robe.

When I got home, I found Tammy in my bed asleep. I collapsed next to her and when I woke up in the mid-afternoon she wasn't there.

She left me a note telling me she really liked me, but maybe we should start seeing other people. I laughed and called her house to apologize for blowing her off. To my delight, Jane answered and we made a date for the next night. Why not? My parents would be away for a family event.