The Ad, Chapter 3
by
PlanetDweller
(MF, romance, M/F/young teen, dad/son, dad/son/stepmom, menstrual sex,
light DSBD)
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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 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 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 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 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 parachute flare shoot up in the sky, run get
your clothes, a 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 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 on the throes
of approaching manhood, my own glances down at him not being able not to
notice the darkening hair on his pubis "...but no different, not much at
least, from his Dad...just perfect gentlemen".
Reaching the concrete barrier that separated the Atlantic from the Cape
Fear River, we turned to walked back towards the vehicle as the overhead
creeping sun let it be known that was near lunchtime already. Greg broke
away from us and began splashing in the waves once more, being the kid he
was.
Back at our daycamp, I simply had to change my Tampax. Scooting into
the changing tent to do so in some relative privacy, Sandy came in and
wanted to smooch a little as Greg worked to light the charcoal in the grill
and drag things out of the cooler just a few feet away from us, but me
being me I didn't want to make noise which I knew he could hear without
even trying.
"Wuuuu..why not, Hon'?..."
"Because Greg's just outside, Silly, that's why..."
"Awww, Honey, Greg's heard me and his 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 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, or not, Not, not
yet to either so far, we became a that weekend.
Some weeks later, Sandy invited me to some get-drunk-and-fall-down pickin' barbecue that some friend of his was having that following Labor
Day weekend. I had only been to a couple of 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 on the 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 I was so deeply in love
with that I would have 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 in my life kissed me
together for all we were worth, I grabbing their naked cocks one in each
hand while they groped me through my clothes. Clothes which were almost
immediately shed in a trail as we headed to "our" bedroom.
"Marry me, Sandy...." I whispered aloud as the last of my clothing as
well as my defenses were voluntarily shed, almost tripping Greg as it
caught under his feet, he stumbling into me more, I kissing him firmly on
the mouth as a lover as well as he soon-to-be stepmom.
"Yes, I'll marry you, Pat, I'll marry you!" Sandy cheerfully replied.
In our bedroom, Greg motioned for me to get on the bed so that my rump
was sticking high in the air my face down in a doggie-style position as my
legs hung in the freeair off the edge of the bed. Smiling, I complied.
Hearing the drawer of the nighstand slide open, a second later I felt the
cold of the KY hitting my rear, a practiced finger working some inside me
as Greg crawled onto the bed and bent down to kiss me. Sandy's cock slid
into my asshole with ease.
In all our months going together, we had never assfucked at all. Of
course I would have if he had asked me to, but he never did, so I never
pushed it either. God, it felt so good! Finally. Slapping my buttcheeks
a little, Greg tied my wrists behind my back with some well-worn dacron
cord fished out from a box pulled out from underneath the bed. My tail was
soon being lightly paddled with an 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 as he kissed me up and down my
spine.
God, GOD, GODDAMIT!!!...heaven...sheer bliss...heaven.
My Perfect Love and My Perfect Love Junior. Yes, I would be their and 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 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 while shoving a couple of fingers up my tail for effect, my 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 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 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 fuck their
wife and mother...FUCK ME!"
Greg grabbed and mauled my 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 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 between my own legs as Greg cuntfucked and his Dad, My Love,
assfucked me, playing with my clit and gorging 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 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 to both my new Husband
and his son my new Best Man.
-30-
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