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Mother, may I

Mother, may I

Unknown Mother, may I


    Sonny struggled vainly to unhook his mother's bra.
    She said, "There must be a loose thread caught."
    Loose thread, hell. His fingers were rubber, that was the trouble, and his cock was so hard it hurt.
    His mother, Kit, wore only bra and panties. She was sitting on the chintz-covered bench before her makeup table, leaning toward the mirror, brushing mascara onto her eyelashes.
    His mother, Kit, was the prettiest woman in town. Silky red hair clouded about her pouty, babyish face. The blackened lashes shaded wide brawn eyes. A sliver of pink tonguetip showed between slick, full lips. And her shape! Men in the neighborhood called her Mrs. Pretty Tits. Sonny could see her boobies in the mirror, stretching her bra like they were trying to bust out of it. The rosy crowns were pointed puffs in the transparent nylon.
    He tried to keep his gaze riveted to the bra hooks and her back.
    But even her back was so luscious that the sight of it had made his cock grow out like a hammer handle stretching his shorts.
    He was burning with shame. My mother, he thought, my own mother! I'm horny for my own mother!
    Her back was narrow, the skin color a pale gold warmed by pink. Her spine channel was deep and the bra band stretched across it like a bridge. This should make it easy to free the hooks but his rubbery fingers only managed to twist them around. And his gaze kept sliding down to her pantied behind. She really had an ass. When she walked swaying down the street, men stopped to watch her chubby ass wobble and roll.
    She seemed too intent on darkening and lengthening her lashes to notice his fumbling.
    She had called him into her bedroom a few minutes ago, saying that this bra was uncomfortably tight, that she would change it, but the clasp was worn, cockeyed, tangled in nylon threads.
    He saw no loose threads and nothing wrong with the catch. The trouble was his shaking, rubbery, useless fingers and the distraction of the terrible surging throbs of his cock.
    One of the hooks came free. The taut elastic now pulled hard at the remaining hook.
    She asked, "Are you going over to Lily's?"
    Lily was the girl next door.
    "I guess so," he choked.
    It was noon and his mother was dressing for work. This unusual circumstance was due to her boss having been away overnight. He had just phoned saying that he needed her help in the office.
    Kit was executive secretary to the president of the company. Her job had supported them for years, ever since her divorce from Dad. She had even paid off the mortgage on this little house on the edge of town.
    He tried to squeeze the elastic bra band against the hook.
    She said, "I may be late tonight. If I don't phone, make supper for yourself. Or eat at Lily's."
    His throat felt tight. He could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Will you be back in time for the movie?"
    "I don't know."
    The movie at the Strand tonight was supposed to be really funny. They had been looking forward to seeing it together.
    He knew that most guys hated going to the show with their folks. But Mother-Kit-was great to go places with. Like, in a funny movie she whooped with laughter, and everybody seemed to laugh with her. She caught every joke.
    Besides, he was proud to be seen with her, Kit being so cute and always well dressed. Everybody ogled her. Now that he was taller she was almost like his date, because she was small and curvy, and the way she held his arm when they went into the theater made him really feel good.
    Lily, the girl next door, sometimes got mad and called him a momma's boy. But he didn't care.
    Miraculously, the bra hook came free.
    The slippery nylon band escaped his fingers as the weight other titties jerked the bra harness. The shoulder straps sprang loose.
    She pressed an arm to the cups, holding them in place while she continued brushing mascara onto her eyelashes.
    She asked, "Why don't you take Lily to the movie?"
    Looking over her shoulder, Sonny could see under her gaping bra cups to her swelling white breasts and thick pink nipples.
    His cock gave a harsh jerk. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. It was a hot day in July but the air felt cool compared to the burning inside him.
    "Take Lily to the show?" he asked.
    She gazed up at his mirror image. "She'd like you to take her."
    "Well, I don't know." The thought had never occurred to him. He and Lily were more like buddies. He helped with work in her father's greenhouse, and ate a lot of meals with them, and Lily was his best friend, but they didn't exactly date. He said, "Maybe if you get home in time, we could all three go."
    Frowning, she returned to her makeup. She was more negligent now in holding the bra cups against her bosom. He eyed the lovely melon shapes, noting how they were drawn out to pink points. Gosh, if the guys who called her Mrs. Pretty Tits had this view, they'd bust their pants.
    She said, "Lily would rather you take her alone."
    He recalled that lately his mother had dropped several hints about his taking Lily places.
    Kit put away her mascara box and said, "I have to dress now. Kiss me goodbye and buzz off."
    He bent and kissed her downy cheek. The bra no longer hid anything. He could see all of her succulent breasts. This close, her nipples looked almost an inch long.
    He suddenly got the idea that she wanted him to see them! Nor did he miss the shadow of her pussy hair, the arc of it under her belly fluffed out against the transparent panties, auburn curls glinting through.
    He turned away toward the door.
    He was almost out of the bedroom when Kit said, "Sonny, in the movies put pour arm around Lily. Girls like that. And kiss her.
    He choked, "But I don't-you see-Lily isn't the kind-"
    "Sonny, she's a girl. Surely you've noticed those pretty breasts jiggling about under the t-shirts she wears."
    Kit's voice was sharp, rebuking him.
    She continued, "Sonny, you're a handsome boy and Lily is crazy about you. When you kiss her, well, caress her body. She'll protest but she'll love it."
    "But Mother, Lily is more like a friend-"
    "Baloney. You go next door right now. Kiss her. See if I'm not right."
    He edged out to the hall, toward the kitchen, blushing furiously.
    Kit heard the kitchen screen door snap shut as her son went out to the back porch.
    She burst into tears.
    She could still feel the burn of his kiss on her cheek.
    She thrust up from the makeup table, letting her bra fall as she hurried, breasts jiggling and bouncing, to the bathroom, the one room in the house with a lockable door. Shutting it and setting the latch, she went peeling down her panties to the john and squatted on it. She brushed the panties to her ankles, kicked them away.
    Then she spread her legs and fingered into her juicy twat.
    Masturbation was such a lousy substitute! Last night she had slipped into Sonny's bedroom when he was asleep, naked and uncovered because of the hot weather. She had gazed long at his limp cock.
    Finally she had bent down and kissed the rosy tip. Her tears had splashed on his thighs. She had to stop this insanity.
    The trouble began a month ago when one of her two steady shack-up guys, a man much younger than she, had gotten married. They had fucked the night before the wedding. She had phoned him since but the bastard was resolved on fidelity to his luscious new bride. So scratch him. Then, two weeks later, her other guy, a salesman working out of her office, was transferred to a distant state. He had been ideal, about her age, which was thirty-nine. He was a robust cocksman and an amusing companion. But he was married, had a flock of children, and was hundreds of miles away.
    Oh, there were other men and she was pretty enough to attract them. But while surveying the field she had seemed to draw closer than ever to Sonny.
    When she saw him gaze at young girls her teeth gritted. Jealous! Even Lily. Well, Lily was a sweetheart and Kit loved her but when the girl's velvety sloe eyes beamed at Sonny, Kit loved her less. And Lily knew it.
    Kit had always adored the boy. She doted on him, pampered him, and these past days her gaze had lingered on the sleek hardness of his supple young body, which was mostly bare in this hot weather. Even worse, he thriftily wore last year's shorts, which were too tight and emphasized his genital bulge.
    Kit slid two fingers up her seething cunt, thumbed her clit, and began hipping into the manual pressure.
    Soon she was panting. Orgasm had always been easy for her to achieve. With a lusty man she often came five or six times to his single ejaculation. Yes, her troubles had stemmed from too ready a cunt. She did not blame Harry for having divorced her. When she was younger she had been unable to resist the blandishments of almost any man nervy enough to back her into a corner and shove a hand in between her legs. At parties, Harry had three times caught her in a bedroom, her legs wrapped around a man's waist.
    This morning when she got up she had again peeped into Sonny's room and saw his cock stiffen as he thrashed through an erotic dream.
    It was long, rigid, fat-knobbed. A beautiful fuck-tool!
    Well, it had gone far enough. She had taken the first step toward sanity by pushing him at Lily. The girl was so hot for him that her legs bowed when he came in sight. Kit felt certain that he would be able to fuck her. And thus he would fall in love with Lily, and see his mother clearly, as an older person, as a mother less needed than before.
    She had purposely excited him by making him remove her bra, and letting him see her breasts, intending to get him so horny that he would tumble Lily without further thought.
    Kit's hips were wrenching through long, hard jerks. She raised up off the toilet seat, spreading her thighs, rotating her ass. Cuntal convulsions sucked at her fingers. Vaginal juices had begun drooling down her ass.
    Her face caught fire. She panted, surging up to the first plateau of orgasm.
    She had to get a man!
    At the moment only one stud interested her, Don Whitlaw, a guy at the office. He was tall and angular, rather like Sonny. His hair bleached out under the summer sun. Yes, like Sonny's.
    But there was something unsettled, overly boyish about Don. And his wife, Myra, was a puzzle.
    One night at an office party the three had been drinking together and Kit had felt Myra's hand caressing her behind, even fingering between her asscheeks.
    Before she got over the shock of the lesbian pass, other people had joined the group, separating them. She had moved away but not before glimpsing the lust in Myra's eyes.
    Perhaps resentment for the woman had helped her decide to seduce Don. And this afternoon at the office she would organize it.
    She simply had to get a cock up her cunt.
    Her whole body whipped now. Rapidly finger-fucking herself, frantically thumbing her clitoris, she moaned into a full-fledged come, a teeth-gnashing, seething, juice-squirting orgasm.
    She pictured Sonny climbing into the cradle of Lily's thighs and spearing into her slit.
    The thought tore her inside. But it had to be that way, and she had to get Don Whitlaw in bed.
    She lowered to the bathroom mat, knelt, moaning as she gushed over the peak of her come.
    On the back porch, Sonny hesitated. He could not go to Lily's with his cock sticking out a foot.
    His back lawn was shaded by big maple trees. Lily's yard, adjoining it, used to be like this but her father had cut down the trees to make room for the greenhouse, a glittering expanse of glass bigger than the house to which it was attached. The greenhouse was Mr. Folsom's hobby and also an extra source of income. During the day he worked as an accountant.
    When Sonny's erection had eased somewhat, he angled toward the gap in the knee-high hedge that separated the two properties. He moved slowly, ruminating on Kit's actions. Darn it, she could have unhooked that bra herself in two seconds. Then, she could have hidden her breasts when she asked him to kiss her goodbye.
    It seemed like she had meant to get him hot and bothered, and then had pushed him at Lily. Did she want him to make it with Lily?
    His cock was still throbbing when he opened the greenhouse door and moved into smothering, steamy heat. He passed down an aisle between waist-high benches that bore flats of African violets, which Lily's father grew in batches of five and ten thousand to sell wholesale to shopping centers and roadside markets.
    Not seeing Lily, he guessed she was in the house. But in the central aisle he glimpsed her crouched down between the benches, squatting on her heels, shoving clumps of plants into a broken flat.
    She did not see him.
    Her dark bangs were glossy with sweat. Her habitual work costume was a t-shirt and a blue denim skirt. No undies. Her jutting titties were reproduced on the cotton material by circular smudges from brushing against dirty things around the greenhouse. Every surface was coated with powdery florists' earth and mold. The smudges looked like targets because her nipples were dirtiest.
    "Lily," he said.
    Her head jerked up, startled. Dark, velvety eyes flashed.
    "Oh, shit!" she cried. "You scared me."
    "Looks like a fiat came apart."
    "Yeah, the bottom wasn't nailed right. Help me."
    He sat on his heels facing her. They carefully gathered up clods of florists' earth on which tiny green leaves were clustered, African violets only a few weeks from seed.
    He eyed Lily's sun-bronzed, heart-shaped face. It wasn't as pretty as his mother's. That is, it was more lean and hard of chin. Though, Mother had once called Lily's eyes magnificent, and they were, very dark and large and lustrous. Still, he never viewed Lily that way, like sizing up a pretty girl on the street. He knew her too well and mostly saw her like this, working, not dressed up to show herself off. Her t-shirt armpits were dark with sweat but less dirty than her titties, because they stuck out so and squashed against every box or plant flat that she carried.
    Lily wasted no time on frills. She wore her hair in bangs that needed only combing to set right. She viewed undies as an unnecessary bother. He could see up her pulled-back skirt to the dark furriness of her pussy.
    He avoided looking at it. His cock was throbbing again.
    When they had replaced the last clump of seedlings, they carefully lifted the flat, together slipping their hands underneath to hold the loose bottom boards, raised it to the bench, and shoved it in alongside the other flats.
    Lily knuckled sweaty hair away from her eyes. She raised an arm and smelled under it.
    "Phew! I stink."
    Sonny had turned away to hide the stiffness in his shorts.
    She said, "I've done enough for today. Want some lemonade? I'm going to shower off the stink."
    He led the way to the house, which connected through the open kitchen door. Inside he turned to the refrigerator. Lily went to the bathroom.
    Shortly he heard the shower spattering.
    He poured two glasses of lemonade, thinking, Kit said I should kiss Lily, that she would love it. Well, he completely trusted his mother's judgments. She was never wrong except about things like baseball. She couldn't tell a strike from a ball until the umpire called it. Sometimes they went evenings to the park when outfits like Moose and Elk played charity games. Lily's father pitched for Moose and Kit always watched him instead of the ball. She had a thing for Mr. Folsom but he was turned off women. His wife, Lily's mother, had bankrupted him. He had kicked her out long ago but he was still paying off her debts.
    His eyes got hot when Kit was around him but he never did anything.
    Sonny took the glasses of lemonade to the living room, the coolest place in the house, and dropped down on the couch. The shower stopped spattering. Shortly Lily appeared in a fresh t-shirt and blue denim skirt, drying her hair with a towel. She rubbed harshly. Her titties hopped about, the dark points cutting wiggly arcs in the white cotton material.
    She tossed the towel at a chair, raked out her hair with a comb, came and plopped down beside him, grabbing her glass of lemonade.
    He blurted, "Want to go to the movies tonight?"
    He repeated it. She gazed, disbelieving, at him, an eyebrow raised.
    She asked, "What's the matter, can't your mother go?"
    "I just asked if you want to."
    She sipped her lemonade, studying him. "I might have to help Dad deliver that last batch of overgrown petunias."
    "I could go along. Then he could drop us off at the movies." He paused. "Lily, I want to ask you something. See, I've been thinking."
    "It seems like you have." "Suppose I kissed you?"
    She gaped at him. Lemonade dribbled down her chin. She knuckled it away. Slowly a peach blush colored her dark-gold cheeks. She glanced away, frowning, then gulped down her drink and set the glass on the floor.
    "Sonny, did your mother say to kiss me?"
    He bit his lip. Darn it, Lily knew him too well. But he said, "I'm asking you."
    "You sure are dumb. I mean, you're really stupid!"
    "Don't you want to?"
    "You jerk, nobody ever asks for kisses." He kissed her.
    He did it blindly, wildly, crushing his lips to hers, not knowing if she would claw his face or punch him in the belly or what.
    What she did was freeze up stiff as a board. Then she clawed into his hair, twisted, and forced him away.
    She gasped, "You want to break my teeth?"
    He gulped at the lump in his throat. "Gosh; Lily, I'm sorry."
    "Do it gently," she said. Her head fell against his shoulder. Her dark eyes had narrowed. She licked her lips, left her mouth half open, a pink line of tongue showing between her pearly teeth.
    He turned in on her, kissed her soft-mouthed. Her lips rolled under the pressure, widened.
    Her tonguetip slid into his mouth.
    The slippery contact jolted him. The next few moments were a red blur in his mind as he tasted the sweetness of Lily's mouth, felt her lips suck at his, licked her elusive tonguetip. Her fingers caressed his cheek.
    The voluptuousness of her surrender startled him out of his senses.
    At last she slipped away, her head dropping back onto his shoulder.
    She murmured, "I thought you didn't care about me.
    "Lily, I do!"
    Her fingertips caressed his throat. "Lily, you're the prettiest girl I know." "No, I'm not."
    "Like Mother says, you have magnificent eyes- "I don't want to hear about your goddam mother." She nuzzled his throat. She had sort of cuddled up to him, fitting into the shape of his body.
    This did not seem like Lily. She was always sort of energetic, no-nonsense, thrusting busily about- He remembered Mother saying he should caress her body when he kissed her. He stroked her bare arm. She gave a little shiver and squirmed closer. She pressed her lips to his throat and sucked lightly.
    He gazed down at her titties, like cones protruding in her t-shirt but plumper, and because her body was turned, slanted his way. Had Kit meant he should caress Lily's breasts?
    She asked, "Why did you decide you wanted to kiss me?"
    She had already guessed why, when she asked if it was his mother's idea.
    Darn it, his mother should at least stay out of this.
    He said, "Because you're my girl. Aren't you?"
    She gazed steadily at him, Then a blush touched her cheek and she turned to his neck and whispered, "If you say so, I guess I am."
    He glanced down at her titties. Her nipples knobbed the soft knit cotton of the t-shirt. Quite deliberately, he moved his hand to one breast and cupped it firmly.
    Lily gave a gasp and squeezed in closer.
    He thumbed her nipple. It hardened.
    She whispered against his throat, "Gosh; you've even noticed that I have titties."
    He chuckled. "I always notice them, the way your t-shirt is dirtiest there because they're in the way and butt into everything."
    Her hand slid up his neck, behind, and her fingers grew into his hair like the tendrils of a vine. Her face raised, her wet mouth open. He kissed her again, this time with more assurance, mouthing her lips and tonguing in. She sucked at his tongue. He could hear her breathing shorten, like rasping.
    He explored her tittie, testing the firmness. Solid. And yet it was soft except for the nipple sharpening against his palm.
    He fingered the t-shirt up over it and clutched the nude hard-pointed cone.
    Lily's mouth slid from his. She gasped, "I have to breathe!"
    She panted as he gently squeezed her bare breast, studied the nipple peg, still extending as her aureole puffed.
    She whispered, "That does things to me. "Like what?"
    She squirmed closer. "It makes me feel hot. In other places."
    He got the idea. He glanced at her bare legs. Her skirt had wQrked up almost to her crotch. He reached down to her thigh and stroked it.. Gosh, it felt so different from his, soft, kind of waxy, slick.
    He fingered up to her pubes and pressed the silky hair.
    She gave a kind of shudder.
    He asked, "There? It warms you there?"
    "Uh-huh. In my pussy."
    Then, abruptly, her arm dropped and her hand closed on his stiff prick.
    She fisted it tightly.


    Lily could hardly believe that her hand was clenched on Sonny's prick, a rigid cylinder burning right through the material of his shorts.
    She lived in a man's world, between her father and Sonny. She wore skirts instead of shorts for greenhouse work, trying to get the message through to them that she was different, a girl, that she needed affection, love, flattery, and from Sonny the excitement of sex. Their only recognition of her femininity had been excusing her from heavy lifting and carpentry work.
    Now, out of nowhere, Sonny had begun kissing her and fondling her breasts.
    After years of gazing wistfully at his crotch bulge, she at last held his cock.
    She had to see it. She grabbed the zipper tab and yanked it down, thrust her hand in his open fly and seized the hot trapped meat and wrenched it out.
    She gasped on seeing a giant pinkish stem capped with a red-purple arrowhead shape, towering up from the ruff of his pubic hair.
    The stalk felt as hard as the handle of a greenhouse trowel. But it was enormous! Almost six inches of it sprouted from her clutching hand. And the knob was so swollen and inflamed that it looked infected.
    She had never dreamed that it would be this big and the colors so garish. Oh, she knew what an erect cock was supposed to look like, from pictures in her sex education book at school, and fuck photos that kids passed around. And girls talked about pricks like hard salamis.. But this was too much.
    She thrust her face into Sonny's throat, as though hiding from his rampant organ. It did not match him. That throbbing stalk had nothing to do with his rather pretty face, his slim chest, his gangly limbs. Some kids called Sonny a sissy. In anger, Lily had often sneered that he was a momma's boy.
    Still, she had known there was iron in him. On very hot days he worked in the greenhouse right alongside Daddy, after Lily herself had fled the heat indoors. Daddy called him "Your boy friend," in a way that signified strong approval.
    Sonny asked, "What's the matter?"
    She whispered, "I thought it would be littler. I mean, in your pants the bulge looks like a small fist. See, everybody can tell by looking how big a girl's titties are but your thing is-I didn't think-"
    She burst into tears.
    Sobbing against his shoulder, she released the burning cock and clung to his neck.
    He said, "Well, anyhow, Lily, we shouldn't be here in the living room. In daylight and all."
    She glanced through tears at the front windows, shadowed by the porch overhang but only lightly veiled by thin curtains. Anybody could see in.
    She choked, "I guess you're right. We better go to- "Your bedroom?"
    Her face flamed. She pushed up from the couch. Her legs felt wobbly. She tugged down her t-shirt to cover her breasts. To her bedroom? She had not really thought where kissing and feeling each other would lead, it all had been so sudden.
    He had risen. He nudged her. They moved. Her head was whirling. He steered her to the hall, into her bedroom. There the drapes were drawn to keep out the hot sunshine. He shut the door behind them. In near-darkness she gazed feverishly about the room, seeing familiar objects distorted by her quavering vision. On one wall hung a framed photo cut out from a florists' magazine, an orchid, Phiebos Lilicus, named for her. Her father had hybridized the flower during his orchid days, before Ma bankrupted him. He had had six hundred feet of greenhouses, all gone to buy Ma's extravagant clothes, her new cars, her jewelry. Too late, Daddy had kicked her out and turned everything over to his creditors.
    Beside the orchid was a yellowing photo of Daddy in a Sox uniform, at bat. That year a chipped elbow had knocked him out of the big leagues.
    Daddy was unlucky.
    Sonny asked, "You want to get undressed?"
    Her back was to him. She whispered, "I'm scared."
    "So am I." He was not talking clearly. Like his words had lodged in his throat. He said, "If you don't want to, okay. But maybe it would be easier. I mean, if we got used to each other-naked."
    She did not know why she was so upset. She had always wanted this.
    She said, forcing herself, "All right." She grabbed her t-shirt bottom and peeled off the garment, mussing her hair. She reached to the dresser for a comb without turning toward him. She raked out her, bangs and tossed the comb back at the dresser. It missed, clattered on the floor. She unfastened the waist of her skirt and dropped it.
    Nude, blushing furiously, she felt his hand touch her arm, turning her. Facing him, she glimpsed his sun-tanned chest, then the white patch at his loins. From his dark ruff of pubic hair protruded the huge, livid curve of his cock. Between his thighs dangled a long, thin, pinkish sac, wide at the bottom, lopsided because one testicle hung higher than the other.
    His genitals were so immense, out of proportion to his slim body!
    He drew her to him. Her nipples touched his chest and his cockhead burned her belly. She was shaking with fear but she managed to raise a hand to his prick and squeeze it.
    The head was surprisingly soft, velvety, a sort of thick sponginess. She indented it deeply before arriving at the boniness within.
    She whispered, "Do other boys have such big-pricks?"
    Saying the word prick felt funny, like spitting it off her tongue, but once it was gone she felt relieved.
    He said, "I suppose it's normal size." He seemed undisturbed by the word.
    She suddenly realized that she had used it many times before him, had once shouted that he was a stubborn prick. But that had meant something different.
    He whispered, "Listen, could I feel your-pussy? I mean, all this is so new, I don't know, maybe I'll get used to it."
    "All right," she said.
    She watched him finger her pubic bush, like examining the texture of the hair. He stroked from the centerline crest on her mound out through thinning curls to the single wisps on the sides of the protruding plumpness. He pressed the cushion of flesh, testing its resiliency.
    She whispered, "That's just a pad, like. Not very sexy. Everything is down underneath, between my legs."
    He fingered her lip hair. Watching his lean, strong hand move in to cup her pussy, Lily thought, A boy's hand is really between my legs and I'm holding this enormous thing of his, and I can hardly breathe. Still, this is Sonny and I trust him, His fingers trembled on her plump cunt lips. Was he as nervous as she?
    His finger slipped in between. It moved about, stirring the lips. She held her breath. He touched her clitoris. She gasped as the pressure fired a hot little spark into her belly. Then he explored her slit.
    He whispered, "You're open. Is that how it gets?"
    She was equally surprised. At first each side of his finger had touched a lip. Now it was lost between them. And his fingertip slid easily, like her slit was oily.
    He nudged tentatively at her hole. She gasped with surprise as a funny fluttering undulated down her vagina.
    She laid the flat of her hand under his cock and rubbed it. She plucked at the tight skin. She slid her hand down to the soft, thin scrotum. It felt like stretchy rubber. She weighed his testicles.
    Then her knees became rubbery. She leaned against him, an arm about his waist.. She fisted his cock and hung on.
    His finger probed her cunt, and she kneaded his bony prick, both of them breathing hard. Her whole belly was quivering with excitement and her nipples burned against his chest and her mouth remained dry no matter how hard she licked her lips.
    He whispered, "Lily, do you want to-I mean, on the bed?"
    She nodded against his shoulder.
    He had not said fuck, but when Lily sat on the bed and felt the pile of little pillows behind her she amazed herself by instinctively spreading her legs wide, exposing her open cunt.
    He hung over her. "Lily, should I-do it?"
    She could not meet his gaze. She looked down at her thighs, angled outward from her muff. She reached up, touched his arms, drew him in between her legs. He knelt. She grasped the shank of his cock to steer it. His scrotum hung softly against her hand.
    She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, drawing her breasts up high, bracketing her view of their genitals, then thrusting away.
    At last the soft sheathing of his knob touched her split. She rubbed the spongy bulk up and down her drooling gash. It moved more slickly on each stroke. Then she lodged it in the portals of her hole. It felt like an apple poked into a kitchen funnel, its progress stopped.
    "Lily, what should I do?"
    "I don't know. Wait. Hold still. It feels too big."
    "Is it in?"
    His cock gave a twitch. And it was in, the head buried. She gasped. It was inside her, the bulk of his knob choking her opening. Her cunt came to life, hot waves rippling down to gather at the stretched mouth, suddenly squeezing the intruder.
    It was not in deep enough. Her spasm popped it right out.
    He cried, "What happened?"
    "My sphincter grabbed too soon."
    "Your what?"
    Apparently he did not know she had one. His ignorance made her giggle, and that relaxed her.
    She again seated the puffed arrowhead shape in her slippery inner lips. She whispered, "Push a little."
    The head wedged in. She squirmed, adjusting to it. Her hole quivered on the plump knob that slowly, inexorably, advanced. She craned her neck to see. Sonny's torso was still raised up and she could actually see the coral ring of her cunt mouth stretched by his enormous cock.
    She still clutched it. The softness of his scrotum hung against her knuckles. Her cunt gulped sucking at the piercing knob. Her dewy lip hair was closing on his shortening shaft.
    She released his prick and fell back, breathing hard as the throbbing meat curved up into her body. Sonny's torso lowered. His slowly settling weight squeezed the long cock up her cunt. Lily drew her knees back and wide apart, straightening her hole.
    His loins pressed her pubic mound.
    She grasped his shoulders and clung, too amazed at what had happened to evaluate it, thinking, I have his cock in me, I'm a woman now, my legs are spread, my pussy's drooling, and it's beautiful, that hard prick inside me.
    Then all her thoughts were swept away by a violent turmoil seething about his cock.
    She whispered, "Move a little."
    He jogged inside her.
    The turmoil became a storm. Her face burned. Her hips wrenched and her cunt sucked the long cylinder of meat.
    She was coming!
    Flames filled her vision. He drove into her, hard. His scrotum slapped her ass.
    That set her off.
    "Sonny, I'm coming. I'M COMING!" she cried.
    Sonny could not believe that he was lying on Lily's naked body, squashing the twin cushions of her tits, his cock pronged into her steaming, jellied cunt.
    Before he had a chance to get used to it she began jerking, twisting, writhing, tossing. Her face was red and her upper lip beaded with sweat.
    "My cunt," she choked. "It's all slippery and twisted up!"
    "What should I do?"
    "Fuck me! Oh, fuck me!"
    He began pumping. Her cunt had sucked in, hermetically sealed, entirely full and squeezing his rod.
    Her heels dug into his spine.
    She arched up against him, thrusting violently. He did his best to meet her heaves but her movements were erratic.
    Then she wailed, "Sonny! There! I'm coming! It's up my cunt, Sonny! Agghh! Oh-hhhh!"
    With that she collapsed.
    Her legs dropped from his back. Her arm grip eased, her hands sliding down his shoulders, falling limply to the bed.
    He raised up to look down at their joined crotches, at their merged pubic hair, to make sure this was really happening.
    He saw his cock, all slimy, lift out of Lily's furry cunt. It moved quite easily now. Like he had the knack of it. He watched himself raise out and then horn back in.
    He whispered, "Lily, gosh, you know, I'm really fucking you!"
    She smiled, kind of lopsided. "You dumb prick."
    "Why do you say that? Are you mad at me? Don't you like me?"
    She drew him down and kissed his cheek.. "I wouldn't let anybody else fuck me."
    "Lily, did you ever, before this-"
    "Just candles. But they're smaller than your cock."
    "Oh, you dumb prick!" But she was hugging him and again she crossed her legs on his back and arched up, impaling herself on his rod. He got, the idea that dumb prick meant she loved him but before the idea could really sink in something happened to his cock, like it had grown to double size and stiffened to an iron pry bar. He was sweeping in and out of her, long, rushing strokes, and his scrotum felt a foot long, a pendulum whacking her ass.
    She whispered, her voice calm, "You're coming, Sonny."
    He choked, "But you-you already did. What should I do?"
    "You're doing it. Just shoot it into me. I'll go over the top again. With you."
    His muscles drew out twangingly tight. His movements were becoming mechanical, stiff, as though he were a machine controlled by something other than his mind.
    Lily lipped up to meet his thrusts. Her cunt seemed to gulp at his meat. There was a subdued violence to her movements, a hard rhythm and yet it was all sloshy.
    His cockhead escaped her cunt. Cool air struck it. He jabbed, missed, slid up her split. Frantically he thrust a hand down between their bodies to finger it back in. He was jerking so hard that he stabbed her satiny thigh, then her muff, before he found her hole. But once the head was in, it whooshed right up the curve of her vagina.
    She whimpered, "My belly is swollen. It's going to bust."
    He was burning all over. He raised off, banged it in hard. Then he began fucking in and out so fast that it became a blur.
    His cock had lengthened, a yard-long stiff curve sludging in and out of her.
    He was violently, visually aware of his hidden prick. He could imagine every contour, the flattish stem, the bulging veins at the sides, the flaring arrowhead plunging into her convulsing hole. The rest of his body was just a propellant. His sole being was that enormous cock burying itself in Lily's split.
    He was aware of her sucking, boiling cunt, and yet not at all. He was a living, rampant, throbbing cock trying to blow his end off. Balls each weighing ten pounds slapped Lily's ass. Jesus, his scrotum was a foot long! When he jerked back his nuts flew up to his ass, then flailed down, whipping her pearly buttocks.
    They exploded.
    He was howling. He felt two limber pencils uncoil from his balls, sort of like spaghetti, not liquid at all, joining inside his cock, trying to squeeze out. They could not pass the head. It hurt. He was fucking violently but they would not go.
    It burst. Not a pencil, not spaghetti. Gobs flying, a streamer of gobs clinging together as they flew into Lily's cunt.
    She shrieked, "Coming, coming, Sonny! My cunt is coming on your cock! Shoot it into me!"
    He still roared. More blobs burst from him. He mouthed Lily's lips. She sucked the tongue right out of his mouth.
    She bridged her back and whacked against him.
    He sawed in and out of her, delivering more, spurting until something drooled out of her cunt and wet his balls, her juice or his jism, he did not know which, only knew that she was overflowing.
    He groaned loudly as the last spewing release triggered his collapse.
    They lay facing on the bed, her head on his arm. She was smiling.
    He whispered, "Did you-like it?"
    She turned her head and nibbled his shoulder. She bit rather hard.
    He asked, "Don't you want to talk about it?"
    "I don't mind. I was thinking, I never thought your big cock would fit into me. My cunt is more roomy than I figured. After that it was easy. I came twice. Did you know I came twice?"
    "I couldn't miss it."
    At that moment the phone rang.
    Lily raised her head, listening. The ringing persisted. She climbed over him and hurried out toward the hall.
    He watched her bobbing white asscheeks disappear through the doorway..
    It had all been so crazy, wild, explosive, that he hardly knew what had happened. Lily seemed calm, contented. But he was all loose ends and tangles.
    He heard her talking on the phone. Shortly she returned. She picked up the comb she had dropped on the floor and stood by the dresser combing out her bangs, her titties jiggling. Her crotch hair was all wet and glistening. Between the vertical hair furrows he could see her delicate inner lips.
    "It was Daddy," she said. "He's coming home early, in about two hours, to haul those last petunias to the Circle Market."
    She spoke softly, and her pose, a hip shot out, completely at ease despite her nudity, put heart into him. He grinned with pleasure.
    Done combing her hair, she glanced down at her pussy. He saw her impish look, a sudden grin, a flash of her eyes. She began combing her pubic hair downward. She bowed her legs and combed the lip furrows apart until those slim, glossy pink inner lips were fully exposed, standing out like rose petals.
    Her cunt hair now mimicked her bangs. Sonny laughed.
    She dropped the comb on the dresser and came and jumped on him. They rolled on the bed, giggling, hugging each other's hot, naked flesh.
    Pausing, Lily said, "I'm all gooky. Feel my crotch." She seized his hand and thrust it in between her legs.
    Her inner thighs and lip hair were slippery with cunt juice and jism.
    He asked, "Do you want to clean up?"
    "God, no. I love it." She curled an arm about his neck and kissed him. Then she lay back smiling up at him, her dark eyes glowing. "Sonny, are you going to take me to the movies tonight?"
    He nodded.
    "In the movies, kiss me. So everybody sees. I want them to know. Okay?"
    She made him feel awfully good.
    Her hand sneaked in between his thighs and cupped his balls against his limp cock.
    He gazed at her breasts, milky cones sloping toward him. He stroked them, drawing fingertip circles about the nipples.
    She whispered, "Suck my titties?"
    He bent down and licked each firm point, then drew one into his mouth.
    Lily's hand squeezed his wadded cock and balls. He feasted on her titties, licking circles around the nips, suckering onto them, pulling, then yawning and trying to swallow an entire, soft, plump, luscious cone. He fisted it, hardening the flesh, nibbled and sucked.
    Lily moaned, "Oh-h, Sonny, that's so good!" Her hips squirmed about and her legs scissored, rubbing each other.
    He teased her tit ends with soft, wet kisses.
    She said, "Your cock is growing."
    He glanced down and saw the head protruding from her fist. As he watched, she kneaded and tugged it. The stem was fattening. She gave it a slow, squeezing, jerk-off action.
    He was amazed at the eager growth so soon after he had come.
    He said, "Gosh, it's getting up. Do you want me to fuck you again?"
    "You silly ass, why do you think I'm pulling it?"
    He grinned and raised, climbing over her leg. As he did this Lily's thighs spread slowly, like lightly gilded white wings. He gazed at her pussy, the wet-matted hair and the ovaled lips exposing the pink length of her slit, the raised, slim inner labia, the darkness of her hole. She pulled at her knees, turning up her buttocks, showing her asshole pucker in its whorl of dark hairs.
    He looked up her belly to the conical rise of her pretty tits, then to the dark eyes smiling at him.
    "Come on," she whispered.
    "It's not quite hard."
    "Let it harden inside me." She grasped it. He levered forward. She squeezed his limber cock against the vertical trough of her cunt, lubricating the length of it. She nipped the head down into the mouth of her vagina. He pushed. It was not yet rigid but it slid in. Her fingers walked up it, drawing inward, forcing cock into her hole.
    He lowered, rested on his forearms, his chest touching her nipples. His cock sort of uncoiled then, and slid up her cunt.
    Lily giggled. "It just shot right into me!" She wrapped her arms about his shoulders. He felt her heels press his buttocks. Her mouth sought his. As they kissed his prick filled out and became solidly implanted in her belly.
    Her cunt pulled at him, squeezing quirkily at his stem.
    He said, "There, is that your, what you call it, sphincter?"
    She laughed. "You're learning, you stupid prick. Did you think that all I've got in my crotch is a hole? Here, feel this."
    A soft, wet gulping washed his cock, sort of sucking it.
    He grinned. "I guess because girls haven't anything that shows, guys think they're just splits to stick it into."
    Lily's response was a stronger cunt sucking. Her heels dug into his ass, nudging him in deeper. A rocking movement, began, a rhythmic heaving. Ending each roll, Lily said, "Oh-h, good!"
    He felt calm, aware of every curve and dimple of her body, of her titties forever changing form under his movements, of her hot belly, of his loins weighing on her mound. She had called it a cushion. It was also the fulcrum on which they balanced. He lengthened his strokes, delighting in the squishy way his cock sludged up her curved vagina. His loins slipped into the moist spread of her cunt lips, flattening them.
    She mouthed his ear and whispered, "I won't call you a dumb prick any more. Instead, I'll say darling.
    He chuckled. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, knowing that he loved Lily. He had been a dumb prick for not having done this long ago.
    "Darling," he whispered.
    Her hips had begun wrenching through short arcs each time he shoved in. The suction was much stronger, the pull of his hot cock a delicious caress. He surrendered to this sweet gulping. He gave her vigorous but unhurried thrusts. to work on. He lost track of time and place. Her father was supposed to come home in two hours. Even if they fucked that long and got caught at it, he would not care.
    She said, "Put your hands under my behind. Hold me up."
    She arched. He slid his hands down and clutched her plump buttocks. She gave a grunt of satisfaction as he lifted her, snuggling firmly into her crotch.
    Gosh, his prick seemed to penetrate a yard this way.
    Lily squirmed on the length impaling her.
    She choked, "Darling, I'm starting to come. Shoot off in me, huh?"
    "Lily, I'm in no hurry."
    Her arms vised on his shoulders. "But honey, I want it. Just fuck me so hard that you come. Shoot my cunt full of your jism. Huh?"
    Bowed over her, as though lifting a great weight, he hipped in, bucking high, smacking loudly in her open spilt, giving longer strokes, his scrotum flying and thumping her ass.
    "Aggh!" she cried. "Sonny, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
    His cock was an iron immensity whipping in and out, as big as his Forearm and fist, driving into her sucking hole, emerging to cooling air, and then, as he grunted, plunging in full length.
    Her feet were braced on his back. She had arched up and was hip-jerking wildly, crushing her twat lips on his loins.
    He gave a shout of joy as he slammed in. His glee, his love for Lily, were too much to express. He kissed her, thrusting his tongue to her throat.
    He rooted frenziedly in her cunt.
    He began flying then. His body whipped like spring steel, smashing the tremendous bulk of his cock into her.
    He went rigid. Lily shrieked and stopped dead for a split second while his balls climbed up into his cock and squirmed through. He lunged and his nuts shot off, spewing into her.
    She whacked at him, her cunt milking in uncontrolled, gulping seizures.
    His second shot seemed to blow holes in her. She collapsed.
    He cried, "I've got more! Lily, are you over the top?"
    "I'm over two tops," she panted. "Honey, I'm coming again. Give me the rest of it."
    He slammed in. Lily screeched and hammered at him and clawed his back. Her hips were swinging through huge circles, winding up until they exploded in voracious cunt gulps sucking his semen.
    His testicles were empty but he fucked on, driving Lily over yet another peak of orgasm.


    At the office Kit escaped her lust for Sonny through work. The boss had heaped her desk with reels of tape to be typed up, stacks of documents for photo-reproduction, and wads of memos. He had already taken the bag of golf clubs he kept at the office and headed for the country club.
    Her job was largely a matter of organization, having a girl Photostat the documents, routing the tapes through the typing pool-later she would correct the spelling and send the stuff back to be retyped-making phone calls dictated by the memos, and filing it all away.
    She kept an eye on the office's trysting ground, the water cooler.
    When she saw Don Whitlaw head for it she abandoned work, fluffed her hair, and set out on the prowl.
    Sauntering toward him she felt her cunt lips squish together. She was as randy as a cat on a rooftop.
    Don was a grinning, lanky, disjointed, floppy haired guy with melting eyes.
    He said, "Here comes Mrs. Pretty. Hello, Mrs. Pretty."
    "Pretty what?" She knew what they called her.
    "Knees," he said. "Mrs. Pretty Knees."
    She filled a paper cup with ice water. Tasting it, she made a wry face. "Lousy beer, huh?"
    "As beer, it is watery." He was looking at her breasts. She wore a yellow summer dress with thin shoulder straps, the bosom scooped out, a garment she had chosen for his delectation. He leered at her cleavage. "Mrs. Knees, you sure are pretty."
    "But thirsty. This being beer season." She knew Don was a beer drinker.
    "Well! The boss is off for the afternoon. And Barney's Bistro has suds on tap."
    "Let's split this scene," Kit said.
    Her plan to seduce Don Whitlaw ran into nothing but snags. They were no sooner ensconced on barstools at Barney's when a guy from the shipping department appeared, saying he had guessed from their departure that the big boss had left for the day.
    He and Don talked baseball and drank beer while Kit, fuming with anger, sipped a gin and tonic. Shortly the shipping guy's two girl assistants appeared. One climbed all over Don. Other people arrived and within an hour a full-fledged office party was in progress.
    A couple of men were flirting with Kit but she had her eye on Don. Seeing him duck out toward the phone booths, she followed, feeling so frustrated, so hot-crotched, so desperately in need of being fucked that she decided to simply demand that he take her to a motel.
    He was talking on the phone when she opened the door and crowded into the booth.
    His arm slid around her. He gave her a hug.
    He said to the phone, "Honey, she's here right now. Kit, I have the wife on the line. Myra wants you to come to but house for supper. Can do?"
    Kit could have screamed.
    His wife had invited her for family supper, when her cunt was dripping like a leaky faucet!
    But she agreed. At least this would let her stay away from home, giving Sonny and Lily more time to be together.
    In her car, Kit followed Don's vehicle to Poplar View, a new development on the edge of town. Her jaundiced eye saw the place as ugly, a scatter of split-level houses clumsily plopped down on treeless, raw-looking lots. She positively hated Don for rejecting her, and his wife too, and their shitty house!
    Don ushered her in the front door. She was pleasantly surprised by the living room. It featured a handsome sofa in color and apple green, some good antiques, boldly colorful abstract paintings on the walls.
    Myra thrust out of the kitchen, calling, "Darlings!"
    She was a tall, golden-limbed blonde wearing white shorts and a halter in which big tits bobbed and lurched. Kit eyed her resentfully, blaming her for Don's having come home. Myra was a luscious piece, and young, in her early twenties. Stiff competition.
    Kit's attitude shifted to curiosity on recalling the party night when Myra had startled her by caressing her behind.
    Myra gave her no time for speculation, seizing her arm and wheeling her to the kitchen, saying, "Don phoned that he was boozing with Mrs. Pretty-"
    "Pretty Knees," Don put in.
    "Then stop leering at her titties," Myra laughed. "And I said, Invite Mrs. Pretty-"
    "Oh shut up, darling. Invite her to dinner, I said. Kit, I'm so glad to see somebody from the world of the living! I am sick to puking over housewife talk of detergents and recipes. How beautiful you look! Gin and tonic, right? Don told me on the phone. You must be dying of thirst after the long drive here."
    Despite herself, Kit smiled at Myra's rapid-fire chatter. Don's eyes twinkled as he watched his wife prance about, whipping a tonic bottle from the refrigerator, pouring gin with a generous hand. Don obviously doted on her. No wonder Kit's attempted seduction had failed. Myra seemed to fill the room, her golden limbs flashing, her big wobbling breasts tugging the halter this way and that.
    She told her husband, "Chancy called over that he's having trouble patching his boat. He needs your fiberglass expertise. And he's run out of beer."
    Kit saw their glances meet in one of those husband-and-wife gazes in which many things were said, unreadable by a third party.
    He protested, "But Kit is here-"
    "I'll keep Kit company. We'll yell when dinner is ready."
    He opened the refrigerator and took out a six-pack of beer and headed for the back door. Myra watched him intently. The moment the door had closed she clutched Kit's arm.
    She whispered, "Can you keep a secret? I mean, Don would kill me if he found out, he's so fucking square. Come on. The living room."
    Kit followed her to the other room. Myra opened a chrome cigarette box on a lamp table and rummaged among king-sized filter tips.
    She whispered, "I can't trust any of the neighborhood gals. They're so small-minded. But you've been around. See, it's no fun alone."
    She drew a thin, hard-looking pink cigarette from under the white ones.
    "Marijuana?" Kit asked.
    Myra nodded. "It's the best grass, Panama Red. Do you want to turn on?"
    "Well, I've only tried it a couple of times, never getting much out of it."
    "This will send you." Myra seated her on the couch, dropped down beside her, lighting the cigarette. She sucked hard on it, lips compressed, drew until her face turned red. Biting firmly to hold in the smoke, she tugged the cigarette from her lips and handed it to Kit.
    It was all too sudden. Kit gazed vacantly at the hard pink tube in her fingers.
    The disruption of her plans had left her adrift.
    "Go on," Myra urged. "It's the greatest."
    Deciding she had not a thing to lose, Kit imitated Myra, sucking savagely at the stick, filling her lungs, her stomach, tensing every muscle as she forced it down. About to burst, she wrenched the stick from the vise of her lips and returned it.
    She struggled to cramp the smoke down inside her, packing it by gulping, swallowing air. At last she had to let it hiss slowly out of her.
    The next drag was easier. It sat like a lump inside her, then seemed to ooze through inner pores into her bloodstream. When she released her lungful there seemed little pressure left.
    She had been gazing at one of Myra's abstract paintings. It was colorful, decorative, almost garish. But now she saw it come alive. The colors were layered and moving. Reds began to scream. Yellows blushed. The frame was transformed to a rectangular rainbow, a psychedelic nimbus.
    Kit gasped, "Myra, I'm turned on! That painting is like a Technicolor movie."
    "This is grassy grass, this Panama Red. Besides, there's a little hash mixed in. It lifts you like a balloon. Have you ever been a balloon?"
    "No, I'm a movie projector," Kit giggled. "I'm projecting that painting of yours inside out on a wide screen."
    "If you're zeroed in that heavy, I won't be a balloon either.
    This nonsense talk somehow made perfect sense to Kit.
    Myra took gold tweezers from the cigarette box and gripped the remaining butt of the pink stick, the roach, they called it. She held it to Kit's lips. Kit sucked it down to her toes. Her toes seemed to bloat, spread out, curl like fingers. She kicked off her sandals and toed into the nap of the rug, tugging it as she Pressured her gutful of grass down into a tiny pocket.
    Myra had another pull before dropping the roach into the ash tray.
    Kit watched the abstract painting change colors like a kaleidoscope. She gasped, "What a crazy cigarette that was!"
    Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Myra's hand reach up to her. Slender fingers combed into her hair.
    "Silky," Myra murmured. "Copper, gold, silken threads, a million of them, fluffy soft-"
    Kit was aware that the girl had moved closer to her. The abstract painting was going away. She saw Myra's eyes, green warmed by other colors, not that green glitter associated with bitchy women, but a smiling haze beaming affectionately at her. She studied Myra's peaches-and-cream complexion, her delicate nostrils, her baby-pink lips. The lower lip was wide and plump, a damp cushion flattening as she smiled.
    She realized that her time sense had been stretched by the drug. While drawing a single breath she could. study Myra's smile, look inside it, wonder at its meaning, evaluate everything the girl had said to her on their brief previous meetings. She gazed at Myra's slim golden arms, examined their contours, looked at the knobs her nipples made in the white halter, glanced at her long, downy, sun-gilded legs, at the shorts crotch molded to the form of her plump mound and large cunt lips, at the line of material drawn into her split. With a single look she saw Myra a thousand times and thought a thousand things.
    The pertinent thought was that Myra's fingers winding voluptuously into her hair, her nearness, and her smile, all fitted that single ass caress at the party.
    Kit knew she was going to have a lesbian experience. The thought did not disturb her. It would be part of this fourth dimension where picture frames were transformed to rectangular rainbows. She liked this shimmering, iridescent world. She would swing with it, let it happen, judging no one, especially not herself. She would float, drift, engulfing whatever pleasure arrived.
    Myra's lips parted.
    Her pink tonguetip slid out, wet and sinuous. It advanced. The fingers that had been weaving into Kit's hair curled around behind her neck, emerged touching her other cheek, turning her face toward the encroaching tonguetip.
    Kit watched the tongue slipping in between her own lips, which had formed a small circle to admit it.
    The tonguetip revolved slowly, rimming Kit's lip circle, opening it. Myra's mouth pressed in. An open seal was established.
    Within it, Myra's tongue probed.
    The tongue spilled heat down Kit's throat, a syrupy pink warmth that filled her body, dripping like honey down her vagina and seeping out her cunt lips into her panties.
    It was delicious. Oh, it was a grass-floating drug thing, not real. Or did the drug only exaggerate the bald fact that she loved kissing this girl?
    She raised her hands to Myra's face and caressed the velvety skin, held her firmly while yawning, turning her head to thrust her tongue in deeper.
    In a corner of her mind she knew that no kiss could last this long or be so voluptuous. The drug tripled time, quadrupled it. An instant seemed an hour. Even the ending of the kiss was ridiculously drawn out, a lingering, sucking separation. Still reluctant to quit, Kit licked ovals about the girl's lips.
    Myra spoke into her open mouth.
    "I knew you would swing, Kit. Your every movement is so sexy. You sort of flow against people, man or woman. You're a very hot cunt, aren't you?"
    Kit slowly nodded agreement without pausing in licking Myra's lips. They were simply creamy. She sucked the plump lower one as Myra spoke again.
    "Sex with a girl is so much better, isn't it?"
    Kit was puzzled. She was not exactly sexing with a girl, but with her mirror come to life, with a dream, a fantasy, colors from the abstract paintings gathered together and shaped into female form. She caressed peach-fuzzed cheeks, delicate earlobes, a soapy-soft throat. She fingered through warm hair that clung sensuously to her hands. What Myra said mattered little. This new world of visual beauty and voluptuous tactile impressions had consumed her.
    Kit remembered many years ago staying overnight with a girl friend. She had been thirteen or so. In bed they had kissed, caressed each other's titties. In those days without responsibilities, she had been a giggling, giddy, happy girl, willing to try anything.
    The drug was letting her float back to those days, away from the Sonny problem, into a world where each sight and touch and smell was new, exciting, unburdened by meaning.
    Her fingertips brushed down Myra's soft throat to the white halter. They dug under it and drew it down long, white, broad slopes. She lifted it to clear nipples thumbing out from aureoles the size of small saucers. She levered the material down underneath the luscious melons.
    The time-stretch afforded her an hour to finger-circle each breast, to tour the puffing aureoles, to tweak and gently milk the nipples.
    A finger touched her chin. Myra's open mouth was approaching hers. She tongued into it, licked and sucked the sweet saliva.
    With thumbs and forefingers she still milked the huge nipples.
    Myra drew back. Kit glanced down at the protruding breasts shadowing the girl's belly and shorts. A metallic glitter caught her eye, the zipper tab of Myra's fly. She pinched it and pushed downward. The shorts yawned, exposing white flesh, then low-cut flowered panties, the material marked with the dark whorls and tangles of pubic; hair beneath.
    Abruptly Myra moved.
    Kit's time-lagging gaze blurred. The other was standing now, holding Kit's hand, saying, "Come with me."
    Kit became the balloon Myra had spoken of. She did not rise, she simply floated to her feet.
    "Let's go to the bedroom and take our clothes off," Myra said.
    Myra drew the bedroom drapes, reducing the shimmering light that had been the soul of Kit's color-riddled psychedelic euphoria.
    She felt calmer now but intensely curious about the next step in this adventure she was groping her way through. She watched Myra's big breasts sway, wobbling and jiggling as she moved. She eyed the girl's gaping shorts, where flowered panties were darkened by the backing of fluffy pubic hair. She thought, I want to tear her panties down.
    How strange that she lusted for a woman!
    But the very strangeness of it made this the perfect escape from her hunger for Sonny.
    Myra placed a tight pink cigarette on the dresser before the mirror, murmuring, "We'll smoke that later."
    Through the window Kit heard male laughter. Don's voice.
    Myra stepped behind Kit, unzipping her dress.
    Kit asked, "Does Don know?"
    "That I dig girls? Of course. As long as he gets his fucking, he doesn't care. Just so I don't sex with gals in the neighborhood."
    "Does he know that you and I-"
    "Sure. When he phoned me from Barney's and said you were acting randy, I told him to bring you home and then get lost."
    She unhooked Kit's bra, swept dress and bra down her body.
    Myra gasped, "No wonder they call you Mrs. Pretty Tits!"
    Kit gazed at herself in the mirror. Her nude breasts were high, almost perfect spheres, the pink nipples precisely centered on large, puffed aureoles. She had always been proud of her titties, and now, seeing Myra's hands rise under them, slim fingers winding circles about the orbs, they pleased her more than ever. Yes, she wanted Myra to caress her tits, to pant over them, to become as excited as a man would be.
    Myra's hot breasts pressed her bare back. Kit shivered with delight. In the mirror she saw that her eyes were hooded, dark with heat, her smile puffy-lipped and sultry. Her whole body was slowly undulating as the girl behind her stoked and kneaded her breasts, tugged daintily at her nipples until they protruded like pegs from the swollen cushions of her aureoles.
    Myra dropped a hand. Without surprise, Kit watched slim golden fingers caress her belly and slip under her panty waistband and furrow the thick tangle of her mound curls.
    "You're hairy-twatted," Myra whispered.
    "Do you mind that?"
    "I love it!" Myra's knuckles now stretched the panty crotchband. Gently, her fingers slithered boneless down Kit's cunt lips, spread them and explored her gash.
    Kit moaned and hipped into the tantalizing caresses.
    "Kit, your slit is drooling. You're hot for me, aren't you?"
    Myra made another of her abrupt movements, again disturbing Kit's taffy-pulling-slow time sense, quickly whipping down her panties, then turning away to divest herself of clothing.
    Nude, she stood beside Kit, an arm around her. They gazed at their mirror images. Kit was first struck by the width of their hips. Two women hip to hip seemed triply wide. And their tits took up a lot of space. But more important was the graceful way they vined together, two forms without angles, a sweet, sisterly pairing. She slipped an arm about Myra, saw her hand emerge on the other's hipbone where the white triangle of bikini-protected flesh began, swooping down Myra's belly just above her tawny pubes, up to meet a similar white hip band mark on Kit's flank. Myra was the more deeply tanned, her breasts and belly whiter. Kit's flesh had a pinkish cast.
    She studied the other girl's pussy, big lips tightly closed, the hair neatly furrowed. Her own cunt was more open, the glistening inner lips just visible in the masking fur.
    Then, at the top of Myra's split, she saw a pink nubbin protrude.
    As she watched, it grew, glistening, like a tiny cock nuzzling out through the tawny cunt hair. Was Myra-abnormal? Puzzled, Kit reached to the girl's twat and fingered the appendage. It was oily, and slid away before her touch.
    Myra said, "Yes, I have an oversized clit. My doctor says it's unusual but not rare. I can jerk it off like a cock. I think that makes it grow bigger. Masturbating, I mean. It used to swell out like a tiny bubble when it got hot. But now-play with it, darling, see how big it is."
    Kit pinched the little projection between thumb and forefinger. After spreading Myra's cunt lips she found it was sufficiently long that she could indeed jerk it off. But it was elusive, and as Myra grew excited and began hipping, Kit lost it.
    Myra gave a groan and abruptly turned Kit, facing, pressing their tits together. The four swollen breasts formed what felt like a single, giant, pulsing, hot cushion.
    Myra began to shake her shoulders.
    Like shivering. Very slight, very rapid movements. The effect was a liquid rolling in the tit cushion that made Kit gasp. Almost instantly she responded by mimicking the shoulder shivering. The firm jelly of their tit mass rolled like ocean waves trying to break but failing. Waves mounted, crested, tumbled, yet paused hanging in midair, quivering about. Indenting nipples were hard points of certainty but Kit could not tell which pair of the four were her own.
    She gazed down and was surprised to see that the shaking tit cushion was not a solid mass. There was a cleavage between. Each facing pair held fast through the traction of rubbery aureole discs and digging hard nipples. All four tits quivered like jelly, the meaty firmness that made them protrude seemingly liquefied.
    This silken pulsing between them was utterly feminine, a world in which nothing as harsh as a man's stiff cock could exist. Kit thought, If this is lesbian ism, then I like being a lesbian! It rules out the man problem. A stick of pot, a girl with magnificent big tits, that's all I need.
    The shoulder shivering had spread down their bodies. Their hips and legs shook stiffly, increasing the quivering-jelly tempo of their only points of contact, their breasts. The waves within the tit cushion mounted and tried harder to break, and Kit wondered if she could have a tit orgasm. The four breasts so filled her existence that her cunt seemed distant, unimportant.
    Then Myra's mouth opened, her tongue protruding. Kit pressed eagerly to it, licked into the girl's rolling lips. Their tongues flowed together forming a limber unity, a soft, slithering roll of sensation connected to their titties, which had again lost identity and trembled on a single heartbeat. Myra's hands touched her hips and she arched in, her hot belly pulsing against the other girl's, their pubic mounds rotating together.
    Myra spoke in her, mouth. "Honey, you're close to a come, aren't you?"
    "Then, on the bed."
    Kit felt herself moved. The backs of her legs struck the edge of the bed. She fell.
    Myra dropped to her knees on the floor between Kit's spraddled legs.
    Kit saw the blonde head thrust in between her thighs. Myra's mouth yawned..
    Her tongue lashed right up Kit's cunt.
    She shrieked at the instant ecstasy of the wet length shooting up her hole, swabbing the walls as it entered. It felt as big as a cock. She knew this was an illusion deriving from the grass she had smoked. Yet her cunt was full of the flailing wet softness and her inner suction pulled in long surges, announcing a coming orgasm.
    She looked down her belly at Myra's head in the notch of her raised thighs, a fringe of reddish pubic hair across her brow.
    The tongue withdrew.
    Kit reached down and clutched Myra's head, trying to force it in again. Then a wet suction seized her clit and she shrieked as fire boiled from the swollen clitoris into her belly.
    Myra lipped off. Kit saw her clit protruding, a coral nubbin dripping saliva and cunt juice.
    Myra gasped, "Oh, honey, you have the sweetest cunt!"
    She coiled her tongue about the red clit.
    Moaning, Kit threw her legs across Myra's back and began heaving, fucking her face. She felt her titties rolling wildly about. She seized them, kneaded, pulling the nipples. Myra's tongue again slid up her hole, a cock-sized lashing whip.
    Finally the girl fingered up Kit's asshole, driving her to the peak.
    Kit's hips were jerking crazily as she fucked at the piercing tongue and finger. A tidal wave stormed within her, rising, rising. She was coming not violently but like a toppling wave, a female-soft, hot wave spilling and washing her cunt, breaking endlessly, flooding the giant tongue.
    Her heels dug into Myra's back. That was her only contact with reality. The rest of her was a gushing cunt gulping a tongue.
    She dissolved in a gush, her being reduced to a Technicolor droplet of cunt juice.
    Much later-minutes or hours-Kit found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, an arm curled about Myra, kneading a big tit.
    Myra was lighting another pink cigarette.
    Kit took her turns at pulling on it. Each time she ballooned, pot smoke raising her off the bed.
    She gazed at Myra's tits. Incredibly swollen. The aureoles were long cones flowing into the finger-like nipples. They made Kit recall the time she visited a farm and tried milking a cow. The fleshy, hand-sized teats had been like this. Kit fisted one. It filled her hand. She bent down and licked the turgid nipple, then impaled her mouth on it and sucked.
    She nibbled in rubbery aureole, gulped the nipple to her throat.
    Myra finished the pink grass stick while Kit tilled her hands with tits, sucking one and then the other. She thrust her face in between them and laughed as she rolled the, soft melons on her cheeks, into her ears, her eyes.
    They fell onto the bed then.
    "Kit, baby, are you going to lap me?"
    Kit abandoned her mammary feast and looked down Myra's white belly at her tawny pubes, a soft-edged triangle of hair extending almost to her hipbones, a froth of curls bushing on her mound, curving down between her legs to separate into sticky cunt lip hairs. The fat labia were ovaled about her gash, a wide, glistening red trough, and the oversized, dripping clit pointed up at her.
    Kit said, "I never have-"
    "You'll love it. Try it, baby."
    Kit paused, thinking that in lesbianism there was freedom from Sonny's cock. But she could not picture herself going down on a girl's snatch.
    She moved, perhaps impelled by curiosity, into the cradle of Myra's thighs and the hairy gates of her twat. The long clit was standing out from under its hood. The inner lips were swollen and seemed to quiver, shedding juice; Myra's hole was an immense coral ring leading to darkness. Below it, ass hair almost concealed the pucker of her anus.
    Kit grasped the undersides of the girl's white thighs. Nearing, her nostrils quivered at the smell of hot cunt. Her blood pounded. The odor writhed hotly in her mind and sent her down into the gash, licking hard.
    She swabbed the slippery flesh, the softest, slickest thing she had ever tasted. Within seconds she was sucking the long clit, holding it in her mouth and licking it. She loved it!
    I'm a lesbian now, she thought. A grass-smoking cunt lapper, and I love it. She speared her tongue up the hole. Delicious! She sucked the juice. Soon she was drunk on it. She mouthed the whole cunt, sucking the big, hairy lips into her mouth, drawing off and swallowing a mouthful of vaginal drool.
    Myra cried, "Honey, you're a wonderful cunt lapper! Let's do it to each other."
    Kit responded eagerly. Soon she found herself on her back, gazing up the spread of Myra's thighs to her hair-fringed snatch and the white globes of her ass. She drew her lover down, digging her fingers into pearly buttocks, licking even before the drooling gash was within reach.
    It was sheer ecstasy. She heeled the girl's shoulders, felt the tit cushions between them flatten under Myra's weight, and when her cunt gulped at the other's lashing tongue, she puckered her lips on the oversized clit above her and sucked it right into her mouth.
    Myra moaned loudly. Kit wrenched her hips, shoving them into a fuck movement that soon had her flowing, her hole a pool of juice that her lover frothed with her gyrating tongue.
    Kit's cunt was churning into orgasm, but now, sucking clit, fingering the girl's luscious behind, she was again time-stretched, gazing into the inviting depths of the big cunt hole, tonguing away at the dl, languorously lipping the jellied inner labia, almost lazily breathing into the yawning cunt before licking up it.
    Her come was surprising, a high point flowing into another without breaking the rhythm of her belly's soft inward pulls. Myra came harder, squashing her open split on Kit's face.
    Kit wolfed in the tender flesh, drank of it, breathed only the intoxicating cunt odors Her next come seemed to turn her pussy inside out. But nothing ended! She was rising toward yet another climax.
    She realized that they were going to lap each other and come every few minutes until exhaustion made them stop.
    It's all I need, Kit thought. At last I'm content


    Sonny rode with Lily and her father to deliver the last of the spring petunias, straggly, overgrown plants, to the Circle Market. He and Mr. Folsom hauled the flats out of the station wagon. For once Lily did not help. Wearing a brief pink dress, she remained in her seat, like a princess being waited on.
    As they drove off Sonny noted that she was wearing a bra, which made her titties stick out, unnaturally hard cones. But she sure looked beautiful, roses in her cheeks, her glowing eyes feeding on Sonny when she turned his way. She had never looked this beautiful before. It was surprising her father did not notice, and figure that something extraordinary had happened to her.
    As always Mr. Folsom was wrapped up in his thoughts. He was a hard-jawed man with powerful hands on the steering wheel, thickly haired arms, and a bull neck developed by ball-playing.
    He had a gravelly voice. He asked, "Movie out at eleven? Then you'll be home by quarter after?"
    "Yes, Daddy," Lily said.
    They would be home at quarter after. No dodging that.
    Mr. Folsom took a cigar stub from the car dashboard and bit on it.
    He said, "Tomorrow we'll pot the first of the May violets. Sonny, you want to earn some dough?"
    "Sure. Unless my mother has something scheduled."
    Mr. Folsom nodded.
    He let them out at the theater, handing Lily a dollar. He said, "For popcorn," and drove off.
    In the lobby Lily took Sonny's arm and cuddled up to him. Kids they knew from school eyed them. Sonny took her to the popcorn machine, not because he wanted some but to let Lily show them off as a twosome.
    They sat in the back row. She squirmed into the curve of his arm, looking up for a kiss. He did it gently. Gosh, he sure had learned a lot in a short time. How to brush his lips over hers, wet them up with his tongue, then suck lightly.
    She sighed, dropped her head on his shoulder. He reached under her arm and caressed her bra-firmed breast. Lily whispered, "Urn-mm. I like that."
    In her ear he said, "But your tit is hard. It doesn't feel right."
    "Well, the bra makes my breasts stick out so people will notice them. Anyhow, I'm not wearing panties. That's the important thing."
    He slid a hand under her skirt and caressed her furry little pussy. She spread, her legs to let him finger into her honeyed slit.
    Her hand climbed over his thigh and fastened on his cock.
    The movie was different from any he had ever seen, a wide-screen blast of color about ten miles away. They watched it. They laughed when everybody else did. But it was beyond their horizon and when they left and walked homeward, arms about each other, Sonny had not the faintest idea what they had seen.
    They stopped every block to kiss and got home at ten after eleven. Both houses were lighted. They groaned. Five minutes to go.
    In the shadows of the big maple tree at the curb between the two houses, they stood together, kissing. He raised her skirt and stroked her cunt lips. She unzipped him and slid a hand inside his pants, squeezing his horny prick.
    He whispered, "I'd like to-" "So would I."
    "We could go out back of the greenhouse."
    "Daddy said I'm to be in at quarter after eleven."
    Her hand felt awful good, squeezing and puffing his cock.
    He massaged the little bump of her clitoris. She breathed hotly against his neck.
    "Tomorrow," she whispered.
    "But tomorrow is Saturday. Your dad and my mother will be home."
    "We'll figure some way to fuck. Huh?"
    "Some way.
    Kit had arrived home at eleven.
    She stood before a window in her darkened living room, gazing out at the two kids necking in the shade of the tree at the curb.
    Thus far her plan to smother her lust for Sonny had succeeded. He and Lily were locked in a tight embrace. Kit herself had a new lover. Furthermore, her incredible drug-aided twist into lesbianism had placed her in a world separate from her son's.
    She felt at peace, not at all upset by the mind-blasting experience of making love to another woman. Only one thing had been wrong with the evening. Myra had eventually called Don for supper, and afterward Charley of the fiberglass boat and his wife had come over to play a five-handed card game, a long evening of it, while Kit eyed Myra across the table, wanting more; much more. Each time Myra had winked or made some gesture to show the connection between them, Kit had clenched her thighs together, squeezing in, almost feeling the girl's long tongue lashing up her cunt.
    Even now.
    Standing there in the darkened living room, Kit raised her skirt and fingered her panty crotchband. Soggy! She groaned.
    Kit peeled her panties down and dropped them. She fingered the slippery nubbin of her clit. Soon her hips were wrenching.
    She would get an orgasm before Sonny came into the house. Burn off the heat. Then she would be calm.
    What were those two doing against the tree trunk? Dry fucking? Fingering genitals?
    Kit's hips were jerking hard when she saw Sonny tear away from the shadow of the tree and hurry up the walk toward the front door.
    She awakened in a flash. Dropping her skirt she stooped to grab up her panties from the floor, and dashed to her bedroom.
    She was seated on the chintz-covered bench before her makeup table, her soggy panties already in the laundry hamper, when Sonny opened the front door.
    "In here, darling." She whipped the cap off the jar of cold cream and swiped up a gob with a tissue. She began cleansing her throat.
    Sonny appeared in the doorway. He was in shadow but a glance showed Kit that his prick was stiff She asked, "How was the movie?"
    "Fine, just fine. See, Mr. Folsom drove us there, he had to deliver petunias, so it wasn't out of his way. He wants me to help transplant violets tomorrow. He'll pay me"
    Sonny was beating about the bush, she thought, talking about the unimportant details of his evening.
    That meant he had laid Lily or else had gotten so close to it that he had to avoid the subject.
    She said, "A movie date with a girl is not so difficult after all, is it?"
    "Gosh, no. And you should have seen how good Lily looked, in a real short pink dress. Guys I know from school just stared at her like they couldn't believe it was her."
    Massaging cold cream into her throat and chin, Kit glimpsed her eyes in the mirror. Narrowed. Dark.
    He went on, "One of the guys, I talked to him in the men's room, he said, "That chick with you, she's really groovy-looking."
    "I know," Kit said. "I told you Lily has lovely eyes."
    "Well, and the guy in the men's room said, her shape, too, I mean, Lily's got it all there. That's what he said."
    Kit smeared cold cream up her cheeks. She paused before erasing her mascara. She suddenly realized that she did not want to remove her mascara when her son was talking about the prettiness of another female. Mascara was the one essential makeup she used. It had not been smeared. It emphasized the wide, round, lascivious innocence of her brown eyes. She would leave it on.
    With fresh tissues she wiped off the excess cold cream.
    He continued, "I told Lily how really pretty her dress was. I mean, I always see her in a t-shirt and a denim skirt. She ought to dress pretty more often because of how good she looked."
    Kit seized up a hairbrush. She said, "Yes, for her age, her shape is very nice. She bit her lip. She had been about to say something bitchy. Brushing out her hair, she shot a glance at Sonny, leaning against the doorjamb, thumbs hung in his pockets, looking very pleased with himself. And still stiff in the pants. Because he was thinking of Lily? Or from watching his mother's breasts dip and bob as she vigorously brushed out her hair? The yellow dress was cut low in front and the bra was loose enough to provide a display.
    He said, "Lily's got a new bikini swimsuit. Tangerine colored, she said. Maybe I'll take her to the pool tomorrow afternoon when we're finished transplanting.
    Kit said, "I hope her bikini is not as revealing as my yellow one.
    "Well, I haven't seen hers. You mean your real sexy one? Yeah, everybody says you look great in that. Last Saturday when you were sunbathing in the back yard, Mr. Folsom kept staring at you from the greenhouse, like his eyes were out on stems."
    Kit smiled; pleased with this, shift in the conversation.
    He said, "Lily says her bikini is like three postage stamps."
    Kit scowled.
    Oh, she had to be the center of attention. She was vain, she could not help it. She did not want to hear another single word about Lily's pink dress, her shape, or her bikini.
    Still brushing her hair she asked, "Unzip me, will you, Sonny?"
    She would teach him to prattle about some skinny young girl!
    "Your dress?" he asked, sounding choked.
    "Of course. Unzip and unhook me. I'm tired."
    She laid down the hairbrush and watched herself, narrow-eyed. Her face looked pouty in the fluffy nimbus of her hair, a luxuriant copper and gold silkiness. What did Lily have? Black bangs. Very plain!
    Sonny appeared in the mirror, blushing.
    She would show him that Lily was not the only female in his life!
    He fingered her zipper. It scratched open. She touched at her bosom to keep the dress from falling.
    He went to work on her bra hooks. His fingers were shaking.
    Kit smiled. Oh, he was aware of her, all right, not so blinded with love for Lily that he no longer realized how much he owed his mother.
    She expanded her chest to tighten the bra hooks and make it more difficult for him.
    She said, "I'm glad you like my yellow bikini. Of course, I have to wear it carefully. If I lean over my bosom just tumbles out. It doesn't cover my breasts as much as support them."
    He wrenched savagely at the hooks. At last they were free.
    Holding the material to her titties, Kit rose, went to her dresser and took a lime-green nightie from the drawer, then faced her open closet to hang up the dress. There she realized that it was a summer dress, destined for the laundry hamper. She had already taken a hanger from the closet. Her mind felt feathery. Was this the effect of the drug? Hanging up a summer dress! But Sonny would not notice the difference.
    She peeled the dress up her body.
    Then she realized that she had previously removed her panties and was showing him her bare ass.
    God, she thought, am I trying to seduce him?
    No, I'm befuddled by the marijuana I smoked, tangled in the dress and bra, taking them off now. Hanging up the dress, standing here stark naked, hearing Sonny breathe hard. He's staring at my nude body- What am I doing?
    Rid of the dress, she slipped on the nightie. Oh, God, it was a shorty! Hip length, to be worn with matching panties. They were in the drawer. The garment was as transparent as cellophane, a lime-green was merely tinting her torso.
    He said, "That sure is a pretty nightie."
    So he was staring!
    She could not get to the panties in the drawer without facing him. Her dressing gown was in the bathroom. She would have to bold it out.
    She turned and walked toward her bed.
    He said, "Of course, Lily isn't as pretty as you are, Mother."
    She dropped to the bed, lay on her side facing him, an arm hiding her titties, a hand hung over her pussy.
    He said, "Well, it's late. I better go to bed."
    But his prick stood out like a pole tenting his pants.
    He moved to her. Time for the ritual goodnight kiss. He bent over her.
    Something within her spoke, an urge she had failed to subdue.
    "Sonny, turn out the light. It hurts my eyes. Then come sit down a moment. I want to talk to you.
    He switched off the light.
    Moonlight glowed in the window. If only it were darker!
    He sat on the edge of the bed.
    She thought, What am I doing?
    She choked, "Sonny, you have to understand a mother's viewpoint. When her son dates a girl it changes things."
    "Like I'm not a little kid any more?" He laughed, sounding self-satisfied. But nervous, too.
    "Yes, it's a separation, like having adhesive tape torn off my skin. I'm so lonely. I feel-all alone. I mean, you should go out with Lily. But you see, tonight I was at these people's house, a married couple, just one of me all alone."
    Over his thigh she could see the head of his prick stretching his pants.
    He asked, "Do you want me to go to bed?"
    She could not speak. Her throat was agonizingly dry. A pulse hammered within her.
    Sonny bent over her, as though to give her a goodnight cheek kiss.
    She gasped, "Lie down a minute. Hold me, Sonny. I'm so-alone-lost. Please?"
    He obeyed. She rested her head on his arm, wove her fingers into his shirt. He was fully dressed, in shirt and pants. It would do no harm to let him lie here.
    She thought of him kissing Lily. Then something happened, one or both of them moving. His breath touched her lips and she pressed to him, rolling her lips over his, finding his tongue in them, kissing her son like a lover.
    Going wild. Her hand gripped his shoulder. Her fingers began walking, marching rigidly, angrily, down his back to his hip. Greedy fingers. She clutched his thigh. Then her hand inched down the curve of it.
    She seized his hard cock.
    He groaned in bet mouth.
    Blame it on the grass she had smoked, or on the delirium of Myra's tongue up her cunt, delicious but not hard-a woman needed cock, yes, a woman had to have her hole filled, and what did it matter whose prick did the job? Her hand was compressing a foot of bone, the heat of it burning right through his pants.
    He groaned, "Mother, I can't-stop!"
    Her whole belly had knotted up, was gulping at itself, hurting, on fire, clenching painfully.
    She rasped, "Take off your clothes! Quick!"
    He tore from her, unbuttoned his shirt and flung it away. He unzipped. A curve of cock leaped twanging into view. She had to have it. She clutched her throbbing pussy. So hot, burning- He kicked away his clothes and in the moonlight his lean body was white and beautiful, his man-meat a rigid prong, his scrotum hanging across his thigh.
    Kit flung her arms and legs wide and lay waiting.
    "Mother, do you want-"
    "Yes!" she cried. She tore the nightie up her body, exposing her white belly and the dark muff fringing it, the hair bushing out between her spread thighs, hair masking her slit from her view but not his as he climbed between her legs and his cock dipped down, aimed at her crotch.
    She shot a hand to it. God, it was a bone, a concrete club, an iron staff, a throbbing cylinder of, cock, the hardest she had ever touched, capped by a bulbous end like an apple. Bending it down with her thumb, she fingered his fat balls.
    It plunged into her.
    It went in like a spear, in one thrust sliding right up her gushing hole, swimming in her belly. She was a cavern, a yawning sac, an agonized emptiness into which it slid seemingly without touching her cunt walls.
    He came down on her body, filling her split with rampant young cock, a twitching, throbbing prick like a giant, stony banana.
    She bowed her back as she threw her arms around him. She reached all the way to his buttocks, dug her fingers in deep, and pulled, drawing him into her, all the way, crushing her spread cunt lips. She jacked up her legs and crossed them over her wrists.
    She was jerking, hips wrenching, her cunt sucking at his burning tool.
    She was coming already, coming like a tornado on her son s big cock.
    The moment Sonny shoved into his mother's cunt he knew that his previous experience had been elementary, childish, strictly teenage experimentation.
    His cock lanced into a gaping cavern, to its very depths, his pubes mashing her open, jelly-like twat lips. In the space of a heartbeat the cavern collapsed. Rather, the walls leaped inward from every direction, imprisoning the massive rigidity of his cock in a searing, rolling, fluid tube.
    It was a fist composed of a thousand fingers, a multi-tongued mouth, a sump pump gulping at his ball-bat prick.
    He felt her fingers dig into his ass, drawing him in, her thighs locked on his waist, her mouth suckering his tongue to her throat. He was balanced on her hot belly and the ballooning swells of her breasts.
    He was a man-shape, an angular, bony, jarring length from the middle of which projected a long, iron curve of throbbing meat, being used as simply that, a male of the species.
    Kit was not his mother. He was not her son. He was merely a youth coupled with a voracious female in desperate, dying need of a cock in her cunt. She did not know him. He might as well have been a machine or a male whore hired for a single fuck.
    That is, he did not know her. His mother's doting tenderness was not present. This wanton, this whore, lived only for his cock.
    She tore her mouth from his and shrieked, "I'm coming, coming,coming! Fuck me! I'm coming! Agghh! Agghh! Coming! Coming!"
    Her whole body wrenched, tearingly, and her cunt ran in knotty ripples up and down his cock, ringing tight each time her rotating hips rose and paused, lifting him, jerking for a moment before she again fell, her cunt falling loose, while she gathered strength for the next terrible upheaval.
    She was suffering, he knew, trying to break something inside her that hurt very badly.
    She raised one last time, trembled all over, and then collapsed.
    "Coming," she whispered faintly. "Coming, down the hill, down, thank God I'm going down, down. A river."
    Her arms and legs fell from him. She lay motionless, looking away from him and breathing very hard.
    He choked, "Mother, are you all right?"
    Panting, swallowing, she nodded.
    Strong moonlight came from the window behind her, brightening her hair but leaving her eyes shadowed, unseeable pits.
    He stared into them, seeking an explanation. What had happened? Why was he mounted on his mother's body, his cock buried in her slobbering hole? How had this come about?
    Her hand rose to his face and fingertips brushed caressingly over his cheek. This was the first sign that Kit, his mother, existed in the body of the voluptuous stranger he was fucking.
    "I'm sorry," she said.
    "Sorry about what?"
    She paused. "I don't know. I'm sorry because I feel guilty. I shouldn't have done it. I was half-crazy because-no, I can't blame anyone. That's the worst of it, there's nobody to blame. And I don't feel sorry enough. I must be an animal. I should be dying of shame."
    As she spoke she kept wetting her lips.
    "Sonny, I cheat myself so. I find excuses for everything I do, so I can live with the evil inside me. And once I have found an excuse for doing it, I dismiss it, and enjoy it. I'm enjoying it now, already. Already! I should want to kill myself! Instead I want…"
    Her voice trailed off. Her arms slid caressingly about his shoulders. And once more her legs lifted, crossing on his back, her heels resting on his spine.
    "Do you hate me?" she whispered.
    Hate her? He could see into her shadowed eyes now, saw tears, and her habitual doting expression, as always when she gazed at him. The love that had always bound them together was there in her eyes. He could not quite believe that they were naked, he lying on her, his cock up her cunt, not when he looked into her eyes.
    He kissed her lips best, Mother." and said, "I'll always love you "Sonny, did you-and Lily-do anything- together?"
    He nodded.
    "Did you do this?"
    She turned away again, frowning, biting her lip. "What a fool I ant."
    He guessed she meant she should not have pushed him at Lily the way she did. But that was unimportant. What counted was the slow realization that he was actually here between his mother's legs and that he loved it.
    He nuzzled her cheek and whispered in her ear, "Mother, this is terrific."
    She turned, glancing sharply at him. "Do you really like it? Being naked with me? Your-penis- inside me?"
    He nodded, kissing her cheek.
    "You don't feel-strange-about it?"
    "I don't know. It's just terrific. I can't explain. I guess all I care is if it makes you happy."
    She was silent. Her hands began slowly caressing his shoulders and the back of his neck. Her touch was affectionate, aimless, as though she were thinking of something else.
    She whispered, "You don't feel badly about it? Ashamed?"
    "No. Just surprised." This was true, though maybe because it had been her doing. Still, he recalled the moment after stripping off his clothes and climbing on the bed between her legs, looking at her open, hairy cunt lips, the glistening flesh of her split. Nobody had made him stick his cock into it.
    But that was past. His twitching cock was buried in his mother's belly and his chest was flattening her plump breasts. That's where he was.
    She asked, "Did you like Lily better?"
    He tried to recall fucking Lily. He could not even imagine it. He could only picture the Lily he had always known, in a denim skirt and a t-shirt, her tits marked on it by dirt from carrying flats and boxes.
    Before he could answer his cock gave a surge and he found that his hips were moving, slowly, rigidly. He felt a jogging of his prick deep in his mother's cunt, a hard clicking of his hipbones, an abrasion of his knees against the sheet.
    He said, "I'm here. That's all. I'm here."
    His voice came out thin, as though drawn through a keyhole. A pulse pounded in his forehead. His cock was swelling up, filling her. He arched his back, drawing his cock slowly out. Air cooled it, telling him how hot her cunt was. His tip rested in the portals, in a pool of oily juice.
    He shoved in hard, gasped at the scalding heat engulfing his cockstem.
    "Ahh-hh!" he breathed.
    She squeezed him and whispered in his ear,
    "Sonny, is it good?"
    "You're so hot inside!"
    "Oh, darling. Oh, you sweet boy. If only you were-not-but darling, you are. And it is such a hard, long thing, the best prick I've ever had in me, really it is. So terribly hard! I just love it."
    He moved in long, stiff sweeps, sliding in and out, his scrotum flopping into the cleft of her ass at the end of each stroke. His skin was so sensitive that her ass hairs seemed to etch their curled shapes on his scrotum, and her pubic muff, larger than the hair nest from which his cock sprouted, mashed silkenly at his naked groin. Her broad, plump mound formed a cushion that dwarfed Lily's and the hot orbs of her tits made the girl's seem like oranges. But the greatest thrill was more than the maturity of her physique, the soft, round arms about his shoulders, the lusty thighs cradling him, the ham-like buttocks he pressed against. The best was the liquid violence of her lust, the way her indrawing, squishy cunt expressed the hungers of her entire body.
    He wanted to tell her that. But if he spoke he would be distracted by one of a hundred other sensual impressions, the stiff rubberiness of her tit knobs, the strongly female odor of her armpits; the softness of her cheek as he rubbed his chin on it. He thus held his tongue and shortly paused in fucking her to study individually these exquisite sensations.
    He fingered a small, dainty, shell-like ear.
    She smiled up at him. "You're tickling me."
    He pressed his lips to the ear, breathed into it. Kit squirmed all over. Her cunt sucked at his prick.
    He mouthed the ear, tongued lightly, whispered, "Does this tickle?"
    "You little devil, that makes me squirt inside." Her arms tightened on his shoulders. "But don't stop it."
    He laughed. He nuzzled her soft neck. He raised, looked into her eyes and saw all her old affection magnified a hundred times, a thousand smiles crinkling her eye corners.
    He said, "You're not sorry now? I mean, sorry that it happened?"
    She shook her head. "No, because being sorry would spoil it. You're right, it happened. Like an accident. So there, that's all there is to it. I love feeling you on top of me, your beautiful big thing up my vagina, your balls nestling into my behind. Nothing else counts."
    His own doubts were dispersing as she spoke. Still exploring the delights of her body, he raised enough to see her breasts, the swollen caps darkish, gathering shadows, while the white orbs captured moonlight, bright hillocks each leaning a bit to its side. He cupped his hands on them and kneaded the soft, yet firm, flesh, delighting in its resilience, moving the peaks, digging in his fingers.
    He whispered, "Should I suck them?"
    "Darling, I think you'd better shoot your load into me. Later we can play all sorts of games.
    "I'm in no hurry."
    "I suppose not." She rapped a finger on his cheek. "Because you screwed Lily and got off your trigger edge. You horny little devil! If I don't watch out, you'll be into every cunt in the neighborhood."
    She spoke lightly but he heard the tightness of jealousy in her voice.
    She said, "Besides, I'm starting another orgasm and I want us to come together, it would be ten times as good for me. Will you, please, just let it go? Run wild on me?"
    He realized that he had a certain power. She was begging him. His mood was to dawdle, tease her, wallow in the voluptuousness of this incredible new experience.
    But she soon showed him that she could add muscle to her begging.
    Her heels dug into his spine. Braced, she lifted, her cunt slowly closing, at last compressing his cock, then squeezing a ring from the root up the stem to the head, where the ring seemed to palpitate, sucking squishily.
    The feel of that wet, fluttering pressure on his cockhead shot down his cock to his balls. His whole body stiffened and jerked.
    He reared up, plunged violently back into her.
    He gasped, "Mother! Agh-hh! What you're doing!"
    "Ride me, honey."
    Braced on forearms and knees, he whipped his body in, sliding his prong up her cavern, whacking his balls against her ass.
    She gave a cry and armed him fiercely tight. "Sonny, oh-hh! I can feel y our balls swat me! Oh, they're such lovely big balls, such a loose scrotum, swinging like a bell! Rick me long and hard, darling! Hit me with your nuts, please hit me hard!"
    He was gasping, his eyes bulging, his body on fire. He speared in and out of her sludging, grabbing, sizzling cunt, terribly aware of his balls, of how they struck and jolted and flames erupted from them into his cock, a horn such as he had never before possessed, a gargantuan cock filling and naming every drooling inch of her cunt.
    She heaved in long, wrenching pulls, the big muscles of her thighs and hips and buttocks channeling their strength into the core of her, the gulping cunt milking his prick.
    He howled, bucking high, whacking her clit, his loins seeming to splash in her open, jellied cunt lips. An unmoving bolt of fire clawed at the core of his cock, enlarging and tearing as the pounding his balls were taking jolted jism up to pool and seethe and struggle to escape.
    "Oh fuck me," she sobbed. "Fuck me, Sonny, shoot your jism into my cunt! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
    He blasted and his mother's body arched up, twanging and wrenching, her hairy pubes grinding his, her thighs crushing him. She bit his throat, then flung her head about as she lurched into orgasm.
    His charge flew into her and Kit shrieked. He heard the bedsprings creak loudly and the splat of his balls against her ass, the swishing suction of her cunt, even the sound of her heels beating his back.
    On his second shot her breath hissed out like the puncturing of a car tire.
    Still he fired into his mother's convulsing belly, feeling a terrible joy, a power, in his triumph, in his driving her through the explosive upheaval of this orgasm. His cock spewed into her and her moans weakened, became sobs. His thrusts slowed, pulling noisily from the squishy seal of her hole, returning heavily into her gurgling cavern.
    Her limbs fell from him, her whole body jellied.
    Still he pumped her. He wanted to be the best lover she had ever known, no matter if he exhausted himself.
    His last spurts had dribbled into her, but plumbing her sloshy cunt was still the biggest thrill of his life.
    Sonny dreamed that his cock had grown out like a baseball bat, wagging from side to side as he walked. It was heavy but he could bear the weight, and by clenching his ass he made it angle up, pointing at the face of whoever he met.
    He awoke in the first pink light of dawn, his prick bone hard.
    He was not alone.
    On his side, he gazed at a luscious female form, back to him, narrow of shoulder, fine waisted, hip arching strongly.
    He was in bed with his mother.
    He studied her form, the sprawl of loose red hair on the pillow, coppery strands tangled in gold and mahogany; this was real, not a dream. That was his mother's silken hair, and a small, soft hand was half-concealed by a curled lock of it: He had long known that his mother's hair was not simply red but a mixture, and now he gazed at it, picking out a strawberry hue bright in the dawn light, and dark tangles emphasizing that brightness.
    His cockhead reached almost to the cleft in her buttocks.
    Yes, they had become lovers last night. After discharging his load he had lain long in her arms, lulled by her caresses and sweet murmurings, until he had fallen asleep.
    Now his prick was fully erect, the head inflamed, the skin pulled painfully tight.
    Would she want to do it again?
    He still did not know why it had happened.
    Maybe she had been drinking, had not been herself, had, in a crazy moment of excitement, let him sink his dick into her glorious cunt. Maybe now she would regret it, spurn him, send him away.
    Her breathing was even. If he could slip it in without awakening her- He scrunched down on the bed, under her buttocks. He could see the fringe of hair in her cleft, widening, then very thick on her plump pussy lips.
    He hipped up to her and fingered his cockhead between the dewy labia. Soft. He pushed, watched his cockhead spread the lips and then disappear inside.
    Heat seethed on his throbbing tip.
    Her cuntlips had ovaled to the form of his cock.
    Then she whispered, "Sonny-"
    He jerked, startled by the faint sound in the quiet of morning.
    He choked, "Mother, I wanted to-it's so hard it almost hurts-"
    Her leg lifted. Her torso curled down: Gazing at the cock half buried within her hairy cunt lips, he saw her small hand appear under her thigh, thumb and forefinger closing on the base of his stem, then nudging, steering him into her hole.
    She squirmed, backing to him. His penetration deepened.
    She fingered his balls up into the palm of her hand and gently kneaded them.
    He pushed in until he was flush against the hot swells of her buttocks.
    "Ah-hh!" she murmured. "Sonny, you have no idea how wonderful it is to wake up feeling a cock push into me.
    Holding her hip, he pushed deeper. She stiffened, moaning.
    His prick was bathed in fire. There were little flutters, very faint movements of her cunt walls.
    He stilled, studying the throbbing of his cock in her hot hole.
    She said, "I'd love to wake up every morning being fucked. Sonny, you will sleep with me, won't you? From now on?"
    "Yes, Mother."
    "It will be so easy, no chasing around, knowing that at night you'll shove it into me, sure that when I wake up in the morning you'll be poking at my cunt. Sonny, do you love me?"
    "Yes, Mother." He reached up her body to her front and cupped his hand on her breast. On her side, the tit had fallen against the one underneath. He fingered it tip and held the firm weight of it.
    "I think you should call me Kit. You're grown up, now."
    He frowned. "I don't know." In truth, he was fucking his mother, whom he loved, and because he loved her. To him she was not a woman named Kit.
    She said, "Well, call me what you wish. Darling, fuck me a little, a few long thrusts-"
    He drew back, then lipped in, sliding it up the curve of her cunt, gasping as the heat closed in. Her response was a shiver, a quick undulation inside, very gentle compared to last night.
    He gave her several long penetrations, each time bringing his cockhead out into the coral mouth of her hole, letting it throb there a second before he again drove up into her.
    She moaned in gasps that seemed to ooze out of her mouth, breathless, easy, spelling out her satisfaction.
    He paused, asking, "Mother, do you like it this way, from behind?"
    "Urn-mm! Do I ever! Though, I need pressure on my clit to come.
    "Do you want me to get on top?"
    "No, darling, I just adore this. And if I want to come, I'll just rub your balls on my clit. If that isn't harsh enough, I'll finger it."
    "You mean, like masturbating?" He was surprised.
    "Yes. I squeeze it, pull a little, rub it when I'm getting to the peak."
    "I didn't know that women did that, I mean, when they're being-fucked."
    "I do. I don't know about other women." Then she giggled. "Would you like to see it?"
    She continually amazed him. He said, "I guess so. I mean, if you don't mind."
    "Then, pull out, but wait. Give me a few more good ones like this. Okay?"
    He rammed in, long, hard ones, and.Kit moaned loudly as he flattened her ass, digging in, boring into her, grunting with pleasure at the seething heat now sucking his cock and the lovely softness of her buttocks as he flattened them.
    Finally he withdrew and pushed upright. His mother turned on her back and looked up at him, smiling, her eyes misty.
    He avoided her gaze. He could not yet look directly at her.
    She had spread her legs and inserted a fingertip in the upper part of her slit. He saw the glossy, pink little nubbin bend before the push of her finger.
    Her hairy twat lips had spread out, forming an oval about her gash. Between her raised inner lips he could see her-pee hole and below the red rim of her vagina.
    His cock gave a violent twitch. A hammering within him connected to his cock. He was very suddenly on fire. A minute ago he had been all calmness, shoving his cock into her from behind as she directed. But now- "Mother, I have to-I'm exploding-"
    "Yes, darling." Her legs jacked up, drew back, her knees beside her tits. Her split gaped and her vaginal orifice raised. Below it he saw the knot of her asshole. Her arms reached toward him. "Darling, mount me. Honey, fuck your mother, just climb onto me and slide that beautiful cock into my cunt."
    He thrust into her arms. Her hand, flat on her mound bush, turned up and received his cockhead, bent it down as he shoved, and, oh God, he was in, buried in her, flopping down on the mounds of her tits, tonguing into her yawning mouth.
    She moaned into his throat and her legs crossed on his back, drawing him in.
    He fucked her with jackhammer speed.
    Her hip movements matched his, perfectly timed, an insanely fast rhythm, the beginning of a come. Yes, he was going to shoot his nuts off right now!
    Feverishly he sucked his mother's mouth, whacked his cock into her squirting hole, felt it grab his rod and wrench it, strip it. Like last night, those thousand inner fingers were jellying as they squeezed and pulled at his cock.
    His nuts seemed to rattle against her ass.
    He cried, "Mother, I can't hold back! I'm going to shoot off!"
    "Let it go, darling! Let it go, just fuck like crazy, screw me right through the bed, pound me, honey! Oh, FUCK ME!"
    He was roaring, banging his loins into her juicy gash, his immense prick swishing up her into the suction, withdrawing as though pulling her cunt out with his cockhead.
    Her limbs vised him in. Held as though in a fist, he strove with every muscle to blast through, to ease the load in his slamming balls.
    Then he reared up and blasted.
    "There!" he howled. "I'm shooting off!"
    Her panting seemed to fill the room. She jerked frantically against him, her cunt sucking at his flying jism.
    She was laughing and crying, moaning and shrieking, raising up off the bed and whacking her wet belly against him.
    "Sonny, what a come! I'm coming all the way to my teeth, my toes and fingers! I am coming! Honey, keep on fucking! Yes, fuck me!"
    As he blasted he realized what pleasure he was giving her. The understanding of it came in a flash, and he saw how she was thrashing about, heard her shrieks and moans, saw the joy transfiguring her face.
    He sank his tongue into her mouth and she sucked it as he delivered his last charge.
    There was a moment of silence, all movement stopped.
    She held him trapped in her crossed arms and legs as he tumbled downhill from the peak of ecstasy.
    Her body softened.
    As he panted against her cheek she whispered, "Honey, I've never been so well fucked in my life."


    While her son slept, Kit toyed with his limp cock.
    It was long and ropy, the head fat. She tucked it in between his balls and lifted the genital handful, sighing with pleasure.
    She bent down and kissed the pulpy tip. It smelled strongly of her cunt juice. She lipped it, gulped it into her mouth, tonguing the split.
    He stirred in his sleep, groaned, turned away from her.
    She relinquished his cock and balls, sat up gazing fondly down at him. Yes, he had fallen asleep after shooting his load into her. She must go easy on him. He did not yet have a man's strength, though any man would envy his long prick, and the stony hardness of it.
    Naked, she padded softly from the room, closed the door, entered the bathroom and squatted on the john to piss.
    She gazed down at her thighs. The inner surfaces were scummy with dried cunt juice and jism. Her cunt hair was matted to a muck, the auburn color dulled. She had to bathe. But she liked seeing this evidence of fucking with her darling son. She forked her index and middle fingers on her lips, pressed, opening them, revealing the scarlet split just as the stream of piss squirted into view. Her bladder had been full for a half-hour but she had dawdled, watching Sonny sleep, fingering his flesh, his developing biceps, his strong back, his protruding, narrow buttocks, and then playing with his cock and balls.
    As her urine hissed loudly into the bowl she nudged her clit wake. Kit felt alive and vibrating in every cell of her body.
    Some women said that after sex they felt strong enough to move pianos. Kit varied. Sometimes she was lethargic, as prone to fall asleep as men usually were. Today she was all energy. Get breakfast. Clean the house, it's Saturday. Wash clothes. Outside, the day was warm and breezy. She would have Sonny hang the clothes on the line instead of using the dryer.
    He would work at the greenhouse. They were transplanting violets today, or something like that.
    Abruptly she stiffened, as alert as a forest animal scenting danger. Oh no, he would not work in the greenhouse! Let that pretty Lily get her hooks in him? Never!
    Kit did not underestimate her competition. Lily could not match her voluptuous body, but despite her disparaging thoughts about the dull darkness of the girl's hair, Lily was a threat. In truth her hair was raven's-wing dark, and glossy, her eyes splendid, and her cheeks had that hollowness of beauty. Her titties were not large but her extremely slim body made them appear so.
    Even worse, Lily was no fool. She was a sharp-eyed little bitch, that was the truth of it, and she loved Sonny as fiercely as did Kit.
    He would not set foot inside the greenhouse today.
    Decided, Kit tore off a sheet of toilet tissue and swabbed her cunt, a futile gesture because it was still juicing. She rose and took her dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door, went carrying it out to the kitchen.
    There she tossed it over a chair and put the coffee pot on the stove. She gazed out the window at the greenhouse, already an eye-hurting glare in the morning sun. She saw Bill Polsom moving about at the far end, slowly but with inexorable efficiency. He never wasted a movement. She guessed that had helped him become a baseball star, that constant conserving of his energy until it was needed.
    He would be quite a lover, she thought.
    But she had given up any hope of ever seducing him.
    She massaged her pussy as she stood waiting for the coffee. She had, to take Sonny somewhere today. Out of town, Someplace where nobody knew them. She had to cement their relationship as lovers by performing as such in public.
    Her twat felt softer than ever, and as she rolled the lips between her fingers, juice seeped out. She could smell it. In fact, she stunk all over of a hot woman. She smiled, pleased with herself Abruptly she turned and seized up her dressing gown, a quilted, concealing garment, put it on and belted it as she went out the kitchen door to the back lawn. She fluffed her hair, realized that she had not combed it, looked a mess, but did not give a goddam. She angled toward the gap in the hedge and entered the greenhouse by the side door.
    The place was already steamy. The cement floor felt mucky under her bare feet.
    Bill Polsom met her at the, center aisle. He wore only shorts. He was a large, rugged, hairy-chested man-there was gray in the dark hair-a cigar stub clenched in his teeth, unshaven. His hair was uncombed. She pictured him as having climbed out of bed, stepped into his shorts, then moving directly to the greenhouse, perhaps picking up the cigar stub on the way, chewing it for breakfast.
    His eyes twinkled. "I wish my flowers were as pretty as you, Kit."
    She grinned. "You always make my day, Bill. I should come over every morning to get my ego pumped up." She reflected that he always said something sweetly flattering on meeting her, then turned cold. She watched for the line of muscle to tighten his jaw, hardening him against her. He had a jaw like a horseshoe. It moved now, the cigar butt twitching as the muscle set. She thought, this husky man must have a terrible weakness for women inside to have let his wife take such advantage of him. But he had developed iron armor since then.
    "Come see my orchids," he said, turning and leading her up the center aisle.
    Following, Kit studied his broad back, his rocky buttocks and hairy legs stiff with muscle. Despite the hardness of his physique he moved with the grace of a born athlete. Curious, she thought, that a pro ball player would turn to what many considered a sissy business, flower growing. She guessed she did not really know Bill Folsom.
    He swept an arm over the orchid display, a dozen or so large flower pots mostly hidden by a froth of blooms like a tangle of ribbons and lace, canary yellow and mauve and violet, a profusion of such delicacy that Kit gasped.
    She said, "They're so beautiful, Bill. I couldn't endure a whole greenhouse full of them."
    He shrugged. "They become less beautiful, more of a scientific problem, how to breed for richer colors, stronger stems, petals that won't bruise. It's sort of detective work, figuring the secrets of growth and manipulating them." He pinched off a bloom, mauve wit gold edges, and handed it to Kit.
    The flower was so exquisite that she was afraid to touch it.
    He said, "You see; I'm starting up in orchids again. My debts are paid off."
    "You're quitting violets?"
    "I will when I can afford to. African violets are Mickey Mouse plants. Anybody can grow the damn things. You want challenge, take orchids and roses. Roses are maybe worse. Nine million diseases and insects prey on them. I mean real roses, hybrid teas. Not your back yard rambler."
    Challenge, she thought. That was the key word in his vocabulary.
    She told him then that she was taking Sonny shopping, that he would not be able to help transplant violets until later in the day-if they got back in time.
    "He's a big help," Bill said. "And the work is good for him."
    Kit had her own ideas about what would be good for Sonny today.
    Sonny had always enjoyed watching his mother drive. Her manner was relaxed, her touch on the wheel light but firm. She seemed to always enjoy it.
    Today she wore a crisp blue dress shorter, than any that girls at school dared wear. She had hiked up the skirt when she climbed into the car, and he watched her lovely pink-gold legs move with easy sureness as she braked and stepped on the gas.
    He had of course promised to help in the greenhouse. But last night had so changed his world that he would do anything his mother wanted.
    She was whipping the car toward the shopping center at Knowlton, twenty miles from home. Why? There were a dozen nearer. But watching her he forgot the need to hurry back to work. The windows were open and her hair flagged like an auburn banner, and her face looked softer, more beautiful than he had ever seen it. Her tits stood out like a pair of melons, jiggling when the car hit a rough spot in the road. Her thighs were spread. As the wind ruffled her skirt, he glimpsed lacy white panties and the shadow of her cunt hair.
    She said, "You need a new bathing suit. And shot."
    Buying clothes always bored him. He said, "The stuff I've got is all right."
    "Not your shorts. They're too tight. They show your crotch bulge."
    Peeling impish, he said, "Don't you like that?" She shot a glance at him, a blush tinting her cheek. "Yes, but there's no need to make a public display, especially since your package is rather large."
    "Why not? You wear a bra to make your breasts stick out."
    She smiled. "That's not the same thing." "It is too."
    "You're being sassy, Sonny."
    She spoke sharply but he saw a crinkling at her eye corners. She was enjoying the repartee.
    He said, "Mother, your titties are so big that I'd think you'd want to pull them in out of the way.
    "Do you want me to?"
    "I'll have to study the problem." He slid across the seat and reached up under her arm and caressed a plump, bra-firmed cone of tit. He did it right there on the highway, cars passing, in blazing daylight.
    "You horny thing," Kit murmured.
    He guessed that meant that she loved it.
    Despite her talk of tight shorts, she bought him a swimsuit like a jockstrap. It packaged his cock and balls up like a jutting tit.
    She then drove toward Willow Lake. He got the idea then, that she wanted to put space between them and home, so nobody would recognize them. He felt guilty about leaving Lily and her father to do all the transplanting, but as they traveled his thoughts centered on Kit, and how great she looked in a bathing suit.
    There was a small amusement park at the lake, a long curve of white bathing beach, floats anchored a hundred yards out, and islands not far beyond the floats. Hills surrounded the lake, thickly forested except for the outcroppings of gray rock on the higher slopes.
    Kit parked behind the bathing cabins and there they separated.
    In his cabin Sonny put on the jockstrap swimsuit. It was mostly straps holding a patch of material to his pubes and ass cleft. He was blushing when he left the cabin and moved into the crowd of people on the beach. But then he saw Kit and forgot himself.
    She wore her yellow bikini, which like she had said did more to lift her tits than to cover them, and the bottom was so meager that a fringe of red cunt hair showed out one side.
    She came toward him, trudging through deep sand, smiling broadly, titties jiggling, hips switching, a small, chubby, beautiful woman whose loose auburn hair tossed in the breeze.
    She wound her arm about his as though they were dates, and whispered, "Mr. Sexy, your penis looks like a banana."
    Eyes flashing, she bit his shoulder lightly, then broke into a run for the water, leaping over sunbathers with the lightness of a teenager.
    Grinning, he trotted after her, watching the bobbing of her asscheeks and the flutter of her hair.
    She dove in, struck the water flat, arms already flailing at it. She was a terrific swimmer. Sonny broke into a dead run and plowed through the shallows as far as he could to gain on her before starting to swim. He knew she could beat him to the float. She always did. He dug hard, pulling himself a dozen strokes face down before taking a breath. When he surfaced he saw that he had caught up.
    Had she slowed to let him match her speed? He saw her glance toward him. She was stroking smoothly but not reaching. Yes, she would let him win the race, like a girl would when she was a guy's date.
    The float, white-painted wood on oil drums, was empty. They reached it, panting. Kit glanced at him, laughed, then plunged underneath. He followed, caught her in the cool water shadowed by the float, in near-darkness, trapping her seal-sleek body in his arms.
    She floated against him, tangling her slippery legs about his, her mouth open for his kiss.
    He tongued in and sucked his mother's lips. His cock gave a surge as her arms vined about him and her hot belly dissipated the water's chill.
    She fingered his cheeks as her tongue wove about his. She turned his head, her mouth yawning to consume his tongue, his lips, sucking in long, rhythmic gulps. At last she shuddered, groaned, drew away rubbing her forehead on his cheek.
    He untied her bikini neck cords and turned the front down. Her white boobies floated to the surface. He thumbed the puffed crowns, bent the lengthening nipples. Kit responded by thrusting a hand down to his cock, wrenching it out and clutching it fiercely.
    She panted, "Sonny I'm so hot-I've got to have it-"
    "One of the islands?"
    She nodded and thrust out of his grasp, left the shadow of the float and really dug water, arms churning. Sonny quickly followed but she drew ahead. She no longer cared to flatter his swimming ability. He pulled with all his strength but was a dozen yards out when she thrust out of the water and ran up a grassy slope and disappeared into the woods.
    Touching bottom, he began running, aware that his stiff cock protruded out the leg hole of his swimsuit. He saw no one on the island shore. He splashed out of the water, raced into the woods.
    Ahead, in an open glade, Kit was bent over, her tits hanging out like rosy-tipped white bells, stripping down her bikini bottoms.
    Panting, Sonny paused and stretched his trunks over the jutting length of his cock, tore them off Kit was naked, holding the small yellow patches that made up her bikini in one hand. Seeing him move toward her, she gave a laugh and turned and plunged off through the woods.
    She ran like a deer. He followed her bobbing white asscheeks, dodging around bushes, jumping fallen logs. Her titties flung about and as she glanced back at him her eyes flashed with gee. Sonny felt his cock wag stiffly and his balls jumping all about as he ran, stretching out, ten-foot strides, a leering, naked, stiff-pronged satyr such as he had seen in an art book, chasing a white-assed, milky-titted forest nymph. He would not catch her. He would run eternally, like the satyr fixed for all time running in the art book, desperately hard of cock, his scrotum leaping as though it might wrap around The immense stem sprouting from his loins.
    Surely, his mother could not run this fast. She was no longer a girl. And yet she was, that was it, his mother had become a young girl like Lily, whooping with laughter as she led him through the island forest. She ran through partial shade that mottled her flesh with leaf patterns. She exploded into sunshine where the globes of her white ass were plump snowballs of flesh. She ducked into shade where he chased those glowing white cheeks or the bob of a tit as she turned back to see if he was still in pursuit.
    He guessed they were circling the island again and again. It could not be large. He should stop, cut straight across and intercept her. But the race had become an end in itself. She was showing off her new-found, exuberant youth. He would play her game.
    Then he tripped over a root and fell flat on a bed of dry leaves.
    Kit's laughter trailed off into the distance.
    She ran, leaped over bushes, dodged around trees, high as a kite on fresh air and love and lust. Never had a dozen cocktails or even Myra's pink cigarettes raised her this near the clouds. She joyed in the jumps and lurches of her titties, in the loud squishing of her cunt, in the feel of cool forest air on every inch of her skin, in the damp grass and the cushioning dry leaves underfoot. She wished she could throw away her bikini and run naked, forever, her big-cocked son in hot pursuit. She had escaped home, Bill's greenhouse, her job, Myra's lesbianism, her car, her possessions. She was free, she and her son with his long, stiff cock and his flying scrotum. They were woods creatures, savages. The bits of swimsuit nylon in her hand alone reminded her of another life.
    The tiny bikini became heavy, drawing her down from her celestial soaring. It existed. Eventually she would have to hide her tits and cunt with it and swim back to the beach, to the car, and they would ride back to a town where incest was a sin.
    She could not hear Sonny. She stopped, leaned panting against a tree.
    She felt heavy now, and tired. She began retracing her steps, stealthily, guessing that he was hiding, would try to surprise her. She was no longer a forest sprite but an Indian stalking his prey, looking for dry twigs before she placed a foot.
    She found him in a small, grassy glade in partial shade, gazing up the trunk of a towering tree. His cock stood like a fence post knobbed with red velvet. She walked softly toward him. He did not see her until her shadow fell across his face.
    She dropped on her knees beside him, fisting his prick.
    He said, "I never thought a girl could run like that."
    Her legs were trembling from exertion. But the feel of his stiff, throbbing cock in her hand helped restore her, and his calling her a girl instead of a woman. Well, damnit, she would be a girl for a day, silly and frivolous, vacillating, willful, wanton. They had their nude bodies and a day of time and a forested island. If anyone came along, fuck them. Hit them with sticks and stones- He reached a hand to her tittie, cupped it and drew her toward him. Still kneeling she came over him, lowering her hanging-out breasts to his face. He licked his lips. His tongue extended, touched her nipple, then curled wetly about it. She sucked in her breath, feeling the sensitive bump heat and expand to a rigid peg. He lipped on it and tugged. The pull sent warmth fanning throughout the orb of her breast. His mouth widened, lips rolling wetly, consuming the big puff of her aureole. At last his lips formed a ring on white tit, indenting it, still drawing more into his mouth.
    Kit fingered her other dangling breast, clustering her fingers on, the rosy tip and drawing off He saw that, tongued the one out of his mouth and switched, gulping tit. He sucked hard and her nipple seemed to bore right into her throat.
    The feel of having her breasts sucked excited Kit to jerking her hips. She needed a come, and right now, to calm herself for all the lovemaking they would have.
    She whispered, "Sonny, stop! That will drive me crazy! Let me climb on you and get an orgasm. Then we can do anything, everything."
    He nodded and relinquished a tit end so turgid that it looked like one of Myra's, the aureole a cone flowing into the finger-like nipple so imperceptibly that a hand could grip it. It was almost too big, an embarrassing display of the lasciviousness within her.
    She switched about, meaning to throw a across him and ride his cock.
    But on seeing it she lost control. She seized it in both hands and dropped to it, her mouth yawning.
    She filled her mouth with cock.
    "Mother!" he cried. "What are you-doing?"
    She was not a limber young girl dancing through the woods. She was his mother.
    Sucking his cock.
    He was shocked. But she could not stop. The fat cockhead in her mouth squished under her suction, a velvet-skinned sponginess, compressing until she felt the rigidity within. She licked the glans, swabbed it with the flat of her tongue while the point prodded her palate. She squeezed her fist on the swank and with her other hand scooped up his balls, kneading them and massaging the iron stem, licking and sucking the beautiful head.
    "But Mother-" he said.
    She tore her mouth from it, crying, "Sonny, I know I shouldn't, but women do. Women like it. Do you understand? Does it feel good to you?"
    "Gosh, it makes me jerk all over. But I never thought-"
    "Sonny, I have to. To show how much I love you.
    A lie, she thought. Her lust now was apart from love. She had always liked cocksucking and now she again gobbled the swollen head, went down, down, swallowing the tip, working her mouth on the stem of it while massaging the base and his plump nuts.
    His hips began heaving, driving the bony hardness into her oral cavity, fucking into her pulling, rhythmic suction. She continued munching, sucking, kneading the splendid column of meat towering from his loins.
    She gulped off the knob and gazed at the Lit of red-purple flesh, the sharply defined rim, while licking underneath. A drop of fluid oozed from the split. She puckered her lips on it, kissing it, slowly sucking it into her mouth.
    She licked down one side, tracing the bulging blue vein into the ruff of his pubic hair. She lipped the delicate skin of the scrotum, then fingered a plump testicle into her mouth.
    Sonny groaned loudly as she rubbed the rampant cock against her cheek, licking up the saliva-slippery stem to the head. Her mouth yawned and, she consumed it with a gulp.


    Lily's shock over seeing Sonny fucking his mother on the living room couch had lasted the night.
    This morning rage had filled the vacuum of her incomprehension. She had the answer.
    Kit was a hateful, shitty, unadulterated bitch and a selfish pig. She had guessed or somehow learned that Lily and Sonny were lovers, and jealousy had made her drag Sonny off yesterday and seduce him..
    Two could play that game. Today, Sunday, Kit could probably keep him nailed down. But what about tomorrow, when she had to go to work?
    From the kitchen window Lily saw Sonny mowing the lawn and Kit setting up the chaise lounge. Then Kit went to him, unknotting her bra neck cord so he would see her big tits lurch around. And smiling at him, dimpling, simpering, batting her eyes. The whore! Any woman could read the wiggling of her body, the way her hand rose up her curves to languorously brush hair from her eyes- Lily was making a cup of coffee for Daddy. She poured it, sugared it heavily the way he liked, and started out the door into the greenhouse.
    She stopped. He had paused in his work and was staring at Kit. He stood in profile and Lily did not miss the tent pole lifting his shorts leg.
    Bitter tears started from her eyes. Even Daddy!
    She retreated to the kitchen. The coffee cup burned her hands. She thrust it down angrily on the drain board. Let him make his own coffee! She had already worked two hours in the greenhouse.
    Her t-shirt was marked with dirt smudges on her titties. Sweat staked her skirt on the line of her ass cleft. Her hair was soggy. And Daddy was gazing at Kit, his cock stiff as a brick. Lily flicked a glance out the window. Kit was returning to her lounge chair, swaying, tits wobbling, a hand patting the hair back from her face. She looked fresh and clean and beautiful, and Sonny and Daddy were eye-eating her.
    Oh, the fucking bitch!
    Lily's impulse was to march out into the greenhouse and tell Daddy everything, at least to tell him Kit was a whoring bitch he should not waste time on.
    No good. He would just turn sullen.
    Then, beat Kit at her own game.
    Lily's eyes grew wide at the thought. She moved again to the kitchen door and studied her father. He was still staring out at Kit, his eyes hot, heavy-lidded, his cock rigid. He stood as though rooted to the spot.
    Nor would he get closer to her. She knew his attitude. He could not afford a woman like Kit. If she remained in view he would probably go indoors and take a cold shower, maybe read the Sunday paper until she was gone, then return to work.
    Lily would fuss over him, make him a nice lunch, bring beer. He would forget Kit and their day would return to normal.
    He hitched up his shorts, easing the material squeezing his erection, drew on his cigar, and continued staring across the hedge at the voluptuous redhead, who had just rolled her bikini bra down an inch.
    Lily had to break the spell. She returned for the coffee, and as she entered the greenhouse called out, "I had to let it cool, it burned my hands."
    He started at the sound of her voice. He twisted his torso away to hide the tent in his pants, and began moving the plant flat on the bench before him. She saw his cheek redden.
    He was like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
    And Lily began to appreciate her own relationship with her father. He did not want her to be aware of his lust. That meant he realized she was a person, not a child, that she might resent his hunger for the woman next door, might be jealous- Lily heard the whir, of the lawnmower but did not glance toward the sound. She had no desire to watch Sonny. Her attention was on her father's broad, bare back, the muscles rolling as he shoved the plant flat across the bench. She scanned his rocky buttocks. The shorts material was drawn into his ass cleft by the pull of the material stretched out in front. His legs bulged with muscle under curly black hair. He was forty but hard labor kept his body that of a young athlete.
    She felt a damp squirminess in her crotch.
    She thought of last night, peeping at Sonny and Kit fucking in their living room.
    And why not? she thought. Why in hell not? Why let that bitch torment her father?
    The remaining work was a tidying up after yesterday's transplanting, clumps of weak plants to be thinned and thriftily given a second chance, leftover soil to be sifted. Lily worked alongside her father, rubbing elbows, hips, accidentally touching his hands. She blocked the view of Kit. She tucked her t-shirt into her skirt, shoving, it way down to stretch the dirty cotton on her titties and show not only her nipple bumps but the aureole shadows. Coyly she picked up her father's cigar and dragged on it. He laughed.
    There was a half-hour's work left when she brought him a beer. The breeze had died and they began sweating. She could smell herself, the heat of her body, maybe her pussy. She did not know if he would catch the odor. Close to him she smelled his sweat and beer and cigar, felt her nostrils flare and a seething begin in her crotch. Her lust seemed perfectly natural. She loved her father, thought him the handsomest and strongest and truest of men, and war with Kit had burned away her last scruples. It was for his own good.
    And for hers. Sonny had kindled fires in her cunt and she needed a man to sate them. Why not the man she loved best in all the world?
    In a narrow aisle she found occasion to brush her tits across his back. She dropped a trowel. As he bent to pick it up she squatted, skirt hiked up, pussy exposed, and their hands met on the tool.
    Then she went indoors to bathe.
    The doors to their bedrooms faced on the short bathroom hall, and in her room there was a closet, backed by a full-length dressmakers mirror. Lily opened this, and placed a chair facing it, to represent herself, and stepped back to the hall. She wanted Daddy to see both her naked back and the image of her front, accidentally caught in the mirror.
    She shifted the chair, angled the door-mirror just right. She dropped her skirt where the chair was, to mark where she should stand, and wedged a sandal between the door and jamb to keep it firm.
    She showered then. Returning, toweling herself dry, she set her hall door halfway open and went to her post on the dirty blue denim skirt marking where the chair had been She waited for the soft, heavy tread of her father's bare feet.
    Bill Folsom's forty-cent cigar was down to thumb length. Across the hedge Kit lay sprawled on the lounge chair, auburn hair blowing across the mounds of her breasts, a gorgeous leg cocked up and wagging to the beat of music from a transistor radio. But Kit's beauty was beyond his concerns.
    He was reflecting on how much he loved his daughter, and wondering why his cock was bone stiff even though he had stopped ogling Kit.
    Shoving the last flat into neat alignment, he turned to the house, gulping his beer can dry, tossing it in the garbage can, entering the kitchen and taking the whiskey bottle down from the shelf His mood was to drink from the bottle. He took a long gulp that burned all the way down and made him cough but did not clear his mind of thoughts about Lily that he had always kept separated by a wall of impossibility. He replaced the bottle and padded silently toward the bathroom. Realizing that Lily might be undressed and not hear him coming, he called, "Bathroom empty?"
    "Uhhhh." She spoke from her bedroom.
    In the hall his gaze followed the line of her half-open door. He saw her bare back, a towel sheathing her head as she vigorously dried her hair. She was standing on her dirty blue denim skirt, naked, her limbs brown and her back lightly tanned, her buttocks white and her thighs white shading to pale gold.
    Then he saw the mirror, her head a mass of towel, her red-tipped milky breasts dipping and jiggling as her arms moved, her dark-tufted pussy exposed in its bracket of white hips.
    He sucked in his breath.
    He stood transfixed, gazing at the loveliness of his daughter's body, front and rear, at the slim, limber waist, the perky buttocks, the sleek legs shading from alabaster to pale gold to brown. Then again at her bulbous titties, at the plump protrusion of her bushy mound, at the dark furrowing of hair on her cunt lips.
    He did not know how long he stared at this woman, this daughter of his, whose face and hair were hidden by the towel but whose nude form slid into his mind until he could see it from all sides, evaluate every curve and dimple. He retreated, stepping as silently as a burglar to his own room, through the open door, still watching. His room was dark. Lily kept the drapes closed in summer. He felt the-whiskey he had drunk, a heat roaring into his veins, like he had drunk the whole quart and was as tight as a tick. He dropped his cigar butt in the ash tray on his dresser and half closed his door, facing the glow of sunshine in the drapes and seeing Lily there, too, her round buttocks and her pretty tits. He turned to the bed and she stood there, her dark-tufted pubes thrust toward him. Wherever he gazed she leaped from inside his skull and stood nude, her face veiled by the towel.
    His cock was bunting his shorts.
    He unbuttoned them, unzipped, let them fall. He gripped his cock, a huge, grotesquely swollen agony, all the pain he had ever suffered physically grown out to an upcurving bone.
    He began jerking off, something he had not done since the age of sixteen when he began screwing a girl on the next block and had been immensely relieved to no longer have to masturbate. This was self-abuse, punishment for having gotten hard for his daughter. He wrenched it, jerked it, beat his balls with his knuckles..
    The room had gotten darker. The door was closed! He felt a warmth at his back and side, heard a sound not his own, saw a slim hand reach around his hip and cup on the swollen end of his cock.
    He heard a whisper. "Daddy, let me do it."
    His daughter, Lily, pried away his fingers, then fisted his cock and began jerking it off Disbelief shattered his last vestiges of self-control. He could see the girl's hand kneading and pulling his tool, could feel the soft femaleness of it, just as he could feel the burn of a tit against his back and a hip pressing his ass. Her breath fanned his shoulder. But this could not really be happening. Therefore he let the hand manipulate his turgid cock. It slid down his scrotum and gently squeezed his balls, producing a seething heat that made him groan and stiffen, raising on tiptoes, expelling his breath with a wrenching sigh.
    In a flash he knew that Kit had not been real either. His mind leaped light-years backward for an explanation, to children's stories. The neighborhood was bewitched. Kit had never been as sexy as this morning. She had radiated lust, inflaming him and Lily as well. Kit was a witch, a sorceress, and he, suffering a hardness of cock, a monstrous, agonizing extension of it that made a grotesque bludgeon of an ordinary prick, had ceased to be an ordinary mortal.
    Since none of it was real he let his daughter fondle his cock. She was no longer jerking it off but playing with it, exploring, fingering the flare of the head, caressing the glans, tracing the pencil-sized blue veins on the sides, tugging the loose scrotum and palming each swollen testicle in turn.
    Her chin was on his shoulder, a hand on the other, her hot body against him and her pussy fluff a tantalizing silkiness rubbing his thigh. His head hung. His gaze was fixed on the bulb-tipped bony monstrosity sprouting from his dark pubic ruff, and the slim hand weaving about it, caressing and squeezing.
    Time slipped out of gear. He could not guess how many seconds or minutes she toyed with his genitals before she moved, stepping around and facing him, taking the ball-bat prick in both hands and drawing him, backing slowly, inching back toward his bed, her hands feathering about his cock SO lightly that perhaps there was no contact, simply waves of heat weaving a net of iron that would. pull the organ out of his body if he did not follow her.
    Her head also hung, her gaze fixed on his cock. Her dark hair looked glossy and clean, brushed to shining. She smelled of soap and hot cunt. Her pretty, tip-tilted breasts glowed palely in shadow, projecting dark points. Her white belly narrowed to a protruding pubic bush that filled the space between her thighs.
    She was lowering. Her hands left him, moved behind her as she sat on the bed, but he could still feel them drawing him even as she scrunched back on the bed, on her back, legs spreading out wide, showing him her opening crotch.
    Her hairy outer lips had swollen away from each other. The damp coral teardrop shape of her cunt beckoned. She raised her legs. The red oval of her vaginal mouth looked small, but that might be an illusion, like the impossibly gigantic growth of his prick.
    He knelt on the bed between her legs, planted a hand on each side of her torso and murmured, "You steer it in," knowing that she could more precisely plug it in without hurting herself.
    Her thumb and forefinger pinched the stem and seated the swollen arrowhead in an oily socket. He nudged. A jelly-soft mouth closed on his cockhead. Her breath hissed out. He hung over her, firmly poised, allowing a little weight to fall on the prong sinking by quarter inches into her cunt.
    "Wait," she whispered. She fingered it about, lubricating it, then said, "Now. Deeper."
    The big tool squeezed into her.
    Again her breath hissed out. She squirmed. Her body trembled a moment, quieted. Her legs lifted and crossed on his back. He felt the form of her cunt change. It was open now and straightened but he still eased cautiously into the narrow channel.
    A flicker of awareness advised him that he was pronging into his daughter's cunt, that she was no enchanted creature but Lily Folsom, and he her loving father. He frowned, confused. The illusion of magic faded and he knew it had been a self-serving justification at best, leaving him with his cock half into his beloved daughter. But because he loved her he could not accept it as evil. It had to be good, an expression of his love.
    He sank deeper: She squirmed, adjusting to it. Her heels hardened on his back. Her hips moved, lifting, impaling her cunt on the bony cock. Waves of damp heat washed its length and when he looked down at their pubes he saw that their hair had merged.
    She arched up and the hair flattened together.
    He was full into his daughter's body.
    He sank down on her, feeling the hard points of her tits burn his chest.
    They lay still for a moment, his meat throbbing inside her.
    He whispered, "Did it-does it-hurt?" "Like eating too much Sunday dinner."
    Her arms curled about him. She pressed her velvety cheek to his.
    He said, "You mean, you liked it going in, but now it's too much?"
    "Did any woman ever complain of too much?" There was a giggle in her voice.
    Her amusement made him frown. Was this a game to her, mere playing? His love for her was an overpowering, deadly serious thing. Her mother had been like this, always seeing the funny side of sex, especially of his solicitude for her comfort. He had learned that women were tougher than men thought. Still, this was his virginal daughter. Had she been a virgin?
    She said, "Daddy, your tool is awfully big."
    His impulse was to apologize, to withdraw the offending member, to bang his head against a wall to atone for having caused her pain.
    But there was a lilt in her voice. She was teasing him, this teenager with a monstrous cock up her cunt She giggled, "I'm not made of sugar candy."
    The echo of her mother's voice, so many years ago. On their wedding night she had added, "I wish you'd fuck me lots harder."
    But Lily added, "I'm pretty stretchy inside."
    A certain tension left him. He glanced sidewise, met her gaze and saw the twinkle in it. Yes, females were animals, compared to men, quite indifferent to morality. He had learned that in a thousand harsh lessons from his wife but could-not get it through his thick skull.
    And no matter how much he blamed it on Kit, his daughter had seduced him.
    When he had glimpsed her naked in her room, drying her hair, the towel concealing her face, she had been posing for him. She had known he could see her nudity front and back.
    A throb in his prick made him push deeper into her belly.
    "Mm-mm!" Lily murmured. "Yes, I'm ready now, Daddy."
    Her eagerness stripped away his last regrets. He began to fuck his daughter, slowly, with exquisite caution, short jogs in the tight suction of her vaginal tube. She gave a moan and hipped up to meet his shoves. Yes, she was a female, a member of the unknowable, immoral, unpredictably pagan sex. If he had thought differently of her it had been his own prudishness being expressed.
    He lengthened his strokes. Her cunt sucked on his retreating tool and gaped, welcoming its reentry.
    She gasped, "Daddy, your cock is so wonderful, filling my hole and-oh, Daddy, please, push in and stay a minute, squeeze hard on my clit, I think I'm starting to come."
    He plugged her full and wrenched his loins at the wetness of his split, and his daughter thrust up against it, hips rotating, her open cunt making squishy noises.
    "AGH!" she cried. "There! Now fuck me hard, I'm coming, coming off like crazy!"
    He gave her long strokes, sliding easily in her tight but incredibly slippery hole. Slow ones, his scrotum merely patting her upturned behind.
    Her face burned. Her cunt began milking his cock, sucking at it and pulling waves of wet heat up the shank.
    "Daddy!" she shrieked. "I'm coming! I'm coming!"
    She was whipping against him, their bellies swatting together, and her fire burned into his cock. It began to surge, stiffening to an iron club. As he speeded his balls jounced about, hurting when they struck her ass. He had gone too long without. The end of this fuck would not ease the pain in them. He needed an orgy with his daughter, a day-long party to release all the agonizing knots within him.
    He was bucking high, sawing at her gulping cunt.
    "I'm getting there," he grunted. "Honey, are you still coming?"
    "I came, but I'm coming again. Daddy, I hurt all over like I have to burst."
    "Can you take this? Am I doing it too hard?"
    "I'll be sore but I don't care. Just fuck me, please, you can just fuck me, oh, yes, like that-"
    He was ramming her now, his balls smashing her, his cock so bloated and huge that he was no longer human, just a horse flailing wildly at his spurting, gulping target.
    The come made him rigid all over. His eyeballs protruded, his neck drew into ropes, his whacking ass hardening to tangles of steel cable ripping apart.
    He cried, "I'm shooting-"
    "Give it to me!" she shrieked, arching up, hips grinding, rotating, her cunt squishing loudly as it sucked. He could smell it strongly, that luscious, pungent smell of pussy excited beyond endurance, and he laughed with joy as his first spurts blasted up her hole.
    "Daddy, you're coming inside me!"
    "Honey, are you with me?"
    She answered with a wrenching moan, vising her thighs on his flanks, grinding her heels into his spine, flagging her wide-open split at his pubes.
    He shot again, this time feeling a terrible relief as everything seemed to sweep out of his cock and spurt into her pulsing cavity.
    "I'm flipping off!" she cried. "I'm coming all the way, it's going, everything going-"
    He felt more jism burn up from his balls, up his scrotum tubes into his prick to spurt volcanically into her.
    She arched her ass off the bed, twanging against him, moaning anti gasping.
    He gave her one more powerful shove, driving his last spurts into her.
    Fluids dribbled down her ass, wetting his scrotum.
    In a moment of clarity the fact that he had shot off in his daughter's cunt became real.
    Despite the awful truth of that, it had been the most exciting fuck of his entire life.
    He should hate her, and himself.
    But as their bodies softened and he sagged on her still throbbing flesh, he knew that he had never really loved her before.


    At seven that evening, Kit was dressed and waiting for Myra.
    Sonny was asleep, out cold. He had said his prick was worn down to a nubbin.
    She smiled.
    She would have it out with Myra, try to explain that while she had certainly enjoyed the lesbian experience she could not become further involved.
    Myra was late. Kit went to the kitchen and made a gin and tonic, not that she needed the calming effect of booze but because she was so deliciously sated, so absolutely jellied inside, that the drink would augment her feeling of sensual contentment.
    Sipping it, she slipped a hand up under her skirt and felt her panty crotch. Soggy. Slippery with juice. She went to her bedroom for fresh panties. Peeling off the stained ones, she gazed at Sonny, sprawled naked on the bed, breathing shallowly in deep sleep. She could not resist going to him, bending down and kissing his genitals.
    She sat on the edge of the bed sipping her drink, studying his beautiful young body, involuntarily dropping a hand into her crotch and massaging her pussy as she gazed fondly at him.
    It was a silent hour, Sunday evening. She had bathed and put on a flowered print dress, very short, a clinging garment that molded to her shape. Her hair was brushed out, her eyelashes darkened with mascara. They had eaten only snacks today and this meager consumption of food contributed to her feeling of lightness and ease.
    When she returned she would wake Sonny up, get fucked again. It seemed very doubtful to her that he would take any interest in Lily tomorrow, after a weekend like this one.
    She fingered her hairy cunt lips together and pressed on her clit. A bubble of heat grew. She massaged it slowly, while sipping her drink and watching him. She began to hope that Myra had gone off on another tack. Maybe she would not show up.
    The liquor warmed her, and by the time she finished, it had gone to her head.
    She should not drink when she already felt this lazily content. Especially not when she had to make things perfectly clew to Myra.
    Her hips were beginning to move, pressing her swollen clit into the rocky motion of her slippery cunt lips, when she heard the beep of a car horn out front.
    She sprang up, left her glass on the dresser, threw a silent kiss to Sonny, and dashed out.
    She was on the front walk when she realized that she was not wearing panties.
    It would be too much bother to go back. She climbed into Myra's car.
    Myra twisted the steering wheel viciously, wrenching the car into a U-turn, wheeled out of it on screeching tires, and raced toward the avenue leading out of town.
    "I bit him," she snarled.
    "You what?"
    "His cock. Don's. The asshole."
    The car windows were open and Myra's blonde hair flagged out in a wind-tom banner. Her eyes were narrowed to angry green slits. She wore a white summer dress and as the car crossed a potholed intersection her big breasts leaped wildly about. She was not wearing a bra. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension.
    She turned to Kit and snapped, "I phoned you all day yesterday. Where in hell were you?"
    "Sonny and I went swimming."
    Myra ignored the stop sign at the avenue, tooled out onto it, burning rubber.
    She said, "Yesterday I needed you but you had to be off with your goddam kid."
    Kit could only be amused by the other's anger. She owed nothing to Myra, and her scary driving was rather exhilarating. Lounging in her corner of the front seat, feeling the wind bat her hair, pleasantly clean, in a fresh dress, cool despite her drooling cunt, she did not mind Myra's ranting.
    She said mildly, "Myra, why don't you fuck yourself?"
    A green-eyed glance cut at her. "Some friend you are.
    "We're not friends. We were lovers for an evening. Like a pickup, shackup. Period. I think you're griping to hear your own voice. Don seems very fond of you. He earns a good living. He probably has reasonable complaints against you, for instance your pot smoking. It's against the law and why should he risk trouble, losing his job or jail or what not?"
    "Because I like smoking grass!" Myra shrilled. Her cheeks reddened with anger but shortly her foot eased on the accelerator, as though the outburst had eased her tension.
    She slowed the car and scooped up her skirt.
    Surprised, Kit saw a pink streak near her panty waistband. Myra dug in for it, drew out a skinny grass cigarette and handed it to Kit.
    "Light it for me, will you?"
    Kit took a pack of matches from the dashboard, bent down below the whipping air currents and lit up. She guessed a car was the safest place for smoking the stuff. If a cop car showed, the roach could always be flipped out the window.
    She took a deep drag before handing it to Myra, held it bottled up deep inside her, hoping she would again get the movie-camera effect and turn colors inside out the, way she had the abstract paintings at Myra's house. She had no interest in renewing their lesbian play. She simply felt so good that she wanted to try out the psychedelic color effects again.
    By the time they had smoked half of the stick, she had it. Trees along the highway, drab, dusty things, were Technicolor to kelly green. Wind stripped clouds miles above turned pastel, gorgeous dusty-blue and baby-pink, lowered until she could touch them. She was in marvelous shape when Myra at last threw away the roach. Slouched in the seat, an arm out the window, legs spraddled, breezes cooling her, Kit lost all sense of time and space as she gazed at the magically transformed world about her.
    Myra said, "That beautiful pussy of yours! Move over here. Let me pet it as I drive."
    Kit realized that her skirt had blown up. She gazed down at her crotch. Her muff was pure spun copper and drawn gold, shadowed with green and mahogany, colors that had never naturally adorned any twat unless seen through the kaleidoscope lenses of pot and hash.
    She spread her legs wider and slid a hand over her thigh, caressing the silky tangles of pubic hair, saying, "I'll do it myself, Myra. I like to."
    "You gorgeous piece, you're teasing me, you mouth-watering bitch!"
    "No. I'm through with girlie stuff." "You have something new?"
    Kit nodded.
    "Who is he?"
    "Santa Claus." Kit forked her index and middle finger on her pussy lips and slowly rolled them, as she had been doing before Myra arrived at the house. Quickly her clit stood up into the oily friction.
    She ignored Myra, gazed at the Technicolor landscape and toyed with her cunt, not rising to orgasm, just simmering happily along, as the car raced over the milky white ribbon of highway, sweeping over hills and careening into the valleys beyond.
    Myra at last wheeled the car into the parking lot of a fake log-cabin roadhouse.
    Kit straightened, adjusting her skirt and using a big white comb on the dashboard to arrange her hair.
    "Where are we?"
    "You'll see.
    They got out and Myra led her to the door of the place, which was marked, "Mona's Grill". Drawn curtains hid the view through the windows. But inside she got it instantly.
    The joint was all female, two or three dozen woman customers, not a manin sight.
    At the bar they were waited on by a butch-dyke wearing a shirt and black shoelace tie and a red vest. She was built like a fire hydrant.
    "Myra!" she called. "Sweetie! Give me a kiss, baby."
    Myra leaned over the bar and kissed her full on the mouth.
    So that was how this place was, Kit thought, climbing onto the barstool, smiling politely when introduced to Mona herself, the bartender and proprietor, but not offering a kiss. Myra ordered drinks and stood beside Kit, man-style, an arm about her.
    Soft music was playing. A few couples danced. In darkish booths around the walls, women in pairs sat close together, whispering in each other's ears, caressing, occasionally kissing.
    Kit had never been in a lesbian place before. It was amusing and her turned-on state fitted the languorous female movements. She guessed that if a man strode brusquely in she would be startled.
    They sipped their drinks in silence. Myra seemed to have drawn into herself, frowning, a muscle quirking in her jaw. Thinking of Don? Well, if she were basically lesbian, her marriage to him was pretty impossible.
    Abruptly she asked, "Kit, do you want to dance?"
    "With you?" Kit giggled.
    "What's the matter with me? Why do you hate me all of a sudden?"
    "Myra, don't get paranoid. I meant, it seems funny to dance with a woman. I haven't since I was about twelve and we girls did it to learn the steps."
    Kit shrugged. She finished her drink and slipped off the barstool and let Myra take her to the meager space between tables and booths where others were dancing to syrupy-slow music. There Myra took the male role, right arm about Kit, left hand holding hers. They drifted together and Myra stepped into the music.
    Kit's forehead touched the taller girl's cheek. They swayed and Myra's arm drew her close. She let herself curve against the other and soon found it pleasant. The drinks and pot had helped, of course. She slid her hand from Myra's shoulder up to her neck and caressed the nape under the flow of blonde hair.
    They moved like that until the music ended. They waited in close, comfortable embrace for the next piece.
    Myra whispered, "You do like me, don't you, Kit?"
    She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the other girl's. "But don't expect a big involvement, Myra. It's pleasant. That's all. I have another life to live, complicated enough to suit me. Okay?"
    Myra did not answer. Apparently she could not be that casual about it.
    As the music started she asked, "Could we get rid of your bra? It makes your titties feel wrong, hard."
    "You unfasten it."
    Myra pinched the hooks free and it was a great deal pleasanter, their soft breasts rolling over each other. Kit's bra worked down and soon only dress material separated the raking points of their nipples. By then both of Kit's arms were twined about Myra's neck and she felt the pressure of a thigh against her pussy. Myra nuzzled her cheek, begging a kiss, and Kit turned, licking the girl's creamy lips, felt that sweet lesbian fluttering of lips and curling tongue tips.
    They drew apart as the music ended. Kit sighed deeply, stood caressing the other's backside.
    A girl appeared between them. Dark curls fitted closely as a cap about a pretty, sun-browned face. Violet eyes beamed at Kit. The newcomer was slender but plump breasts showed through a very thin blouse the color of her eyes.
    She said, "Myra, introduce me to your yummy friend."
    Myra looked daggers at her. But she said, "Kit, this is Grace.
    Kit felt the girl's hand slide warmly up her arm. Her smile was brilliant.
    She said, "Kit. The name fits you. Darling, could I-have a dance?."
    "No!" Myra snapped.
    Grace turned silkily to her. "Darling, don't be so wretchedly possessive. Besides, I have a stash of those little pink sticks you love so dearly."
    Myra let the girl turn Kit away when the music started.
    Kit soon found this was something else. Grace seemed to embrace her without touching, danced like a feather, flowed in and fitted to her as snugly as the clinging dress she was wearing.
    As they drifted she thought of milkweed fluff blown on the wind. She closed her eyes and let herself go. Her hands were on Grace's shoulders, the girl's on her hips. Kit did not know who led and who followed. Damp, lips brushed her cheek. She turned, cupped her mouth on the other's and lost herself in a wobbly flow of honeyed lips and waving tongue tips. The kiss seemed natural, the thing to do. Shortly Grace's hands oozed up her body and caressed her tits. That too was expected, and welcome, silken strokings that raised her nipples to hard, throbbing projections.
    Grace whispered, "I've taken a room upstairs."
    "All right," Kit said.
    Her eyes opened as they moved from the dance floor. She saw only Grace's brilliant smile and her violet eyes, which were long and slanty, so beautiful that Kit's gaze hung on them, enraptured. They entered a darkish hallway and climbed stairs, went into a room almost filled by a giant oval bed covered with apricot satin. There were lamps on small tables but no other furnishings. The rug seemed ankle deep. Kit toed off her sandals and squirmed her feet into the luxuriant nap.
    Grace opened a table drawer and took out a pink cigarette and matches. She lit the stick and handed it to Kit.
    Kit had sucked her lungs full when Myra appeared in the doorway, startling her. Recalling Myra's rages, she expected a scene but then saw a girl follow Myra in, holding her hand, a pretty, plump creature with soft brown hair. Kit handed the pot stick to Myra as a peace offering. Smiling, she accepted it and the four stood silently passing the hot cigarette about. The name of the brown-haired girl was Louise, someone told Kit. While dragging on the cigarette, Louise was caressing Myra's big tits.
    Myra said, "This is good grass but I had better, Panama Red. My shitty husband burned it with lighter fluid."
    Grace commented mildly, "What can you expect from a man but shit?"
    Kit did not share their lesbian hatred of men but it helped draw them together into a frictionless community further lubricated by the pacifying marijuana. She watched Louise unzip the back of Myra's white dress. It fell, exposing those luscious big tits, the puffy aureoles and thick nipples that had reminded Kit of a cow's teats. Louise bent to them and sucked a breast.
    Kit turned to Grace. The girl's transparent violet blouse did not reach her slacks, low-slung hip-huggers of dark velveteen. She caressed the bare, tanned flesh of her waist, warm, silky flesh, then slipped her hand up under the blouse and cupped it on the firmest, roundest tit of her experience.
    Grace dragged on the pot stick, smiling as she watched Kit toy with her breasts, then gazed at Myra, who now held a big tit in her hand and pushed it into Louise's yawning mouth.
    Kit thumbed the girl's dark tit points to stiff-rubber pegs. Grace vined against her, nuzzling her cheek. Kit watched her fingers wave about under the blouse, following the rounds of tit. She became aware that she had entered the time-lag phase of the narcotic. For a minute or an hour she toyed with the firm globes, then slowly-or perhaps rapidly-stroked down her belly, fingered her deep navel dimple, found her zipper and shoved it down, exposing violet panties, the centerline ridged by a narrow band of dark hair.
    She fingered the panty crotch. It was surprisingly dry.
    She told Grace that.
    The girl whispered, "I don't get steamy until there's tongue in my slit."
    Kit's mouth watered as she gazed at the plump little lips between her fingers.
    They were nude and Grace lay passively sprawled on the bed, waiting. Kit crouched over her, studying the dark-pointed tits and narrow pubic pelt. The hair was thick enough to be dark only on the mid-line of Grace's mound and on her cunt lips, which were still closed and hidden by the hair furrows. Curiously, Kit was the aggressor. The other stared at her dangling tits and wet snatch but made no move to touch her.
    Kit lowered and lipped the sharp nipples. Hard. She sucked them and the small aureole circles, heard Grace moan softly and felt her squirm, but she remained inert as Kit kissed down her soft belly to her silky mound bush.
    The smell of cunt was mild, almost hidden by a woodsy perfume. Grace's legs spread and yet her twat lips clung firmly together until Kit thumbed them apart, and in the narrow slit saw a glimmer of juice.
    She tongued in between the hairy gates of the girl's cunt.
    Grace's reaction was violent. Her hips gave a jerk and her legs heaved up, her heels falling on Kit's back, digging into her flesh.
    "Sweetheart!" she cried. "That's it, lap my cunt!"
    Kit's tongue swabbed up and down. Magically, the girl's pussy lips swelled out, forming a glistening teardrop-shaped trough, soon as sloshy as Kit could desire. Her clitoral hood drew upward exposing a pink bubble that grew immensely under Kit's sucking kisses. Soon she was Upping and licking a clitoris that seemed a match for Myra's. Did sucking enlarge clits? Or did the narcotic allow her to mentally transform flesh to fit her desires?
    She experimented by closing the girl's lips on the turgid nubbin. It protruded. Holding the lips closed, she could still suck it through the tangle of hair.
    Puzzled, she raised up from Grace's crotch and looked about for Myra. Myra, naked, was lying on the huge bed, legs raised and apart, her gaping, blonde-haired cunt toward Kit. Louise was still sucking Myra's tits. Kit eyed the dripping pink projection at the top of her slit. She had to find out. She began crawling out from between Grace's legs.
    "Don't leave me!" Grace cried, trying to vise her thighs on Kit's head. But Kit wrestled free, climbed over her toward Myra s scarlet gash. Grace was clutching at her but she continued on and mouthed her friend's slobbery twat.
    Myra loosed a groan and arched up, shoving against Kit's face.
    Kit sucked the girl's clit out to finger form. She closed the lips on it; Like Grace's, it protruded far enough that she could still mouth it.
    She heard Grace sobbing. "You've abandoned me, Kit! Please, please tongue my hole!"
    Then Myra spoke. "Quit sniveling, Grace. You expect everybody to do it for you. Get down and eat some hair pie and then you'll get yours."
    The girl still whimpered as she crawled between Kit's legs and suckered onto her cunt.
    Among Kit's hallucinations was the growth of her clitoris to the size of one of Myra's breast points. Eventually it became a cock and she fucked Grace with it. At least, they were in fucking position, she between the girl's legs, ramming the growth protruding from her split into a seething, squirty hole.
    Through most of the orgy she could not sort out her impressions. At one time someone was licking her cunt and fingering up her asshole while a mouth sucked each of her tits. She blacked out on that come. Later she was part of a daisy chain of writhing flesh, and the twat she was lapping seemed to be Louise's.
    She did not know at what point she lost consciousness.
    She awoke in glaring moonlight. Her mouth was on fire, burned dry, her tongue swollen with thirst. She needed beer, great icy mugs of it.
    She sat up and saw that the three girls formed a triangle, the head of each between the thighs of another. They moved squirmily, very slowly, as though in the last stages of exhaustion. In the triangular space between them hands moved, caressing flesh, tits or bellies, whatever they happened to touch.
    Kit stood up. Cunt juice spilled down her legs. Her twat was gaping but she felt no desire to return to the lesbian tangle, that meaningless plethora of soft flesh. She dressed. Finding Myra's purse on a table she took the car keys from it and left the room.
    They did not seem to notice her departure.
    Downstairs she went to the bar and asked the butch-dyke proprietor, Mona, for a bottle of beer.
    Mona asked, "Did you have fun, darling?"
    "I guess so," Kit said.
    She drank the entire bottle of beer and went out to Myra's car and drove homeward.
    She began to feel frightened. Yes, she had liked it. She had come more times than she could count. She had a leaning toward the lesbian bit, and maybe she would like having her clit stretched out to match Myra's and Grace's. Or had that been an illusion? Louise's had been small, though. Perhaps she was a new recruit.
    But above all they, were simply bodies, not people, nothing to cling to, meaningless, and what frightened Kit was the voluptuous limbo, the cavern of delicious nothing that formed their lives, a place for drowning.
    Arriving home she parked the car in front of her house where Myra could not miss seeing it, left the keys in the ignition, and went inside.
    She paused on the porch, glancing next door to Bill Folsom's house. There were no lights. Bill, oh, Bill!
    Bill was strong enough to save her.
    Groaning, she went inside, locked the door behind her, knowing that Myra might well try to get in. She locked the kitchen door as well and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and drank it down.
    She undressed and climbed into bed with her son.
    He slept as though dead. Worn out. Too much sex. Not a man, simply a boy with a man's genitals. She caressed his cock. The ropy limpness of it provided nothing to hearten her.
    She turned from him. Soon her pillow was wet with tears.
    She needed help. She simply could not do it all alone.
    The day was already hot when Sonny awoke alone in his mother's bed.
    The clock said ten. He got up feeling groggy, wandered out to the kitchen and found a note from her on the table, saying, "Sleepyhead! I've gone to work. Buy steak and tomatoes. Money in drawer."
    He made breakfast and ate, thinking back over their crazy weekend of fucking. Where had Mother gone last night? He had awakened, watched a night ball game on TV for an hour, then went back to sleep.
    Done eating he put on a pair of shorts and went out and sat on the back steps.
    He saw Lily's white t-shirt moving about the greenhouse.
    She must be mad as hell. She would probably throw a trowel at him. Well, he had to kind of explain. He angled across the lawn to the gap of the hedge and entered the greenhouse. It was steamy and Lily's tits were blackened by florists earth.
    He sauntered to the aisle where she was seeding a flat. He leaned against a bench.
    He said, "Lily, I'm awful sorry."
    She gazed at him, shrugged. "Sorry for what?"
    "Well, my mother had so many things to do."
    "The way you're tangled in her apron strings, I bet you have trouble opening your fly to pee unless she tells you which way to zip."
    He saw that she was wearing a bra, the way her titties protruded and did not dip or bob when she moved. He guessed that was to spite him.
    Anyhow, she cared enough what he thought to wear a bra when he preferred her without.
    He said, "Lily, I feel the same about you. I mean, you know how my mother is, I just had to go off with her Saturday, and then yesterday-"
    "I haven't been lonesome," she snapped. "Well, I know you were busy, especially with me not here to help transplant."
    "I mean, you haven't got the only prick in town."
    She said it harshly but turned away, to hide a blush, he saw.
    He pondered her meaning. As far as he had been able to keep track of her, she had been home all weekend.
    Did she mean her father?
    He would have to think about that. He said, "Let me sprinkle the dirt on after you seed."
    "I can do it myself."
    But when he took the trowel and began scooping dirt on the flat she had seeded, she moved to the next flat and began seeding it.
    At the office Kit buried her troubles in work until mid-morning, when Myra phoned.
    "It's all your fault, you bitch!" Myra screeched. "Myra, this is a switchboard phone. Be careful what you say."
    "He blacked my eye. I have ice cubes on it but it's all blue and ugly. What do you mean by stranding me miles from home? That's why he beat me up.
    Kit could not make sense of it. She had seen Don an hour before, his eyes red and his face puffy from booze. Apparently he had gotten drunk- Myra was simply looking for somebody to blame things on.
    Kit said, "You found your car, didn't you?" "Yes, Grace drove me, but listen, you cunt lapping bitch, I'll get even-"
    Kit hung up.
    Shortly Myra was on the phone again, quieter now. "Darling, it was all groovy, wasn't it? And listen, Grace is madly in love with you-"
    Kit dropped the receiver once more. She buzzed the switchboard girl and told her that if any woman called, no matter whom, she was not in the office.
    But just before noon a man called her.
    It was Harry, her ex-husband, saying, "I want to have lunch with you, right now. I'm at Barney's, the place your office gang goes to."
    Kit was startled. Harry lived in a town some twenty miles away. She had not spoken to him in three or four years.
    She said, "I'm terribly busy, Harry."
    His voice became a snarl. "You better get your ass down here."
    The receiver clicked. He knew something! Kit immediately thought of Myra. Had she phoned Harry?
    Fortunately her boss had gone to lunch. She hurried out to Barney's and found Harry sitting in a booth drinking beer. He was a lean, blondish man, a larger version of Sonny, looking a bit jowly, she thought, but still attractive, and prosperous, to judge from his clothing.
    Except for the anger in his eyes, he seemed utterly bland, merely the shell of the man she had once loved. She felt absolutely nothing for him.
    But her belly quaked with fear.
    He said stiffly, "You were always a whore, Kit. But not perverted, at least not that I knew of."
    "Harry, you're being a bore." Her voice sounded feeble, she thought.
    "Divorce law is such that I have a right to intervene in matters that affect Sonny."
    Myra must have called him. But there was another possibility. He was an insurance adjuster and often worked with private detectives in investigating fires, thefts, and the like. Could he have someone spying on her?
    She said, "You might tell me what I'm guilty of, Harry."
    His eyes narrowed. He poured the last of his beer, gulped it down, and rose.
    "I was going to have lunch here but you turn my stomach, you and your sluttish look, like a whorehouse blowjob expert. No, I won't tell you what part of your filthy sex life to cover up. You'll learn that in court if it comes to that."
    With this threat, he strode out of the place.
    Kit sat with tears streaming down her face.
    She needed help, needed it desperately.
    Lily found the greenhouse work proceeding rapidly. Sonny worked, so well with her that it was like having four hands.
    And he had such lovely brown eyes!
    It was a hot day and her undies kept her breasts and crotch steamy. Not the sweet steaminess of sex but hasty, wet, itchy. She tugged her bra, trying to let some air in. Sonny saw the movement. That infuriated her. But she could not go indoors and get rid of the undies. She had to spite him.
    Thus she suffered until they finished. Then she thanked him grudgingly and went indoors and got out of her mucky clothes and into the shower.
    It restored her spirits. Coolly naked, she hustled about the kitchen preparing Daddy's supper, something he loved, pot roast and potato salad. While boiling potatoes she fingered her Nat. It was soft and damp, her hole quite open. It should be, after the reaming it had taken from Daddy's big cock yesterday.
    It was a tiny bit sore but she hoped to have a cuntful within five minutes of his arrival home from his hated work as an accountant.
    She planned to greet him like a wife. What to wear? She would absolutely not be in t-shirt and denim skirt. She riffled through the dresses in her closet, chose a featherweight print, a faint amber design on ivory. Trying it on she liked the way it hugged her breasts but the skirt was too long. She got out her sewing kit and went to work, snipping off six inches, basting, modeling it, cutting again. When it was finally sewed and pressed the skirt hem was a half-inch below her crotch. Her cunt hair would show if they were dry and fluffy but not if flattened by cunt juice.
    She felt sure the hair would be plastered tightly to her lips.
    When she heard her father drive up, Lily hurried to the front door, stood smoothing her skirt on her hips, tugging it down just a little. Her heart was pounding. She heard him run up the steps. Peering through the curtain she saw his grin. Her lover! As always he wore a jacket and tie that looked out of place. He made dressy clothes seem overstuffed. His chest and neck were simply too big, She opened the door and drew back to the wall, gazing at him, blushing, suddenly tongue-tied, aware that a full day had separated them since dawn when he had pumped his load of jism into her cunt.
    He handed her a flat box wrapped in tissue.
    "A little gift," he said, not quite meeting her gaze.
    She took it and tore it open. A nightie, a featherweight thing like a white mist. Swallowing down her pleasure, she crushed it to her bosom.
    "Don't you like it?" he asked.
    She choked, "I'd rather have a kiss, Daddy."
    He bent down and pecked her cheek. Alarmed, she let the nightie fall, seized his lapels and clung.
    "Daddy, I mean a real kiss."
    "Honey, listen. I've been thinking. I wonder if we shouldn't ease up. Think things over. I love you too much-you see, honey-"
    Without finishing, he thrust from her, strode toward the bedrooms.
    Tears streamed down her cheeks. It had ended. He had not even looked at her crotch-length dress. She picked up the nightie and sat in the chair by the phone in the hall, sniffling.
    Shortly he emerged from his room wearing only a pair of shorts, barefoot.
    He said, "I'll work in the greenhouse until supper."
    "No!" she cried.
    He paused, biting his lip. He was looking at her dress. Rather, looking at her exposed twat, for the dress had pulled up when she sat. She saw a darkness in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.
    Was he changing his mind?
    Then she heard a voice at the kitchen door.
    It was Kit, calling, "Bill, could I speak to you for a moment?"
    He turned and strode toward her. Lily sprang up, reaching out toward him but he kept on going to the sound of Kit's voice.
    Kit was trembling all over. She guessed she looked haggard. She felt it. She stood on the steps from the greenhouse to the kitchen door and saw Bill appear, a hulking, hairy-chested man in blue denim work shorts.
    She gasped, "Bill. Do me a favor? A big one?"
    He opened the screen door. He was grinning at her. "Hell, Kit, you can have anything except my right arm. I need it. Come on in. We'll pop a beer."
    "Bill, I've mixed cocktails. I want you to come over and have a drink with me. That's the favor."
    "I must say, you're demanding an awful lot." He grinned, turned back and called, "Lily, I'm going over to Kit's for a minute."
    Kit led him out of the greenhouse.
    In her kitchen she took the tray of dry martinis she had already poured, handed it to Bill, and went into the living room, where Sonny was watching the afternoon ball game on TV.
    She said, "Darling, I want to talk to Bill. Would you please go help Lily make supper, or watch her TV-"
    Sonny looked surprised but obeyed without a word. When she heard the kitchen door snap shut she took her drink from the tray Bill had set on the coffee table. They tinkled their glasses together and far a moment she met his eyes over the urns of their glasses, gray eyes with a twinkle in them, handsome eyes in a squarish brown face, a good, clean, honest face.
    She said, "I've been a terrible fool, Bill."
    "Welcome to the club." He settled back against the cushions.
    "Bill, I despise myself."
    He scanned her. "I don't see anything to despise, just the prettiest woman in town.
    "Do you know why I'm divorced? I mean, why my husband insisted on it?"
    "Sure. Because you had too much spirit, too much independence for his liking. You wanted to pay your own way, which you do now, but he wanted to keep you in your kitchen."
    She smiled. "You're good at telling me what I want to hear."
    "I'll tell you something you don't want to hear. Your martinis are too small."
    Impulsively she bent over him and kissed his forehead.
    He looked up, surprised.
    "Thanks, Bill," she said. She could not explain how he had, with a few words, lifted her spirits. He liked her. She knew he did, liked her as a person, respected her. That was what counted. Dropping down on the couch beside him, she said, "You'd make my day if we could extend the favor a little. Stay to supper?"
    "Lily has ours ready."
    "Let the kids eat it. You and I-please, Bill? r need time to tell you things."
    "Don't tell too much," he warned. "And don't run out of gin."
    Smiling, she nodded agreement.


    Lily was in her room, sobbing, when Sonny called from the kitchen.
    "I got kicked out. Can I watch your TV?" She swallowed a lump in her throat before saying, "Go ahead."
    Her tears dried up. Thoughtful now, she went to the bathroom and washed off the tears. What were Daddy and Kit up to?
    Not wanting Sonny to see her pussy blatantly exposed, she got a pair of panties, pretty lace ones, and put them on before going out to the living room.
    As she passed the hall phone it rang. She answered, heard her father say, "Honey, you feed Satiny. I'm dining with Kit tonight."
    Astonished, she hung up. Never had anyone phoned between the two houses! It was always a yell, or a head poked in the kitchen door. Things sure were screwed up.
    A mirror hung over the phone. She fixed her hair in it, then wondered why she was going to all the trouble for Sonny, who preferred screwing his mother?
    She stood on tiptoes to examine her skirt length.
    It was flattering, she thought, making her look like all legs. Her legs were pretty, she knew that without vanity. She went into the living room.
    Sonny's gaze was fixed on the TV screen. Somebody was at bat. She deliberately sauntered across his line of vision, saw him look up, staring at her midsection.
    "Hey, is that a dress, Lily? Or a…"
    "It's the latest," she said, dropping into an armchair, the arm of which hid her thighs. "Daddy is staying at your mother's for supper. You're eating here."
    Their gazes met. His mouth gaped. "Kit-and your-dad?"
    She nodded.
    She wished the house next door were a greenhouse, so she could see what was going on.
    After his second dry martini, Bill switched to beer. The weather was too hot for heavy drinking.
    Kit did not go into her troubles before supper. They traded light chatter and when she went to the kitchen to do the steaks, he switched on the TV ball game and watched it without really seeing, sipping beer and pondering Kit's actions. When she called him in he saw that she had changed to yellow shorts and halter. She looked dazzling, those luscious tits and the round ass cheeks and lusty thighs. And her smile across the table, her lower lip flattening, dimples indenting her cheeks, the crinkle marks at her eye corners, the auburn hair wreathed softly about her face.
    She had done his steak right seared in a hot pan, still bloody inside. A bottle of cold beer waited beside his plate.
    He said, "You know how to make a man feel wanted, Kit."
    "Not wanted, Bill. Needed."
    He saw a darkness in her eyes. Her troubles again. But let that wait. While eating he studied her, the depth of her bosom and the grace of her rounded arms and slender hands, the sweet openness of her smile. She was one hell of a lot of woman, he thought.
    When he had finished the steak he rose and rounded the table, stepped behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders.
    He said, "Kit, there's only one place to tell me your troubles. In bed."
    She gasped. "Bill!"
    "Kit, I've been crazy about you for years.
    "I'm terribly fond of you, too. But Bill-"
    "I'm out of debt now. I can begin planning a new life. Look, I'm no talker. I go by feel. I always have. The feel of a baseball bat in my hands, or flowers. In bed I'll know if we love each other. If we do, your problems will disappear."
    She hesitated for some minutes. Then she whispered, "I trust you, Bill."
    She rose from the table and let him lead her to her bedroom.
    There he peeled off her halter. Pink-capped breasts spilled free, milky orbs more luscious than he had ever imagined. He unfastened the waist of her shorts and dropped them. See-through panties compressed the broad auburn bush masking her split. His gaze traced her curves.
    He loved his daughter, but Kit was a woman.
    She was blushing, her gaze downcast, but smiling with pleasure as her hands closed on the waistband of his shorts. She unsnapped, zipped down, and fingered his half-hard dark cock out to the palm of her hand.
    She watched it grow up her wrist, a dark cylinder against her pink flesh. Her fingertips nudged his scrotum, her hand forming a trough in which the cock bulged and hardened and snaked its way up her arm. It gave a throb and lifted clear, the head flaring like a cobra's hood.
    She murmured, "It's a beautiful cock, Bill."
    He chuckled. "The fucker is still growing, Kit."
    "You mean it gets bigger than this?"
    "Not ordinarily. But Mrs. Pretty Tits has a silky touch that would make a pickle grow to a cucumber."
    Kit giggled. "You sweetheart." Her fingers now spiraled softly about the still expanding member.
    He loved her giggle, always had, and the way her lush lower lip flattened when she smiled. He liked the way she stood, unashamedly displaying her breasts. They were heavy enough to have a slight hang td them. He cupped his hands underneath, thrilling to their heat and firmness. He would like to place his cock between them and press them in on it, fuck that way. But all things would come in due time and now he was content to explore the satiny flesh and let her toy with his long cock.
    She fingered the enormous knob of the head, saying, "That's too big to shove into any woman, Bill."
    "Keep up the flattery. A grizzled old bastard like me never hears much of it."
    "I really think my hole is too small."
    "You poor frightened little virgin!"
    She giggled. "Maybe we'd better call the whole thing off; Bill."
    "But it might be worth trying."
    "I thought you'd never ask!" She turned from him, whipping down her panties. He eyed the white globes of her ass and his cock gave a tremendous jerk. He kicked away his shorts as Kit dropped on the bed and without preliminaries he climbed on, grabbed her knees, shoved them back and apart, mounted her, aiming his overgrown cock at the glistening pink split, a narrow-appearing gash in the reddish tangle of her cunt hair. Not touching it, he simply aimed and stabbed and plunged his knob into the seething portals of her cunt.
    "Bill!" she cried.
    He jogged, wetting the end, then sank down on her flesh, his cock squirmed into the hottest little cunt he had ever experienced. Her legs closed about him, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. He felt a convulsive cunt grab, like a hand clenching his prick. It began racing. God, he thought, she's coming already! He hipped, sweeping it in and out of her sucking cunt.
    "Bill. Bill! I'm coming!"
    He rode the billows of her body, her writhing belly and tossing tits, and whacked her hard enough that his balls splatted against her upturned ass. She arched up, jerking, then sighed as though punctured, and collapsed.
    He saw her face burn as she struggled through orgasm. Her eyes scrunched shut, her teeth gritted. Then she broke free of it, moaning softly. Her face turned away.
    She gasped, "Bill, I'm an awfully hot cunt. I hope you don't mind. I mean, I really shouldn't come the minute you stick it into me but I can't help it. It's not very-lady-like, is it?"
    "Oh, fuck being lady-like. I want a broad that every guy in town can see is a hot piece of ass, but knows he can't have. Honey, I intend to keep you bowlegged from fucking, your cunt drooling all day long and full of cock all night."
    She laughed. "You speak with such delicacy, Bill."
    "You'll have to teach me to be more refined."
    "I will, starting now. Fuck me hard, Bill! Shove that beautiful big cock into my cunt like there's no tomorrow!"
    He kissed her and then roared into high gear. Joyfully, magnificently sure of himself and of her, he began banging into her hole. Kit bowed her back, reaching for his ass. Clutching it, her thighs vising his waist, her heels digging into his spine, she hurtled up to meet each thrust. Her cunt gulped at his slippery prick. A violent seizure told him she had come again but this did not even slow the action.
    His balls thumped her asshole and his cock, a ball bat of concrete, extended her sucking cavern all the way, it seemed, to her throat.
    When at last his nuts exploded and shot pints of jism through his cock, Kit was shrieking.
    "Come, Bill, oh; shoot it into me, honey!"
    He blasted his sperm up her hole, backed, lunged again, spurting like a wildman. The great viscous gobs filled her cunt and spilled down her ass to wet the scrotum from which they had originated.
    He emptied himself in her and Kit sagged, arms and legs falling from him.
    "Bill, I'm exhausted," she choked.
    He laughed. "Hell, Kit. I've only begun to fuck."
    Next door, Lily and Sonny had finished dinner and were in the living room trying to watch the TV, but too preoccupied with their parents' doings to see more than flickering shadows.
    Finally Lily could no longer stand the suspense. She said, "I think you had better go over and sneak a look."
    He needed no urging. He sprang up and raced out the back way.
    Lily had, to a degree, gotten over her anger at her father's rejecting her, though her shortened dress remained to jog her memory of that awful moment. Oh, she knew her father should have a woman but- Sonny hurtled back into the living room, wide-eyed.
    He cried, "I could hear the bedsprings from the kitchen! Like they're smashing the bed apart. I sneaked into the hall and heard them talking, well, not talking. More like loud noises."
    Lily eyed him, his sleek torso and the ridge in his shorts. She decided instantly. She lunged out of her chair and strode to her room.
    There she whipped off her pretty lace panties. In the mirror she saw that her skirt hem concealed her twat lips because the hairs were wet and mashed up flat. She lifted the dress an inch, trusting it to hang on her hips, and returned to the living room wiggling and swaying in her dress no longer than a t-shirt but much more precisely shaped to display her shape.
    Sonny gaped and his eyes bugged. She dropped down on the couch facing him, flipping up her skirt. He glanced once at her hairy cunt and flung his arms about her.
    "Lily, you're not mad at me any more?"
    "I hate you, you shithead." She slid a hand down his chest to his pants and tore his zipper open. His cock sprang up into her hand, as hard as a hambone. Clutching it she dropped back down on the couch, legs apart, drawing him to her.
    "Lily, don't you want to take off your dress?"
    "No. Stick it into me, you prickhead."
    The first thrust, his knob sliding easily up her hole, brought a wild little spasm in her belly. Lily groaned with pleasure and flung her legs about him, feeling rather glad that Sonny's rod was inside her instead of her father's cunt-stretcher. Oh, Daddy's tool was glorious, but this certainly was more comfortable and it let her be more in control.
    She humped in long, strong pulls and Sonny caught the rhythm, which was not playful but a matter of cock-stripping surges guaranteed to make him shoot off his nuts within minutes. She wanted only one orgasm this time, a hard one when he exploded. She wished now that her dress were off so he could fondle her tits but she had needed his cock in a great hurry, and she had it, a plunging length of rigid meat on which her insides pulsed and slithered and rippled in corrugated waves of urgent desire.
    He cried, "Lily, you're making me come!"
    "Sure I am, you prickhead! Goon, fuck me!"
    "I wish you'd call me darling, just once."
    "Okay, darling, you asshole." She kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth just as he began his ride.
    He bucked, raised up, squashed her clitoris, gave a yell and hammered wildly into her split. Lily felt all the knots in her belly congeal into a fist jerking off his plunging cock. The first geyser of jism triggered, her orgasm. She shrieked, arched up and slammed at him.
    He squirted her full as she writhed and tossed through the delicious agonies of her come.
    He sagged on her. He whispered, "Please don't call me dirty names any more, Lily."
    She suckered a kiss on his throat and wondered why it seemed more loving to call him an asshole instead of saying darling.
    Night had come. They were still huddled together on the couch, caressing each other's genitals. There was still no communication from next door.
    Lily felt Sonny's cock begin to flatten up in her hand.
    He said, "Let's go into your bedroom-get naked-"
    "I have a better idea. Your bedroom. I want to hear them make the bedsprings creak."
    He grinned in agreement, rose and clasped the waistband of his shorts. His prick was too stiff to bend back inside. He left it sticking out.
    Lily got the nightie Daddy had bought her and they left the house. Her dress was wrinkled now and hung up around her waist but the cool of night felt good on her fevered pussy as they left the greenhouse and went through the hedge to Sonny's newly mown lawn.
    He said, "Hey, your pussy is showing."
    She glanced about the darkness, at house lights that seemed distant. She did not pull down her skirt.
    She said, "Well, do something about it."
    He did. He drew her close and cupped his hand on it, gently stroking, rolling the slobbery lips between his fingers, while Lily massaged his cock. She had made him stop here on the lawn to savor the moment together. It would be different indoors. She edged over to the porch step, mounted the first one and planted her feet well apart.
    She tucked his cockhead in between her lips. He shoved and the bony curve slid right up her hole.
    He grabbed her ass and gave her some long, slick strokes.
    Then she heard Kit's laughter.
    She froze. She eased off Sonny's prick, took his hand and led him up the steps into the kitchen.
    She then heard her father say, "I think the whole damn thing has melted and is dripping out of you."
    She glanced at Sonny. He was grinning.
    They stole silently into his room. There Lily stripped off her dress, hung it and her nightie over a chair, and they climbed naked, into bed.
    Sonny started to climb on top of her but she pushed him aside. She had other ideas.
    She curled down his body and mouthed the juicy head of his prick.
    Kit could not stop giggling. Curled up in Bill's arms, her hand roving about his stiff cock, she had not a care in the world. Everything he said was funny, every caress a voluptuous delight. Her troubles were over. Myra? Bill would slap the face of the lesbian bitch. Sonny and Lily?
    She had heard them stealthily enter the house, had heard springs creak when they got into his bed. They were just beyond this wall, not ten feet away, and it was a thin wall.
    She pressed her mouth to Bill's ear and whispered, "The kids are in Sonny's bed."
    He considered that a moment, said, "That's all for the best, I suppose."
    "Oh, yes. Let them fuck their little heads off, the darlings. Bill, listen. You said you could convert your house into greenhouse and office, display room, all that. Why not cover your lot with glass and move in here? We have only two bedrooms but if the kids sleep together that's all we'll need."
    "We'd have to get married."
    She frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."
    "Would you like to?"
    She shrugged. "I don't care. Whatever you think best." She fingered down his thigh and found his scrotum, more concerned with the squishy feel of his big nuts than with the possibility of becoming Mrs. Folsom. She said, "Married or not, I'd keep my job. I like it. And damned if I'd become a financial burden like your first wife."
    "Well, the kids each need both a father and a mother. We'll get married."
    "Okay. If you insist." Kit nuzzled his hairy chest. Then she curled down his torso, two-handing his genitals, and mouthed the head of his prick.
    It was a jawbreaker, but delicious, sheathed with velvet- A strange sound made her pause, a sound that did not fit with the blissful peace that filled her house.
    A car was braking to a halt out in front.
    She raised her head. She heard footsteps. Could it be Myra? Just like her to burst in at such a moment. Bill had heard it and he lifted on one elbow.
    Shoes scraped on the front porch. A man's shoes. The door opened. He crossed the living room, not sneaking in, walking directly toward the bedroom, knowing where he was going. There was just enough light that Kit saw him loom tall in the doorway and his hand groping for the light switch.
    The room exploded, two dresser lamps and an overhead light blazing.
    Harry, her ex-husband stood tall in the doorway gazing at the naked pair in the bed. Kit was still holding Bill's erect cock.
    Bill growled, "You, who the fuck do you think you are?"
    Harry's eyebrow rose. He looked surprised.
    He said, "This isn't what I expected."
    Bill's voice got louder. "I asked you, who-"
    Kit choked, "It's Harry, my ex-husband."
    Bill sat up, bringing Kit with him because she still held his prick. He said, "Ex-husband? He'll be your late husband if he doesn't get his ass out of here before I kick his balls off!"
    Bill climbed off the bed. Harry backed.
    Harry said, "Kit, I had heard-I mean-"
    Kit was dying inside, not knowing what Harry knew or suspected. Oh God, if he said something about Myra-or about her fucking with Sonny- But Bill was on his feet and crouched like a wrestler, powerful arms hooking toward the intruder. Yes, a naked wrestler but Kit guessed his enormous, rigid cock Sort of spoiled the effect. It was something else, not having to do with combat.
    In fact, it looked terribly funny.
    Bill said, "I happen to be Kit's future husband. You got that, shithead?"
    He lunged like a bull at the doorway.
    Harry fled. Out to the hall, crashing into the phone table, knocking it over and setting the phone to ringing, scrambling out through the living room. Bill, howling in rage, went tearing after him.
    Kit burst into laughter. She had just enough presence of mind to go to the wall switch and turn out the light. Out in the hall she found Bill fighting the upset phone table. Distantly, a car roared away on squealing tires.
    And in the hall were her naked son and Bill's nude daughter, clinging together and staring at their elders.
    Kit greeted them with peals of laughter. She rushed to the two teens, threw her arms about them and crushed them to her naked breasts. She kissed each in turn.
    She said, "Lily, your father wants to marry me. He's so old-fashioned. But it's sweet of him, don't you think?"
    As she released them her hand fell on Sonny's stiff cock.
    She guessed it might as well all come out in the open. She curled her fingers about the stiff organ and caressed it.
    Bill understood in a flash how it had all happened. Kit, needing a man, had gone ape for Sonny, and the heat thus engendered had spread across the hedge, joining him with Lily.
    He said, "Lily, I want to talk to you, honey. Come here a minute."
    Lily detached herself from the group and followed him into the living room. They stood at the end of the couch, facing.
    He said in a low voice, "We'll tell everything. Okay? Start with a clean slate?"
    She nodded, smiling. And her hand rose and closed on his cock.
    "Hey!" he protested.
    She whispered, "Kit is holding Sonny's prick."
    "But, honey, we're starting over. I mean-"
    "We're being honest now, that's all, not hiding our love any more, none of us." She backed to the couch, lifted her ass up on the backrest, spread her legs and drew him into the darkness of her crotch.
    His cockhead touched her slippery cunt lips. She still fisted his shank, slid her free hand up his furry chest and about his neck, bringing his head down to her open mouth.
    He kissed his daughter, slipping his tongue in as he hipped and shoved his cockhead up her narrow but sloshy hole. Her legs flung about his waist.
    In the hall, Kit said, "Sonny, I'm thirsty, let's get a drink in the kitchen."
    Lily's cunt was sucking strongly at Bill's cock. She pulled from his mouth and whispered huskily, "I'm getting a come, Daddy. Fuck me through it, then go back to Kit."
    He jerked his hips, jogging in the sweet little hole. Abruptly she cried out and ground her pubes on his, choking and moaning.
    "Daddy, Im coming, COMING! Fuck me a little more-"
    He gave her a few long strokes. At last she wilted, sagged, kissed his throat.
    They drew apart. An arm about her, he took her to the hall, patted her behind and sent her into Sonny's bedroom. He returned to Kit's room.
    Shortly she joined him, gliding into his arms.
    She whispered, "Bill, I don't think it would hurt for us to change off occasionally, me with Sonny and you with Lily."
    He had to agree. He climbed on top of her and shoved his cock into her hole.