Chapter 7
Grant Tyson stared blandly and blankly at Barbara's mother. "But why didn't Barbara call me, Mrs. Bennett?" he asked at last.
"She did call," said Harriette, "but you weren't home from work yet."
Grant made a sound that could have been exasperation or disappointment, then he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Come in, Grant," said Harriette. "I hate standing at the front door." And she opened the door more widely, then stepped aside to let him enter.
Grant walked into the living room, sank down into an armchair without being invited. He had been visiting this house, calling for Barbara, for so many years that he knew the place as well as his own home. "Sometimes I just don't understand Barbara," he muttered half inaudibly.
Harriette heard him, smiled. "Who does?" she said, lightly, then: "Would you like a drink, Grant?"
He looked up, startled. It was the first time he'd been offered a drink in the Bennett house. "Well-" he began, then hesitated.
Harriette smiled again. "It's all right, Grant -don't be afraid to say yes. You're over twenty-one, aren't you?"
"Twenty-two," he muttered, staring at Harriette as though he was seeing her for the first time. She was wearing a miniskirt and he'd never known that Barbara's mother had such well-shaped legs. He watched her walking to the liquor cabinet, noticed her buttocks working as she moved and he wondered why he'd never noticed that before.
"Whiskey, bourbon, gin-what?" Harriette spun around, faced him, smiled. "What d'you drink, Grant?"
He swallowed, embarrassed at his thoughts, feeling tongue-tied, suddenly shy in front of a woman he'd known almost all of his life.
"You do drink, don't you?" Harriette looked at him with her eyebrows raised.
Was she laughing at him? Grant felt his face flush, then blurted: "Yes, I drink." But he had to add: "But never with Barbara."
The smile faded from Harriette's face. "Of course not. I didn't think for a minute that you did!" She took a deep breath and her bust expanded, uplifted-and Grant saw it.
"I'd like a-a bourbon, please, Mrs. Bennett," he stammered like the polite young man that he was.
"All right," Harriette turned, and Grant could hear the sound of ice and liquid being mixed together. She must have had a bowl of ice all ready! he realized with surprise.
"Here," she said, placing his glass on the low table beside his chair, bending low, letting him see down the front of her blouse, between the dusky cleft. "Like it?" she said softly.
He jerked his eyes up guiltily, feeling his face flush again, then stammered: "Taste it-" she indicated his drink. "Tell me if it's all right, or maybe I made it too strong."
Grant almost knocked over his glass when he reached for it. He gulped greedily, nervously, then sighed. "It's good, Mrs. Bennett. It's fine!" He glanced up at her, seeing the smile on her face, aware too, of the way her nipples indented her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra, he told himself. He'd seen that when he stared down her blouse.
The thought excited him. Did Barbara wear a bra? he asked himself suddenly, then a small frown creased his forehead as he recalled that she'd never let his hand rest on her body long enough to find out. But Mrs. Bennett was starting to sit down right opposite him, and the sight dragged his mind off Barbara.
His gaze flickered down to her eyes, and she was looking at his face, smiling at him with a warm, understanding smile as though she knew what he was seeing, thinking. His face became hot with embarrassment.
"What's the matter, Grant?" she asked, her voice very low.
"Nothin'. Why, nothin', Mrs. Bennett," he gulped thickly.
"Call me Harriette." She laughed, sounding as though she were very amused.
"Having a man like you call me Mrs. Bennett makes me feel old!"
Grant held himself up a little straighter. She'd called him a man! He wondered if Barbara ever thought of him as a man-or was he just a little boy, like she was a little girl.
"Old!" he jerked out the word. "You're not old, Mrs. Bennett." He paused, smiled embarrassedly, then: "I mean Harriette."
"No?" she crossed her legs as she spoke and Grant caught his breath at the barest glimpse of pinkish lips moving between the flesh.
"You're beautiful," he said without meaning to.
"Thank you, Grant."
Harriette got up, refilled her glass and drank it so quickly that Grant was scarcely conscious of the action. "Another drink?" she asked.
He picked up his glass, drained it. "Please."
She took the glass from him and he was aware of the slight stagger as she moved quickly back to the cabinet. She must have been drinking before he arrived! he realized. Had something upset her? What? he wondered. Could it be something with Barbara?
"Wonder if Barbara's enjoying the show?" he mumbled, speaking a thought out loud.
"The water ballet?" Harriette handed Grant his drink, took her own refilled glass back to the chair. "Oh, I'm sure she is." Her voice was ironic. "Children always do," she laughed, squirming herself down, letting the too-short skirt ride higher. She didn't seem to notice it, but Grant did.
"Barbara acts so childish." It was as though she were talking to herself.
"Yes," said Grant slowly. The insides of Harriette's thighs seemed to glisten, as though they were slicked with moisture. He saw the pink lips move. "She does act like a child sometimes," he croaked.
Harriette raised her glass, swallowed, then: "So does her father." Her voice was thicker, deeper.
"Mr. Bennett?" Grant tried to drag his mind off the flesh of the beckoning woman.
"Yeah." The voice was sullen, drunken. "Neil acts like an overgrown kid sometimes." She drained her glass. "Most times." She let her empty glass drop from her hand beside her chair. "He's not much of a man."
Her eyes flickered over Grant's face, then body. They flickered erratically, as though she had trouble focusing, controlling them.
"What?"
"Are you really a man, Grant?" she slurred.
"Why-" Grant swallowed. "Yes-Harriette -sure."
She stood up, swayed, then moved towards him. "D'you think I'm a woman?"
"Sure you are, Harriette."
Her face seemed to float in front of his eyes, as though he was the one who was drunk, not her.
"Are-are you all right?" he stammered.
She laughed right in his face, swaying her body more than ever, opening her mouth wide so that he could see the wet pinkness, the white teeth and the tongue which squirmed like a frenzied, hungry worm. "I'm drunk," she said, "an' I wanna be drunk."
He thought she was going to fall and reached out to steady her, gripping her elbow firmly but gently. He felt a small shock, like static electricity.
"Help me upstairs, Grant," said Harriette, then repeated: "I'm drunk."
He walked with her towards the hall and the stairs. Moving slowly and holding her arm, though he was sure she could have walked by herself. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. "You're all right now, Mrs. Bennett. I'll watch you go up and then I'll let myself out."
She stared into his face, her eyes glowing with anger or passion. "Take me up, chicken!" she spewed. Her lips curled back, showing her teeth.
"All right," he said almost inaudibly. "All right, Mrs. Bennett."
"Harriette," she said.
Grant took a deep breath. "All right, Harriette."
She leaned against him, her breast pressing the back of his hand as he held her arm, helping her up the stairs. At the top he stopped, but she reached up, grasped his wrist and dragged rather than led him into the bedroom. She turned and faced him, letting her hand drop to her waist and she stood, hand on hip, staring up at him, making him conscious of the way her breasts rose and fell with each sharp spurt of air that panted from her lips.
Grant felt the sweat start on his forehead, then run down to his eyes until he tried to blink it away. "Well," he said, his voice very low.
She must have released a clasp or undone a button while her hand was on her hip because Harriette's skirt slid to the floor. He was aware of whiteness, nakedness then, as his eyes went down, he saw the tiny goose pimples on the flesh above the tops of her stockings; he saw, too, the thick thatch of pubic hair which seemed to writhe, glisteningly, beckoningly.
"Are you a man?" she asked.
The tightness at his crotch told him that he was, and his belly quivered with spasms of increasing intensity. "Yes," he panted. "I'm a man!"
Her hand flashed to the front of his pants, slid down the zipper, and his swollen penis lurched out.
"Then screw me," she spewed, working her mouth and moving her lips. She squirmed onto the bed.
He stared down at her, feeling his pores opening and letting a cold melange of fear and desire seep from his body.
"What're you waiting for?" Harriette screamed. Her hands dropped to her thighs, the fingers had gripped the vaginal lips, parted them, showing the wet opening.
"Screw me," she shrieked.
He dropped on top of her tremblingly, feeling her hand seize his penis, squeeze, then guide it into her. The walls of her vagina closed around it, gripping with a fierce, sweet intensity. He pushed himself upward.
"Now screw," she hissed. Her hands gripped his body, twisting the clothes that he was still wearing, pulling him deeper into her and bending her knees, then raising her hips and groaning as he thrust into her.
He tried to mutter a word, but she silenced him. "Don't talk-just screw." The air squirted from between her lips as she spoke. "Make me come," she moaned. "I do so want to come. And I'll make you come-come like you never did before!"
"I-I don't know that I can, Mrs.-I mean Harriette."
"Then I'll teach you... ohh, I'll teach you so much!"
Their eyes met for a long pain-filled second. "Is that what you want, Grant? Do you want me to teach you?"
"Yes, that's what I want, Harriette."
The light showed wetness on her inner thighs, the bedroom lamp gloating on the telltale liquid. Fingers came between the thighs and she touched the wet, slowly at first, then sliding into it, then smearing it blatantly over the plump flesh till it glistened. Grant watched as her fingers discovered strands of damp hair curling out, the hand moving now with a new kind of joy. Her fingers crept to the tuft, then pulled on it as if in mad desperation. The hand then limply drew back and she slid lower on the bed.
Grant was sitting with arms outstretched at the foot of the bed, and now she was able to hook her feet over his arms and Grant saw the thighs spread wide open before his eyes. He watched her hands languidly caressing the thighs. Then his eyes turned up to look again directly at her crotch. Harriette pushed her loins up into a more prominent vantage for Grant's gulping eyes. He could see the dark-matted bulge of the mystery marked with crimson at the center of her, and something in his head was beginning to scream.
The thighs opened and closed like a huge, pale moth, then slid awkwardly down as her legs stretched forward, twisting and squeezing around his neck. She whimpered and moaned and he could feel her toes clenching and unclenching on his back, drawing him closer, drawing his mouth nearer and nearer.
The lips of her cunt looked lurid red now, an inch from his trembling lips. Inside his head, it felt like ice breaking up on a river in spring; shattering with huge slowness. The contact of his lips to her cunt was like an electric shock in his stomach. Without even knowing he was doing it, Grant's hand reached upward to touch her breast with wonderful gentleness. Her hand came over his, urging it to stroke her and stroke her.
He was half kneeling over her now, the fingers stroking constantly, pulling at the nipples. He could feel the wetness running down her thighs, against his cheeks. He could feel, too, her legs slowly giving away and her knees sagging further apart. She was moaning steadily, wide open and sprawled wantonly, her pussy spread open so outrageously before him, the bowl-shaped ass moving up to him, in explicit, three-dimensional shamelessness, and his eyes gulped close up and obscenely clear, showing every nuance of the sides, of the cleavage, of the bottom rounds.
Grant was so excited now he was trembling. Everywhere his hand went there seemed to be more breasts. The room seemed to overflow with the twisting female body before him. And the cunt at his mouth was incredibly lavish. He buried his face between the soft thighs and squeezed them up around each side of his head. God, how pulpy it was against his mouth. First the soaked mat of hair and then the swollen flesh itself. He slid the tip of his tongue into the mushy flesh. Her juiciness was so great he could feel it running down his chin. He dabbled his tongue in the sopping mystery, explored up and down the secret, hairless folds.
Harriette's voice was one continuous high-pitched wail. She screamed and bit her lower lips, straining against his imprisoned mouth. Her fingernails dug viciously into his shoulders. Her body went completely stiff, spasmed and collapsed.
Grant was intoxicated, his face sopping wet, his excitement at its highest peak. Harriette slid down off the bed and was lying all limp with her face in his lap. Gradually she began to stir. Weakly she caught his hand and began to kiss it. The kisses gradually grew stronger as her strength returned. Then he felt her hand fumbling at his cock. He was paralyzed. He looked down to see his prick standing hard and bare before her mouth. Then Harriette began kissing it.
It took Grant by complete surprise, but she would not let him move. Slowly and with tenderness, she kissed up and down the length of him, soft and open-mouthed. Now she began licking it. Long, lapping catlicks all up one side and down the other and then working into one long, continuous, wet, slow sweep. Then she blew softly on it until the wet Head was dry. Again she started the kissing. She kissed all the way to the top, but instead of going down the other side like before, she began licking the fluid that had begun to seep out of the hole. She made a mmmmmmmm sound with the taste of it, and slid her mouth all the way down over it burying it deep in her throat as Grant felt the velvety tongue in there lusciously milking at it. Softly and wetly she drained at it, her cheeks puffed out, and Grant went completely out to sea as he gushed his load deep into that working mouth, joining her mmmmmms with his own helpless groans.
Then they went at each other like hungry animals. It was difficult to reach her breasts with his mouth while still jabbing away at her with his shaft, but the pleasure was well worth the effort. He sucked the crimson nipples between his lips and felt the tips harden again and dilate. Her breasts were wet with his slavering mouth, blending with the rank feminine odors of her body. With hands firmly planted under her heavy buttocks, he rammed and thrust and jerked, push-pulling away with all his might. Her teeth sank into his shoulder at the moment of climax, but her loins didn't stop their pounding away.
She screamed again when she felt his hot spurt flood her vagina and her teeth bit even harder into his shoulder. She humped vigorously, even after Grant's whole body went limp, and the thought of what he had done began to take hold in his sobering brain.