Chapter 8

After lunch on Saturday afternoon, Henry Trent sought out his stocky nephew Mike, while auburn-haired Ruth, lush brown-haired Rose, Susan Lorimer, and Joyce Trent busied themselves in the kitchen washing dishes and gossiping as women ever will. The grandparents had gone to take their customary afternoon nap, and Ben Trent was up in his room writing letters to old friends, advising them of his forthcoming world cruise. As for saucy black-haired

Elizabeth, who had unwittingly found herself to be the catalytic agent of this entire holiday weekend, she was industriously writing a theme for her English Composition class for the following Monday. And her subject was an unusually mature one: How Young People Adjust to Grownups. It would be safe to say, however, that she did not cite any of the startlingly physical experiences which had had a great influence on her own rapid mental adjustment to the adults she had encountered during this family reunion . . .

"Look, nephew, well be breaking up tomorrow night, and I just wondered if you've made up your mind on that truck deal I'm after," Henry Trent favored his nephew with an engaging smile.

"I told you, Uncle Henry, I make a lousy fifteen percent on every truck, and the best I can do for family is split that down the middle. So figure seven and a half percent off the list, and you can have all you want. Of course, I'll have to put in a special order and you'll have to pick out the model you want and the options and all that stuff."

"You're sure that's the best you can do?"

"I'm sure. It hasn't been a great year for dealers, as you ought to know if you've been reading the papers, Uncle Henry. And I can't very well give the stuff away. I've got my high rent and operating expenses and advertising and all that stuff to contend with. You know how it is, you're in a business like that yourself where you gotta watch your costs."

"Oh come on," Henry Trent put an arm around Mike's broad shoulders. "Why don't you let me have them at cost? You owe me that much anyway."

"How the hell do you figure that?" Mike bristled.

"I don't want to have to say this, but you're making me. All right then, if you're going to be stubborn about it. I wonder what Ruthie would say if she found out you were banging sexy Rosie down in the basement the night before Thanksgiving?"

Mike's eyes narrowed, and a crooked grin curved his lips. "I wonder too. But I don't think you'll tell her, Uncle Henry."

"No? And why not?"

"Because, my favorite uncle," Mike sarcastically drawled as he put his arm around Henry Trent in turn, "then I'll have to tell Joyce you were banging sweet little Beth after I fan-tailed her cute heinie. And that's an offense on the statute books, Uncle Henry, while adultery isn't exactly. So I think that you and I are at what is known as the proverbial standoff. It's seven and a half percent or it's nothing."

"Jesus!" Henry Trent profanely growled, turning very red in the face. "You're a hard man to do business with, nephew."

"I tell you what I will do," Mike slyly proposed. "I'll knock it down to ten percent off list for one night with Joyce. She's got a can and tits on her I've wanted to try out ever since I was a kid. And she's got better with the years, Henry. It must be like sleeping on foam rubber, you lucky dog you."

"Now you see here!" Henry Trent blustered, shaking his forefinger at his grinning nephew, "that's blackmail!"

"You're the one that called it that, not me, Uncle Henry. So here's what it boils down to. I won't ever talk about Beth again, and of course you'll forget all about Rose. And tonight, just let Joyce sleep alone. Then tomorrow morning at breakfast, I'll give you an order pad and you can give me a tentative purchase request on as many pickup trucks as you want at $3,800 less ten percent. Is it a deal?"

Henry Trent squirmed nervously, biting his lips, and then nodded, his face still very red. 'To save the company that sort of money, I guess I'll have to go along with you, Mike. But wait a minute now, you don't expect me to tell Joyce

I'm throwing her in for a one-night stand on this deal, do you?"

"Of course not. You're not as bright as I thought you were, Uncle Henry. You just let her sleep by herself, and little old Mike, your favorite nephew, will do the rest. If I don't score, the deal still goes through, but I think I can. See you at breakfast tomorrow. Why don't you make it a good year for me by buying a dozen or even a baker's dozen instead of just a lousy ten?"

"Go to hell," Henry Trent muttered sullenly as he turned on his heel and left the room.. . .

The old clock in the hallway had just struck the last chime of midnight when Mike Trent, naked in his bathrobe and slippers, tiptoed carefully up the carpeted stairs at the back of the house to reach the second floor and Joyce's bedroom. At the other end of the second floor, Henry Trent, similarly clad, had hidden in a linen closet adjacent to the guest room occupied by Rose and Wilson Aldrich. There was a flashlight in his bathrobe pocket, which he frequently used to consult his wristwatch to ascertain the time. As midnight showed on the wristwatch, coinciding with the last chime of the old clock downstairs, he chuckled softly to himself and pulled the door to, straining his ears to listen. There was an unmistakable creak at the other end of the hallway, which meant that somebody was using the back stairway to reach the second floor. That would be his nephew, no doubt about it.

Just to make sure, he opened the door just a crack and peeked out and saw the stocky black-haired young man in his blue bathrobe tiptoe toward Joyce's room. His prick had begun to throb and swell at the thought of being a willing partner to his own cuckoldry, but what made it even spicier was that he was going to put horns on Mike without the latter's knowing it. He watched his nephew try the knob of the door, find it open, and disappear inside before he left the closet and hurried down the front stairway to the first floor.

There was utter silence and darkness. He flicked on the flashlight to make sure of the room, and then directed his footsteps toward the fourth door on the right. That was where luscious petite auburn-haired Ruthie was sleeping, and alone for sure right now!. . .

Buxom blonde Joyce Trent had worn her black shortie nightie to bed, first having taken a shower and applied perfume to her armpits, the nape of her neck, and her navel. Playfully, she had rubbed her finger into that dimpled niche and transferred some of the fragrant scent down to the thick dark-blonde bush of her cunt. She had also turned her face back over her shoulder to peer at the mirror and had giggled when she saw that the marks left by Wilson Aldrich's vigorous fantailing were still faintly visible. Unless she very much missed her guess, Rosie wouldn't be looking around for any other men to satisfy her, not if Wilson did to her exactly what he had done down in the basement recreation room the other night. In fact, just before they had parted, he had suddenly got furiously contrite, blushed all over the place, and tried to apologize, whereupon Joyce had giggled and told him, "Now don't spoil it, lover! Don't you ever dare downgrade yourself again like that to any woman. Oh my, you just about made me faint the way you took charge of poor little me, and what you did to me pussy I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. You just go back to Rosie, and maybe tomorrow night, put her through the same treatment, and I'll lay you odds you'll be the happiest married man alive in the Midwest!"

She had fallen asleep, and there was a lovely smile on her full red lips. She was dreaming, and in the dream she was back down in the basement recreation room, but this time lying on the billiard table with a cue uncomfortable poking her buttocks as she squirmed and wriggled under naked Wilson's prick thrusts. Unconsciously, she slipped a soft hand down towards her cuntal lips and, as her dream progressed, began to tickle her slit through the sheer material of the nightie. She moaned and squirmed, spreading her thighs and arching her loins as if she were imitating the rhythm of fucking-which indeed she was.

Mike Trent turned the key in the lock of the bedroom door. He, also, had brought along a flashlight, and he now flicked it on and cautiously leveled it at the big double bed. His eyes widened and then he grinned, his other hand slipping down to massage his turgid prick through the robe. The sheets had been flung back, and Joyce's lush, tempting body was sprawled there, her legs spread widely apart, her bare heels dug into the bed, and she seemed to arch her bottom off the bed and jerk forward and backward. Her nightie had been tugged up to her belly, and he could see the fingers of one soft hand moving feverishly about the pink gape almost hidden by the luxuriant dark-blonde curls of her cuntal fleece.

He shed his bathrobe, and his prick bobbed as he moved noiselessly toward the bed. Very carefully he set first one knee on it and then the other, and moved, holding his breath, toward that maddeningly inviting and readied gape. Cautiously, he leaned forward, gliding his hands over her plump pink thighs, moving to the edges of her lush hips, as he aimed his prick directly against the moist, glistening pink crevice of her twitching cunt.

"Ahhhh!" he couldn't help gasping as he felt the convulsive tension of her vaginal walls against the partly imbedded shaft of his aching spear. He couldn't hold himself back, she was already bucking and wriggling as if some invisible man were fucking her. With a groan, Mike Trent slid forward, burying himself to to the balls, as he stretched out over his uncle's quivering, half-nude blonde wife.

"Ohh, W-Wilson darling-that's so good-mm-mmm! Oh give it to me, lover! Make it up to me after that awful spanking you gave me!" he suddenly heard Joyce babble.

"My God," he muttered to himself, "what the hell has been going on in this house since Wednesday?"

But then there wasn't time to think about anything else, because Joyce's still sleeping but otherwise extremely vibrant and reacting body was driving him crazy with its suggestive gyrations. She had flung her arms around him, and she was moaning softly, and now her knees had lofted and flung hugely apart, and he could feel the contractions of his prick to death-and what a way to go it would be!

"Let's fuck, Joyce baby," he purred into her ear, flicking his tongue into the dainty hole.

Joyce squealed and squirmed, still passionately launched into her wet dream: it was exactly that, because Mike Trent could feel the moist fluids of her womanhood lave his aching, hot prick as he felt himself plunge to the hilt inside her cuntal sheath. He moved his hands up her sides, lofting the nightie, finally rolling it up to her fleecy armpits to expose the lush melons of her heaving titties. He put his lips to one tumescent, darkened nipple and flicked the bud with the tip of his tongue, then nuzzled it with his teeth as he slowly drew himself back, then lunged ferociously till their hairs merged again.

"Ohh-aaaah-oh it's heaven-oh, I'm going to cum, I know I am-oh Wilson, how you turned me on, lover!" now her voice was sobbing and clearly audible. He had to silence her with a French kiss because he was afraid that others down the hall might wake up and hear what was going on. He wondered if Uncle Henry knew about old Four-eyes. And who would have suspected that a wallflower like Wilson Aldrich would have got to this wild piece of juicy blonde ass?

He drew himself back to the brink of Joyce's cuntal sheath, his glans rubbing the burgeoning clit, scraping it to and fro, then plunged back home again, but more slowly this time. Joyce seemed to catch her breath and then emitted a series of whimpering little sobs as she tightened her arms around his shoulders, her knees suddenly clamping together against his hips to pinion him to her saddle.

Now his hands cupped and squeezed her panting titties, while his tongue drove into the nectared warm sweetness of her panting mouth. With slow, tantalizing ins and outs, he rasped his prick against the quaking volutes of her cuntal sheath.

All of a sudden Joyce Trent opened her eyes, then uttered a frantic cry: "Oh God-is that you, Henry-oh no -who-oh Lord -what's happening to me?"

"Take it easy, Auntie," Mike jokingly chuckled, "it's your loving-and I do mean loving-nephew Mike."

"Ohhhh!! You must be insane to do a thing like this -now you stop this minute " she gasped in a choking voice.

"Not yet, Auntie darling, because you know you need it! I'm sorry I'm not Wilson. But I'll try my best to substitute for him"

"Not Wilson-oh my-how did you know -I mean-oh my Lord!" Joyce floundered, trying to push her nephew away with both hands against his sturdy shoulders and not at all succeeding. His hands were squeezing her titties now, his mouth was inches from hers, and his prick was burrowed to the hilt inside her quaking cunt. Besides, she had arrived almost at the point of no return, both from the dream and the actual fucking which had combined to stir the latent and until this weekend unrequited lust deep in her woman-core.

T guess you were talking in your sleep, Auntie Joyce," he chuckled again. "Don't worry, I won't tell Henry. Or Rose either. All you have to do is keep on what you've been doing so nicely. You're a great fuck, Auntie, you really are. I don't think my favorite uncle has been giving you everything you need, from the way you're wriggling and the way that still wonderfully tight hot cunt of yours is trying to snap my cock off."

"OhhhhH How can you be so d-dirty-and stop calling me Auntie-you know I'm just your aunt by marriage."

"Good, then I'm not really committing incest, am I? Come on, Joyce baby, relax and enjoy it. You were doing just great in that dream of yours. So Wilson got to you? I still can't believe it, not old Four-eyes. Oh well, to hell with him. Let's us celebrate Thanksgiving the nicest way there is, Joyce honey."

"Oh, please, this is just awful, you know you shouldn't -what if H-Henry should come in and " she quavered.

"He won't. He's got other things in mind tonight," Mike confidently reassured the quivering, squirming matronly blonde. "Let's get that damn nightie off first so we can really fuck. I'm all naked, and I like my women to be the same way too in bed."

Before she could remonstrate or struggle, Mike Trent had lofted the shortie nightie over her head and tossed it onto the floor. "That's better. Now give me a nice big kiss and use your tongue. And keep shaking that sweet ass the way you've been doing when I first came in."

"You-you're just dreadful, you know you are!" she wailed. "What would Ruthie think?"

Mike kept squeezing her titties and lying on top of her, buried to the balls in side her quaking, churning cunt. Now he frowned, because an idea had just come to him, one he didn't especially like at all. What if that two-timing uncle of his had just changed bedrooms? Ruth would be all by herself, while he was here with Joyce. He ought to have anticipated something like that, because Uncle Henry was just tricky enough to try it. Of course he had perfect confidence in Ruthie. And he'd better be right about her too, or there'd be a little explaining back in their own household come Monday.

But for now, his senses took over again, because for all her protestations and wriggling and her feeble attempts to push him off with her trembling hands, Joyce Trent was so powerfully under the spell of her dream-fantasy with Wilson Aldrich that she needed a fucking in the very worst way. Her own husband had misjudged her sexual capacities and potential all these years, simply because he had been so self-centered that he had dismissed her initially passive acceptance of his marital rights as proof positive that she wasn't capable of any imagination at all. It was true that she had been brought up rather strictly and had almost been an ignorant virgin when Henry got to bed with her the first time. But just the same, if he had only been a bit more patient and told her a few things and worked her over, he could have got just as far as dear Wilson had done last night.

And so with a sigh of resignation, closing her eyes, and once again locking her arms round Mike's sturdy shoulders, she averted her face and whispered, "Please don't make a noise, I'd die if anybody else found out, M-Mike dear."

"That's my girl, Auntie," he teasingly whispered, flicking his tongue at one of her nipples then the other. "Now let's just fuck."

"Mmmmmm, oooohhh, oh it's so good," Joyce moaned now, having decided to abandon her few remaining scruples over her second marital infidelity. For her, too, the lusts of the flesh were rapidly taking over. Her thighs were flexing and her juices were flowing, and her nipples ached with longing as she squirmed repeatedly to encourage the black-haired young man who had replaced her husband in the connubial bed to greater exertions in her churning cunt's behalf. Her face tilted back, taut, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead and cheeks, her ripe melon-breasts rising and falling agitatedly, the nipples hard as flints, dusky with tumescence. Long rippling shivers raced along the insides of her thighs, spasmed the smooth goblet of her dimpled belly. Her fingernails clawed at his sinewy bare back as he began to tease her with quick little probing digs just inside the lobby way of her turbulently seething cuntal sheath. Now feverish, continuous, wordless moans began to escape her as her body shook and vibrated with the approach to thunderous climax: " Aaaah eeeek oooouuu aaahrrrr oh G-God-oh d-d-darling-oh now-NOW, NOW, OH CUM WITH ME, LOVER, HURRY, PLEASE, NOW!"

Then her body leaped against his, their bellies clashing together, her tongue wildly foraging inside her panting mouth as her nails raked him, her plump thighs clutched round his heaving sinewy behind as she strained with him for the ultimate glorious release.

He uttered a bellow of ecstasy, tilting his head back at the ceiling like a dog baying at the moon as the spasm seized him and his thickly clotted essence burst into her seething chasm. Joyce shifted herself, her legs locking over the small of his back as she arched up her pelvic basin to take the last full measure of his vigorous devotion, and then her body relaxed and she lay sprawled, whimpering softly in the glowing rapture of release.