Chapter 3
She heard the door open downstairs. It was a long way from her bed, but Charlotte heard the lock click and open, click and close. Was it Blair? Or could it be her own son, disgusted and upset by what he had heard tonight?
Someone, though; something would be done at least, for right or wrong, for good or bad, the move was made and the results had to be faced-or enjoyed. Let it be Blair, she thought, oh, let it be Blair.
Steps on the stairway, and into the hall, soft footfalls, coming toward her bedroom. Charlotte couldn't look, would not dare to peer at the doorway where he would be framed in the hall light, whoever he was. Blair come to love her, or Duncan come to hate her.
Eyes clamped tight, she lay there, not daring to breathe, lay with her heart racing wildly and her pulse struggling to keep up. An eternity passed, eons crept by, and the fear struck through her that Duncan was simply standing in the doorway, staring down at her bed with disgust in his eyes, that he was gathering his horror to lash her with it.
The bed sank as weight came onto it. The covers slithered back and a breath of cool air drifted beneath them. Then they closed again, and it was warm beneath them, warm and snugly trembling.
Charlotte held her breath. Blair; it had to be Blair. His mother had told him, pushed him this way-and that also meant that Duncan was already in bed with Elena, that Duncan was warm next to Elena's nakedly yearning body, loving it, teasing her, screwing her.
His body touched hers, and Charlotte flinched mightily. His hands came over her shoulder, her hip; oh God, it was wild and crazy and wrong, but so wonderful that she was going to explode with the wonder of it.
"Mrs. Mason," he said, his breath tickling her back, stirring into the nape of her neck. "Mrs. Mason ... "
Then she felt his penis against her naked back, felt it pushing against her bare buttocks, and in reflex she hiked her ass back to press it harder. His fingers found her breast, and his slim, warm hand cupped it, caressed it slowly and with seeming awe, feeling over the erect nipple and pressing gently down upon the melon shape of the tautly packed flesh.
His other hand drifted over her shivering tummy, felt into her navel, fondled slowly down until his fingertips barely touched into the thickly matted wealth of her pubic hair.
With a broken gasp, Charlotte turned over, whirled to slam her aching body against his young, slimly muscled one. Her mouth fumbled for his, and found it: sweet mouth, clean, sharp teeth so even and slick-his tongue, oh God, his tongue honeyed and hotly shuddering.
Charlotte ate into that enchanted mouth, devoured his lips and feasted upon his tongue, sucking his liquids into the goblet of herself, moving away to kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, his throat, madly, madly.
His hands were roaming over her feverish body, feeling her tits, her belly, her hips, fondling the heavy curvings of her ass. And he ground his dear, sweet pelvis into hers, pushed his scrotum into her bushy, humid crotch. Eager; he was so demandingly eager and excited.
She arched her back when he lowered his mouth, running it over her throat, her chest-and she moaned aloud when his hot lips found her nipple. His teeth clenched it lightly, his wet tongue curled lovingly over it, and then-darling, darling-he sucked it, sucked it as if he were indeed her baby and she was providing him with sustenance.
Charlotte clutched his head, mashed his face harder, hurtingly, into her breast, bent her neck to kiss the top of his head, her tongue tasting his hair.
His hand was between her thighs. Oh lord, ohgodmercy-his hand was clenching her pubic mound, cupping her pussy as if he was weighing it, valuing it. She hunched upon his hand, wiggled her ass and slid her slickening cunt lips up and down on his adoring palm.
A finger probed into her labia, pushed thrillingly through the outer lips, fondled into the inner ones, went stirring into her vagina. Charlotte clenched her cunt upon that finger, clenched his face into her tits, rolled her belly crazily against his to feel the touch of that hard young pole.
"Blair ... Blair..." All she could say was his name, and he could not answer, because she was squirming first one nipple into his pulling mouth, then the other, rolling back and forth.
She got a leg over him, and he slipped an additional finger up into her spasming pussy, finding her clit and rubbing it with slippery affection. Groaning, Charlotte let go of his head and reached down to cup his hard, slim ass. His prick-rigid and shaped so lovely, throbbing and wet on the end of its adorable knob, slim and strong and tall, like Blair himself.
Clenching the rod, she guided the spongy head to her labia, and could wait no longer than the very first touch. Charlotte humped him, lifted and drove her crotch onto his stiff prong to take him violently within her body.
His cock penetrated, slid up and up into the hot wet grasp of her vagina, drove up into the velvet confines of her avid cunt, and Charlotte trembled from head to toe as it socked home to its full length.
Her pussy lips thrust strongly against his pubic mound, against the feathery curling of his hair, and she felt the answering lift as his balls surged up to kiss the steamy crack of her ass. Blindly then, Charlotte began to ride his staff, to churn her suctioning cunt around his cock.
She had one arm around his neck, and a cheek of his ass in the other hand. Her tits drove into his chest with every heave of her lower body, and he hung onto her waist as he slammed back at her pussy. Blair's stiff tool plunged in and out, back and forth, and she rocked savagely upon its meaty length, upon the oily peter that reached for the entrance to her womb, then pulled back to the flexing knob before making another rapturous stroke.
She felt the tidal wave coming, the depths and surgings of the powerful sea that came heaving and bucking up from the core of her being. Clamping her thighs, she tried to make it last, to hold off the final great implosion, but nothing could deny it.
"Oh, Blair!" Charlotte cried out. "Oh ... I love you, love you ... I'm coming!"
Convulsive shudders wracked her pussy, and the concentric rings of its muscle caught his prick jealously. Charlotte came, and her orgasm was mightier than any before, bigger and more moving than any climax she had found with her husband, far superior to any gadget induced with self-love.
She bit his tender flesh somewhere, and licked it in apology, quick and sincerely, she caressed him and fondled him and was surprised that his strong young cock was still driving, driving into the juiciness of her relaxed cunt.
Then Blair flexed, and she felt the knob of his prick expand, felt the sudden hot spurt of his semen splash against the mouth of her womb, and knew the loving liquid as it bathed the walls of her vagina and came seeping out and down to wet their clenched-together thighs.
"Oh ... oh, Mrs. Mason, I love you, too. I do, I do. You're so hot, so soft and tender. Ah, I have to hold it inside you, keep it there because it's so good I can't take it out."
She stroked his hair, turned wiser and giving and ageless. "Yes, my love; yes, Blair darling. I love you, and want you to love me, to screw me as much as you want, as often as you can. Wonderful; you're so very sweet and wonderful."
He was a warm young god held in her arms, held in her cunt; his skin was silken and his flesh faintly jeweled with the golden sweat of him. Charlotte rolled her ass tenderly to feel his hard thing move within her well-loved cunt, to feel the kiss of his scrotum across her dripping labia.
Blair squirmed, too, and before she realized what was about to happen, he'd rolled over on top of her body and was cramming his rigid prong deep into her vagina once more. To he fucked twice running, Charlotte thought, oh, what ecstasy. Her husband had never done that: he'd always treated her as if she was something unclean, as soon as he'd gotten his quick, weak orgasm.
Not sweet, darling Blair; not this boy so tremendously strong and lasting, this Greek/Roman/ Philistine god cast of bronze and with this treasured cock. it was encrusted with precious stones and laved with the milk of pearls, his prick could be of no less value to her.
It was hammering into her wet pussy now, making the squish-squash sounds of meat thrusting into lubricated meat, of a stiff prick seeking yet another climax while yet bathed in the nectars of its own come.
Charlotte lifted her legs and crossed them around his sweating, heaving back, locking them at the ankles, making him her prisoner. Convicted and condemned to love, Blair was a pile driver, a battering ram eagerly axing into his hotly caressing cell.
He fucked her steadily, strongly, and she came again, but he held to the lifted cheeks of her ass and kept screwing, continued to fuck her until she thought she'd faint. But she didn't, and she met his quivering second orgasm with another of her own, then and only then relaxing with the flood of love fluids that gushed and mingled so creamily hot in her pussy.
She drifted off to a soothing sleep, to a non-dreaming softness all rosy and warm. She held her arms about him, this enchanted boy/man who had loved her so well and so long, and she knew in the understanding of all women that she had never been loved before.
Not like this wondrous melting voluptuousness, not in the manner of this ardent fucking that had fired her very soul and burned away all the false idols she had set there. To truly fuck was to truly love, and there could never be a surfeit of either.
When, sometime later, Blair's weight lifted from her, she tried to hold him close, to keep him forever within the confines of her well of love. Sleepily, she could not, and his cock had softened so that it slipped from her pussy, and his body was gone from hers.
But not fled, for he pressed close and pillowed his head upon her breasts. She had no idea how long they lay this way, warmed and warming, but when they awoke, it was also together, as if their psyches were knotted together now.
Charlotte suddenly wanted a drink, for the buzz was gone, and if she had to face her new lover stone sober, she didn't think she could do it.
"Excuse me, darling," she said, and since it was dark in the room, she escaped into the bath with bottle and her ready nightgown. Quickly, thirstily, she drank from the neck of the bottle and used a paper cup to chase the long belt with tap water.
She had been terrible; she'd been wanton and abandoned, throwing her legs around Blair that way, and screwing him like she was some kind of practiced whore.
Charlotte had another long couple of swallows, and made a face at the paper cup as she chased them. There; she felt much better, more at ease. Now she could go in to talk with Blair, with this beloved son of her most beloved friend. Now she could hold a conversation with her lover, without stuttering and choking and maybe performing as a damned fool.
When she came back, he took his turn at the bath, giving her time to dab her armpits with perfume, time to be glad she'd rinsed with mouthwash so the bourbon odor wouldn't offend.
"Do you mind?" he said, and flicked on the soft golden light of the bed lamp.
Charlotte pulled the sheet over her breasts, even though she wore the nightie now. Blinking, she murmured, "I ... I suppose you think I'm a lascivious old bag."
"No, I don't," he said:
She glanced from the corners of her eyes and saw that he was still naked, that his clothing was piled neatly upon the nearby chair, and she knew he felt no shame for his body-his lovely, tanned body with the pale white strip across his loins and lower belly.
"What do you think of me?" she asked.
"That you're beautiful and sexy," Blair said, "that I've been aching to dick you for the last two years, ever since I've known you. I've been thinking what a lucky guy I am."
"Really?" Charlotte said, lifting her eyes to his, looking straight into his handsome face, glad for the calm the liquor had given her.
"Really. When my mother told me tonight, I couldn't believe it. All this time, all the peeping and touching and wanting you so damned much, and she told me that you felt the same way about me. Wow. I burned up rubber getting here. And it's great, Mrs. Mason-just great."
She smiled. "Can't you call me Charlotte now?"
"I can, but I'd rather not. Because if I called some ordinary girl, some lad. You'll always be you by your first name, that would make you like Mrs. Mason to me, Mrs. Mason darling."
Charlotte pulled down the sheet and sat up to slide the nightie over her head.
"Darling," she repeated, and reached for him.