Chapter 7
All In The Family
Ron Ladrone leaned hard against the doorjam, his ear on the door from the kitchen to the dining room. The next best thing to fondling Jan's plush hindend was watching the broad loveglobes being blistered to a winsome ruby color. If he couldn't see, he could at least listen.
Of course, he really got off on Mona's mobile rear. It had been days since he'd enjoyed a pure, muscle-melding, joint-relaxing fuck with his girl. And even longer since he'd coaxed her into sodomy.
Earlier in the summer, before Rita'd lain down the law, he'd taken her down the coast. They'd found some beach and flopped on a blanket, stinking of sun screen as they absorbed a Thermos of double-strength Ramos Fizzes. His whispered suggestions had finally won a half-reluctant, half-kinky giggle.
She willingly accompanied him back into the sandy rocks smelling of salt and scrub. They dipped out of the sight of strolling mothers and children. She took the doggie-fuck position. His urgent thumbing peeled down her bikini.
He'd brought some cocoa butter tan oil. His annointing fingers parted her golden, seraphic nates. His brightly latexed cockhead nuzzled her shy anus as he kissed the sticky nape of her neck.
Experimental digs only made her coo. His short thrusts became a full-scale ramrodding. She bucked her hips and mewled in delight as he stirred her clit and kneaded her tits, weight on one arm.
Her shoulder blades arched in a gentle cadence against his chest. He jammed her, crammed her, and slammed her tight, squeezing bunghole. Mona-his Mona-miraculous Mo' tossed her bottom against his loins like a trooper.
He held in place after a blasting come and let her jack him through a second orgasm. The condom's tip had streamed his cream onto the gritty sand afterward.
Ron loved her sincerely and fully, but he deeply .regretted that she hadn't put out for him that way since then.
"Cheslyn, you kneel with your eyes on Janet's pretty fundamentals."
His attention snapped back to the present. He glued his ear to the reverberant door.
"Such a broad base for learning."
"Those mai-tais have made you lyrical but quite intolerable, Dorothy. Don't insult the family shape."
Ron gave thanks for having inherited his father's sleek Florentine stud build. He'd worn paper-thin breeches in A School For Scandal. He expected that Dorothy Tilden would costume him in skin-clinging tights as Hamlet.
He wondered vaguely how she'd flitted into the bridge circle. She certainly didn't fit with the parish crowd. She and Eleanor Warden deserved one another, though. He could imagine where she'd picked up the idea to drape him in Shandel'la's diaphanous royal gown.
"OW!" A sound nastily like shoe leather on bare buttock mingled with the cry.
"I do believe we've made our bid," Mrs. Warden announced.
A volley of five slapping strokes rang distinctly and precisely. "The Cheshire Cat couldn't look smugger with a snootload of cream, Eleanor. Dummy's play." "The seven of hearts, then."
A redly hearty six cracked like rifle shots down Jan's rear. Ron heard her wail, more subdued then her first yelp. Aunt Tilly always worked down one cheek with a half dozen, before giving the other mound a sustained salvo.
He figured that would hurt over the Truro Terror's aching tracks.
"Another trick for us? Joy, joy. So sorry to have broken your small slam, Eleanor . . .Oh, look. Tears flowing like sea maidens'wine."
"Poetic, but most unnecessary, Dorothy," Aunt Tilly chided.
Eyes inches from Jan Ladrone's cushiony backside, Cheslyn Warden flinched at each leathery whap. The aunt put her stocky forearm behind her spanking volleys.
"Try to kick a bit less, my darling."
Jan's arm doubled behind her back, her wrist locked in her aunt's iron grip. The woman bore down, using weight and strength to control her niece over her lap. The stinging slipper paraded down the bruise-stained right buttock.
Cheslyn had to compliment Tilly Ladrone on her relentless method and Jan on her endurance. The eighteen-year-old girl made clear noise, but nothing like Rosalind's outbursts or Eric's shamed, angry howling.
The young wife blushed to admit her own lack of self-possession when Eleanor Warden got into a hide tanning mood. She'd earned a second whipping or a sobering session bound in a punishment corset more than once for "poor attitude" under the birch.
"Game and rubber," Mama Eleanor announced. She piled the final trick before her.
"Perhaps we need a break." Dorothy Tilden seemed fascinated by the gratuitous slipper-warming.
Cheslyn saw the bottom mounds ripple and shake. The gluteal crevice opened and compressed at intervals. She couldn't help but see the girl's heavy-lipped vulva. It spread vulnerably between threshing thighs.
"You could send Cheslyn for some of those brownies I put in the fridge," the Tilden woman suggested.
"Don't tempt her," Mama Eleanor vetoed. "I've had her fasting on fruit juice and Naturehoard vitamins since noon yesterday."
"I thought she'd learned to keep her weight in line." Carla Ladrone's sudden glance stung. Cheslyn concentrated on the swinging sole-splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat the strokes overlapped down one trembling thigh.
"Avoirdupois is a mere cover-up. The naughty creature would stuff herself with caramel creams and jog to burn off those empty calories. A lot of good that flopping did her pectoral endowment!" Cheslyn didn't recall any complaints from Bob.
"A liquid diet has its disadvantages. I thought she'd been trotting to the pot a lot," Dorothy Tilden noted callously.
"This is not that free-minded college you teach at. Please restrain your doggerel mind."
"I'm not the one who keeps a dong up her daughter-in-law's guts. Doesn't it put her off form?"
"She's learned to stand on the seat and squat. It's a common Third World skill. I mop the mess with her hair if she sprinkles the seat."
Cheslyn felt a red whirling rise from her chest. Prickly red spots freckled her vision as the blood drained from her face in humiliation.
Ron couldn't restrain himself. He pushed open the kitchen door and crossed the dining room. "Uh, hi. Just need a book." His sister's loveable netherglobes faced him from over their aunt's knee. The bare twin hills quaked, martyred and helpless.
He grabbed at something from the bookshelf almost at random.
"Harley Granville-Barker?" Dorothy Tilden recognized the grey, oversized academic paperback before he did. "Which preface?"
"Mmm," his eyes flicked down and back to hers, "the Julius Caesar."
Jan's face puffed as she gasped. Her wet orbs pleaded with him to leave, scandalizing him with his enjoyment of her punishment. The guilty joy set his cock throbbing against his trouser seam.
"You'll make a good Bernard Shaw's Caesar one day," the drama instructor distinguished, "once you've developed the balding maturity for it. The part needs someone who can clank on stage, as well as look sage and witty."
" 'Clank'? Can that be stage talk?" Mother inquired. "A line about Macbeth, when one of those ultra-civilized University gentlemen-Maurice Evans or Michael Redgrave -tried to impersonate the Scots barbarian warlord on the boards. One dowager cannily dismissed him with: 'When Macbeth enters you should be able to hear his balls clank.' "
"Who would you prefer? Bruce Lee?" Mrs. Warden sniffed disapprovingly. She seemed about to coil on her heaped bridge tricks, a dragon guarding her gold. "John Gielgud reads verse like Gabriel greeting the Virgin."
"Katie Hepburn." Dorothy Tilden smacked her lips in satisfaction. She took a long pull from her mai-tai glass. "Both the Divine Sarah and Dame Judith took on the Dane. If they could wrestle Hamlet to the mat, Hepburn or Redgrave's spitfire get, Vanessa, could slam Macduff and the Weird Sisters up against the wall."
Eleanor Warden blinked owlishly. "Really. Since Tilly seems to be resting, let me take Cheslyn to the powder room."
"Up the stairs to the second floor and straight ahead," mother directed.
"Does she need encouragement with that sausage crammed against her urethra?" Dorothy Tilden had a merry, boozed flush growing around her cheekbones.
"A little piston motion does help her squirt-oh, pardon, Carla, I forgot about Ron." Mrs. Warden hustled her daughter-in-law out to the entry hall and up the staircase.
"I'd ask Eleanor to explain that silly thing up Cheslyn's . . . hhrumphh ..." Aunt Tilly coughed tactfully. Her slipper lay idle on the small of Jan's back. The crimson, blotched hindquarters squirmed fitfully. "I suspect her response would not be for young ears."
"Haven't you finished spanking my girl yet?" Mother appeared puzzled rather than put out.
"We're up to the extras to behave on, be sorry on, and-"
"Be very wary on. Here, Ron." Dorothy Tilden summoned, an alcohol flame in her eye. He reluctantly trotted over.
She appropriated his book. "I've got to get into of Harl's notes before we start rehearsals. Hmmm.
" 'Calpurnia and Portia,' " she read randomly.
" 'The boy Lucius has sometimes been played with by a woman. This is an abomination. Let us not forget, on the other hand, that Calpurnia was written to be diddled by a boy-' "
"Dorothy!" Mother expressed displeasure. "I believe you made that tropical punch far too strong, Tilly."
"I cut way back on the curacao," the aunt declared primly. "Just enough to flavor the rum."
"Have you finished spanking my girl yet?" Mother made a wry expression of distress at the cocktail jug.
"We're up to the extras to behave on, be sorry on-"
"And be very wary on," Dorothy Tilden intoned. She handed the grey book back to Ron. "To be very aware as she stands and sits and goes to the-"
"Dorothy!"
"-library." The instructor wrinkled her nose in playful innocence.
A rushing sound of flushing from upstairs heralded the Wardens. Cheslyn seemed paler than before as she set her teeth and squatted on wobbly high heels, gaze riveted on Jan's smoldering bare bottom.
Ron's own eyes swung between his sister's seat and Cheslyn's bent, porcelain-pure cheeks. He knew he could seriously get off on having her bounce on his lap. The yearning began to hurt as his trousers seam foiled an urgent drive toward erection.
Aunt Tilly's left hand seized good hold on Jan's wrist. Her forearm bore down on the small of the girl's back.
The slipper swatted high and hard on a quivery crimson mound. Jan's leg kicked briefly. Four more crisply walloped the same buttock. Her hips rose. The stung fanny shook.
"Behave, now!" Aunt Tilly cautioned, the slipper edge rapping against naked thigh. She spanked the opposite mound in a driving cadence from top to base.
Ron felt his shorts dampen with warm pre-come ooze as his sister cried softly. He held the Harley Granville-Barker at groin level and watched.
Aunt Tilly varied her routine with some bold, loud whacks along the outer slopes. Three popped down the righthand curve, then two on the left. Jan gasped, her broad hinds rippling as they clenched.
The slipper whipped across the broad cheeks' base. The swats slowly overlapped for a scalding five where Ron guessed she needed them least.
"In two months you'll be nineteen," their aunt scolded. "I should think you'd be ashamed to need these extra spanks at your age. Yet since you do . . ."
The arm rose high. The leather sole jolted the bottom squarely across the crevice. The next hard slipper lick covered the same darkening patch. Jan squirmed, her heels in the air.
Aunt Tilly double-spanked both buttocks along the cleft. Her final fiery swipes whipped in where taut hillocks and thighs churned in unison.
Jan boiled over with hiccuppy sobs.
"There, there," the woman comforted, setting the slipper on the bridge table. She patted and bent protectively over her niece. "All over, all done, my precious darling."
"Until next year?" Dorothy Tilden leaned forward. "How long do you intend to godmother that melony tush?"
"Until she's out of college or married," Aunt Tilly informed with a chill. "Why don't you ask Eleanor about Cheslyn?"
The drama professor offered a boozy, insolent grin. "Perhaps I know."
"That reminds me," Mrs. Warden searched about. "I did promise that girl a lacing before company for her diet indiscretions. This group should be as instructive as any for her."
Ron's fly bulged. He made a dignified break for the stairs, all his stage training keeping his crotch away from the women's sight lines.
"Have fun reading while the adults play," Dorothy Tilden called after him. "My god, Eleanor, you could train ponies with that riding whip!"
A thousand red ants nipped along his skin as he closed his bedroom door and pressed the button lock. It felt impossible to breath in enough air to meet his thumping heart's needs.
Ron spun the grey academic paperback onto his bed and dove for the wooden footlocker under the springs. His hand could barely manipulate the dial on the combination padlock.
He eased out the cool blue Morocco Memoirs of Doily Morton. The thumb-darkened gilt-edged pages fell naturally open to a favorite illustration. Roy Krenkel's evocative ink sketch showed the heroine, drawers down and petticoats a mass of lacy foam at her waist. She writhed over Randolph's knee.
His broadly splayed fingers pressed into one plump Victorian buttock as he spanked her. Dolly's pleading eyes searched wildly for surcease. Her mouth O'd in a panged scream.
Behind, on the mantle, a flaringly erect satyr switched the bottom of a nymph stretched along a ladder, her wrists tied to the uppermost rung.
Ron unzipped his pants and let his own cock leap into full-rutted growth. He grasped it as a trickly syrup trailed from the indented tip.
His bedroom's doorknob rattled insistently.
He fumbled the book shut and back into the foot-locker. Crudely belting his trousers, he yanked the zip over the velvet penis skin. It felt like cold teeth as he waddled to the door.
"Yeah?"
"M-me." The wet warble ended his panic. He turned the knob and let his sister in. Her slacks wadded under her arm, she stiffly paced toward his bed. She gave the unlocked wooden locker a teary glare. "I should have guessed."
"What're the ladies, uh, doing?" Ron followed her, trying to put a comforting arm about her shoulders. She shrugged him off.
"Punishing Chesty Warden." Jan took a stance by the bed. Her vivid vulval projection made the closely cropped pubic hair less a veil than an accent. "First Mrs. Warden whips her hands, then her fanny, with THAT."
The girl shuddered. Ron got an arm around her. "Hey, let me try to-"
"Damn well better!" She grabbed his hand and jammed it between her thighs, sawing herself back and forth on it. "I need ... I need ... I hurt ..."
Her fingers undid his trouser front. The pants dropped to the floor. His shorts followed, and she touched the egg-headed prong longingly.
"I wish I could, I m-mean just once, get it up my cunt p-properly. Damn hymen-centered morality."
She swiveled and braced her arms on his bed, her bloused back arching up toward her broiled, burgundy-splotched backside. Her legs stretched apart. Ron hoped she wouldn't start squalling like an air raid siren again. They'd stopped coupling with the window open when the neighbor lady had asked if they had cats fighting over there.
An ominous shriek penetrated the floorboards. Ron guessed the bridge party would be busy with Cheslyn for at least twenty minutes.
"Never mind the background music, and keep your hand on my snatch this time," Jan demanded.
She hissed as he Vaselined between the slippered-scalded lovemoons. The sphincter relaxed under his fingers. He eased his dripping lance toward the warm entrance. Contact ... a gentle inch of penetration . . . another inch . . . another . . .
He began a slow hiproll, keeping his belly off her en-chantingly rosy buttock surfaces. His right hand found her clitoral button. She stiffened and wiggled her hips, shaking the plunging cock.
A scream from below made the prick fatten further. He agitated her teasing, squeezing anus with faster hip thrusts.
Cheslyn Warden danced divinely as she swore, or so it seemed to Dorothy Tilden. The blonde had two ridged weals lining her palm. The apple-hard breasts bounced under her fragile nightie top.
"That hurt too much, Eleanor."
"Would it be effective if it didn't, Carla?" The long, silk-wrapped riding whip lashed the twitchy palm a third time.
"I think she's being a bigger baby about it than our darling," Tilly Ladrone spoke to unheeding air. She downed her second mai-tai in five minutes.
"Other hand."
Dorothy Tilden's whole frame rocked to the blow that laced into the palid, naked palm. "Shit, shit, shit-SHIT!"
"She does that to distress me," Eleanor sighed. "I despise that inelegant word."
The drama instructor transferred the waving canary-brilliant nightie from Cheslyn's tit-solid torso to Ron Ladrone's and back again. The possibilities glowed in Dorothy Tilden's mind.
Two welts later, Cheslyn tucked her hands under her armpits and blew, her facial and neck skin hotter and brighter than the sullen whore's makeup.
"I confess a natural weakness. Upstairs?" The urgency put Dorothy Tilden on reluctant feet.
"Second floor and second door down. Green tile." Carla Ladrone pointed vaguely toward the entry hall.
As the guest ascended the staircase, she felt her thighs brush one against the other, ready to discharge arcing volts of sexual current. Only the dampening effects of her alcohol luncheon kept her from creaming violently.
She paused at the landing. An open door invited. She walked toward it, passing a closed one. Muffled sounds reached her ear.
The woman paused. What familiar noises did she hear? A fantasy rolled through her head, and she almost chuckled aloud. She cocked an ear toward the closed door. Temptation beckonned with a mai-tai smile.
Surely a quick "oops-wrong-door" peek could do no harm. It might even shame the totsy girl into restraining her masturbations until the company had left.
Her fingers brushed the knob. Cruel, cruel. Perhaps she'd regret this. A yearning mewling, a girl-pitched sexual noise reached through the door.
Well, she'd regretted thousands of things since kindergarten and look where they'd gotten her.
She turned the knob and peeked through the opened door.
Ron gaped stupidly at the delighted, incredulous face in the doorway. Jan's hips bobbed automatically. Then she saw. Her anus locked around his rigid meatus. She jammed her wrist into her mouth to stiffle a shriek.
"No, no, don't move a muscle. Don't stir a single gummy hair."
Ron couldn't have withdrawn without a cattle prod. He tried ineffectually to cover his sister as Dorothy Tilden elaborately tiptoed into the room. She shut the Judas door.
The hot vise of Jan's rectum made his whole erection ready to explode. He couldn't breathe for mingled fear and lust.
"Oh fuck!" Jan wailed.
"Silly girl, I guessed that." Dorothy Tilden swaggered forward. She gave a low, drunken laugh and slapped his buttocks proprietarily.
That did it. A black haze punctuated by red galaxies blurred his vision. Roman candle fire gouted along his male channels. He orgasmed in copious spurts down his sister's fear-clenched anal tunnel.
Jan bawled in helpless shame. He hung his head, conscious of the woman's hand pressed against his naked buttock.
"The family that reams together creams together?" Dorothy Tilden peered down mirthfully. "You coming, too, little one?"
Jan babbled something in terror. Ron's palm felt familiar spasmodic movements. Her clit nuzzled his flesh as she rolled over the climactic edge.
Fear as the ultimate aphrodesiac? He fought to breathe, not to understand. His stage-trained diaphragm could barely operate.
"Please-don't tell!"
Fingernails pinched his undercheek toyingly. "If mater and pater knew, there'd be bells ringing, books slamming, and candles snuffing all over the parish, wouldn't there?"
Dorothy Tilden's voice became obsidian-sharp. "No plenary indulgence for this kind of ejaculation, is there? I'll bet nookie-tookie Jan would be exiled to Aunt Tillie for life. No more creamy tush treats. Papa might even haul down the bolt cutters so that the next time you strut and fret the stage in Antony and Cleopatra you can play Mardian the Eunuch from life."
Ron had a horrified premonition that she was dead-on right.
"Look-!" His stage-commanding voice squeaked.
"Not a word." Her fingers tiptoed along his bare flank. "I'll be mum as Tut's cherry tomb and twice as cheerful. No need to carry tales."
She patted his haunch, then hers. "No need as long as we're all friendly. Very friendly."
Jan gasped a heartfelt, "Anything!"
"Both of you swear here and now to do exactly what I say, when I say it for-oh, six months should exhaust my slender imagination. It certainly won't be daily drudgery. Not toilsome at all, really."
"What-?"
"The Thirteenth Amendment frowns on my intentions. You don't tell the U.S. Attorney and I won't smutten up mom and dad's alabaster tranquility."
"I'm still a virgin!" Jan whispered fiercely.
"Only in Terra Haute," Dorothy Tilden shook her head doubtfully, "and I wouldn't take bets there these days. All right, your snatch stays intacta intracta, preserved for Aunt Tilly's magic finger massage. That's my only compromise."
"I promise," Ron murmured.
"Honey hinds?"
"Me, too."
Dorothy Tilden pressed her palm to Ron's dry lips. "Just a formality. A kiss of fealty, like a faithful pet." His mouth pressed the center of her hand quickly. "Now for the cornhole queen ... I must teach you to use your tongue when you do that." The woman removed her palm from Jan's face.
"I'll be in touch." She drifted through the door and weaved into the empty powder room before more adventure could thwart her relief.
Ron jammed the knob's lock button home. Idiot, idiot, idiot!
"I'm sorry, Jan," he mumbled lamely.
"Like fun," she accused, a tissue pressed to her gluteal crevice. "I thought I was trying to sh-shit out a Coke bottle."
"I wish it hadn't happened."
"Then why is your prick rock hard again?" she puffed her cheeks in indignation.
He stared down and wondered. A womanly scream from Cheslyn Warden ripped up from below. The revitalized cock quivered.