Chapter 5
Jack came in the back door. "Looks like it's going to rain," he said. "No need to hurry with breakfast, Sunshine. We aren't going to get much done today."
"I checked the weather channel a few minutes ago," Johnny said. "A weak California cold front is coming through. We're in for rain all day."
"Will wonders never cease," Jack said as he sat down at the table. "You don't have to look out the window any more. Just turn on the tube, and they'll tell you everything you need to know. I'll make you a bet, son. The rain will start in about an hour, and will stop before five o'clock."
"Don't take that bet," Corky said. "He's got a trick knee or something. His forecasts are more accurate than the pros."
"He's got ESP," Laura said. "He not only forecasts the weather, he reads minds."
Jack laughed softly. "If only I could, I wouldn't always be in the dark about what you're thinking. When your mother and I started farming, we had to learn to read the sky, son. What you see is often more accurate than computer models. As Ogden Nash said, progress is fine, but it's gone too far. Guess I might as well service the tractor. About the time I start tilling, the rain will start."
"I'll feed the livestock, then give you a hand," Johnny said.
"Corky can feed them and gather the eggs," Laura said. "I want you to take butter and eggs to your Aunt Helen."
"I can take it," Corky said. "I haven't seen Aunt Helen since she came to dinner last week."
"I want Johnny to go," Laura said. "The roads will be bad. That little bridge down the road will probably wash out again."
"I know how to handle a four-wheel," Corky persisted.
Laura smiled sweetly. "You also know how to wash and iron and re-hang curtains, dear."
"You're sexual stereotyping again, Mama," Corky said.
"You'll just have to live with it, honey," Jack said. "She's old-fashioned. So am I."
"Gender stereotyping is more precise," Laura said. "Some jobs belong to men, and some belong to women. Sex is a different matter." Her eyes clouded with a faraway look and her voice became husky. "It's a lot more fun when roles get blurred. Doing the same old things the same old way gets dreadfully boring. Even doing it with the same person all the time loses its edge if you aren't careful."
"Are you speaking from experience, Mom?" Corky quipped.
Laura's eyes cleared. She looked at her daughter and smiled coyly. "You might know that better than I, dear," she said softly. "Unless you walk and talk in your sleep."
Corky snickered. Johnny nearly choked on his coffee. Jack looked puzzled.
"I forgot to keep my mouth shut," Corky said, feigning innocence. She knew that, sooner or later, one of her parents would find out that she and her brother were getting it on. Obviously, her mother had, and didn't care. "But you can't do some things with your mouth shut."
"I seem to be the only one who doesn't know what's going on," Jack said.
"I'll tell you later, darling," Laura said. "Johnny, you'd better be on your way. Corky, you take down the curtains in the bedrooms. I'll clean up the kitchen and take down the ones in here."
The rain started coming down by the bucketful soon after Johnny left. He looked at his watch and grinned. "Dad was right," he muttered to himself. "Maybe I ought to get him to teach me how he does it."
The rain pelted his truck like buckshot. His mind drifted back to the tall, voluptuous red-headed coed he banged the night he graduated from college. She said she just loved everything about sex. As if to prove it, she sucked and fucked him like there was no tomorrow. He was two days late getting home.
He slowed and drove more carefully as the rain soaked the road.
He remembered how her fat, pink pussy look when he went down on her. Her light red bush grew in wild profusion, especially down the middle of her seam. Corky's bush grew the same way. He loved to suck a sweet pussy, almost as much as he loved to stick his hard cock in it. He wondered how it felt to suck a bald pussy. He'd seen pictures of women who shaved, but he'd never had one. He didn't know if he would like it. Fighting his way through a wild tangle of underbrush with his tongue was half the fun.
"Damn!" he exclaimed as the right front wheel hit a chuck hole almost big enough to swallow the tire. "Why don't they grade these damned roads better? Supposed to be gravel. Mud is more like it."
He glanced quickly at the basket of eggs on the seat by him. He hoped none of them broke. He wanted to go faster, but didn't dare. Even if his dad was right and the rain let up before dark, they wouldn't get any work done today. The sooner he got back home, the sooner he could coax his sister into his bed again.
He grinned and muttered, "As if I would have to try very hard."
He hadn't had time to renew his relationship with any of the girls he grew up with. Some of them had helped him pass the time during summer breaks. They had probably moved away or married anyway. He wasn't too sure about making a run at a married woman. Hot-headed husbands might be more apt to shoot first and ask questions later.
Fortunately, he had a prime piece off ass right at home, so he wasn't desperate to look on the other farms or in town. Hell, he just might not look at all. He wasn't ready to take on the responsibilities of marriage, and Corky didn't seem in a hurry to settle down with one guy.
He remembered the conversation he had with his sister about Aunt Helen. She did look like their mother. During the past week, his mom had revealed a sexual nature that he never suspected existed. Funny how kids never thought of their parents having sex. If Aunt Helen had the same disposition...
"Forget it," he muttered. "There's nothing there for you. She's not only married, she's your aunt. If you try any monkey business with her, she'll tell Mom. She'll tell Dad, and he'll nail your hide to the barn door."
Helen sat in a big, overstuffed armchair in her living room, hugging her knees tightly. Her skirt lay in careless disarray across her shapely thighs, and her lush brown bush was clearly visible.
"He's late, damn it!" she said angrily. "Why the fuck should a little rain slow him down? What's all this stuff about neither snow nor sleet nor rain anyway?"
She didn't know that a bridge had washed out and the mail carrier couldn't ford the rushing stream in his dinky truck. If she had known, she wouldn't have cared. He could walk! She was expecting something special in the mail, something sexy and exciting. She lifted one hand to push a stray lock of her long brown hair from her forehead. Her fingers drifted slowly to her mouth. She could feel tiny pulsations in her fingertips as her tongue crept out to moisten her lips.
"Oh, fuck!" she muttered. "Nothing ever goes right!"
Her fingers and the friendly mailman's visits were about the only things that kept her going. And what he had to offer was far more pleasing than getting herself off. Polishing the pearl now and then was fun, but a steady diet of fingers quickly lost its appeal. When her vibrator came, at least she would have something to stuff in her pussy between his visits.
She wrapped her arms around her chest and held herself protectively, trying to fight her restlessness. One hand caressed her neck slowly. Her other hand involuntarily slid down and her fingers dug into the soft flesh inside her thigh. She wanted to shove her fingers into her cunt and twist them hard.
Instead, she extended her legs straight out and watched her skirt slide further up her thighs. Her lavish brown bush came into view, and she thought about her husband. Frank!
Dear Frank's long, fat cock...much too greedy for anything but its own pleasure. She didn't even cum the last time he fucked her. Whenever that was. He was too quick on the trigger, as usual. Definitely not like the postman, who could fuck her for what seemed like hours before he loaded her pussy with gobs and gobs of cum.
How could Frank have such a wonderful tool, one that stretched her poor little pussy to the limit, and fail to satisfy her? They didn't fuck anything like the way they did before they moved to the country. Something had gone out of their marriage, something important that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She didn't think it was her fault. God knew, she was eager for it. Always had been. She never seemed able to get enough.
Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe her sexual appetite scared her husband. He was a stick-in-the-mud about sex. Once in a while, he let her get on top. But he didn't really like it that way. He rarely let her blow him. The last time she got his cock in her mouth, she ignored his objection and sucked him off. He pitched a hissy fit, and wouldn't even fuck her. To spite him, she lay right there in bed next to him and jacked off!
She let her eyes wander around the living room, hardly seeing the old-fashioned furnishings that would bring a small fortune on the antiques market. She sensed the hollow presence of every room in the big, rambling farmhouse. She knew them all too well-too well! Once she finished the housework, there wasn't anything to do except jack off or watch TV. God, how she had grown to hate that fucking boob tube and the soap operas that filled the daytime schedule!
She needed a cigarette. She shook one out of the pack lying on the table by the chair. Damn! Her lighter was out of fluid. She had to go to the kitchen for a match. Just one more thing that wasn't going right today!
On the way back to the living room, she struck the match with a single sharp movement and inhaled deeply. She pulled her dress around her waist and sat in the armchair. She looked at her pussy, then out the big picture window again. She still saw nothing but the rain splattering against the glass and the empty fields beyond. Where the fuck was he? She wanted her mail and needed his cock!
Frank inherited the house and acreage from his parents. They thought living out in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, would be great. They both hated Denver's horrible traffic and infamous, smothering brown cloud. She hadn't known that part of the inheritance would be boredom and loneliness when Frank went off to work in the city every day.
Not just the weekdays, but often on the weekends too. Maybe that was the reason he didn't feel like fucking her every day any more-maybe he was just too tired.
She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. Her face was fine-featured, with a pert nose and full, sensuous lips. Lips that craved lots of kisses. Lips that seldom got what they needed, including a stiff cock sliding between them at least once a day. Her eyes were as gray as the pelting rain, as cloudy as the overcast sky.
Her thoughts came in quick flashes, jumping like grasshoppers in the summer sun. If only the sun would come out. She knew the heat would only bring another summer thunderstorm. She thought it might help if she could concentrate on something pleasant. Maybe then everything would fall into place, and she would find the peace and contentment she sought.
She settled back in the soft, yielding cushions of the big armchair-Frank's favorite chair, on the rare occasions he was home and had time to use it-with her hands resting on her knees. She drew her legs up and stared calmly at her hands as they slid slowly up the inside of her thighs. She rubbed herself like a cat, going a little higher with each stroke.
"Mama's got a pretty, furry pussy," she whispered into the damp stillness. Her hands went higher. She spread her knees wide so she could look between them to the window and the wall of rain beyond. "Mama's got a really fine pussy. She wants a big old hard cock in it, going in and out, in and out...for a long, long time!"
She wouldn't let her hand go higher yet. She lifted her legs and draped them over the thickly padded arms of the chair. She looked at her crotch and chuckled. God, she looked so fucking wanton! She felt vulnerable, spread out so shamelessly with her hairy gash fully exposed. But she liked the sexiness of the lewd position. When the mailman came, he could see her through the big window. Where the fuck was he, anyway?
She couldn't wait any longer. She put her palms together and pushed her hands into her crotch. Her joined thumbs rammed between the juicy lips of her cunt with a squishing sound. She looked at the mounds of her tits in her dress. She wanted to play with them, too, but both hands were busy between her legs. She had to use both hands in her snatch. Why didn't she have four hands? She captured her clit between her thumbs and jiggled them.
"God!" she moaned. "My clit is so hard, it feels like it's going to break right off!"
She lifted her hands, licked her thumbs, then put both hands back in her crotch. She squeezed her buzzer between two fingers of her right hand, and felt it pulsate with eagerness. Two fingers of her left hand slid between the lips of her twat and headed for her glory hole. Her hungry cunt sucked them inside. She groaned and squirmed.
"Ohhh, yes, jam yourselves in there!" she wailed out loud. "Jam in there and twist around until you get all the way up my cunt!"
She humped up and down in the chair. It wasn't as good as having the postman's prick in her.
Rick the mailman!
Hung like a stallion and randy as a billy goat. She loved to suck his big cock and eat his gooey cum. Rick, the friendly mailman who came with the mail every day and came in her at least three times a week. Her pussy ached after he fucked her. But it was a good kind of hurting, a feeling that stayed with her long after he left.
"Dear Rick," she muttered. "Where are you, you son of a bitch? I need your big cock so badly!"
She pulled her fingers out of her pussy, then shoved them back in again, harder. She felt a burning pressure deep in her groin. Damn, she had to pee! How could her timing get any worse? Nothing was going right!
She got up and flounced out of the room. Her fingers continued to jiggle on her clit down the hall. She would keep herself primed and finish the job on the toilet.