Chapter 2
I didn't hesitate. And I didn't try to fool myself. I was going to watch Rose and my son. Taut as I was, it was going to tear at me with forces I knew would make me a quivering wreck, but I could no more have slipped away from there and left the scene to my imagination than I could have handed my resignation to John. I edged into the shadow of a buttress beside the arch and, still screened from the view of the two carefree scamps, pressed my shoulder blades against the wall.
My overriding emotion was one of jealous fury. The poetess, with all her pretense of other-worldly detachment and her wraith-like withdrawal from the earthy awareness that charged the other members of the household, was behaving with my son in a way that could hardly have been more earthy. Worse! With a creature like John restraining himself by sheer will power from spending his enormous virility on her, and when it was all I could do to keep from begging him to spend some of it on me-when a wildly hungering woman like me was forced to do without-she was playing in a virgin plot I could easily have appropriated.
I knew Rolf. He was a healthy, vigorous adolescent with sex seldom far from the surface. I'd caught the stolen glances he'd so often directed at me, too. I'd seen him-without his knowing it, of course-when he'd stared at the mounds my boobies made under a tight blouse and licked his lips. And I'd certainly noticed the way he'd eyed the hem of a miniskirt hoping it would hike just a little more and give him a glimpse of the furry pussy it hid. He'd have fucked; he'd have panted with impatience and fire if I'd lowered my guard for a moment.
What infuriated me as I watched Rose fingering that youthful cock was that I wouldn't have suffered any great psychological trauma over letting him fuck me! I hadn't avoided incest because of any profound personal horror of it! I'd simply felt it would be fairer to let his first experiences be with somebody who didn't already occupy the mother role in his mind. His first sex ought to be wildly sex centered, without its object having any other significance to him!
The expression in his face while Rose fingered his cock awoke me from my resentment. From that part of my resentment, anyway. It was clear nothing but sex clouded his consciousness. He was plainly and shamelessly playing the part of a pampered youth, accepting what she offered without guilt or question. At that very moment, his dangling arm moved and he laid his hand over one of her breasts. Idly, he rolled the brown little nipple between his fingers while she drew her breath in with a hiss and convulsively tightened her grip on his cock...." And the fire of youth...." she whispered. "The fire of youth ... a reaching out of fingers ... a quickening of the breath ... and over all the sweetness of cock-scent...."
Rolf squirmed and grunted. "Mmm-hmm." And he twisted the nipple and tugged at it, stretching it and tenting the skin at the tip of her breast.
"Ahh!" she exclaimed explosively. "Rubber-banded tit ... and vise-gripped-too-big-mouth puckering cock ... and fire of youth that chokes a searing breath!"
I stifled a groan of recognition. She was! That was the style and those were newborn lines of the poem she was putting together now! "Ring-Shaft Spring," she'd entitled it! And every night I'd typed a few more lines she'd beat out on whatever forge she depended on during the day. That's where she pours her cock hunger, I'd thought with every new page. She spills it into words of raw lust and freezes it on paper and gives John the same old crap about creative sublimation!
She wasn't doing that today! I couldn't know what she'd give John, but she was physically experiencing the words and the beat she was putting together. She bent to kiss the trembling cockhead, a drop of thin, clear liquid vanishing as it coated her pursed lips. And the tip of her tongue darted out to strip the coating and jerk it into her mouth. She swallowed and sighed and licked at the seeping young slit.
Rolf twisted, his breath dragging between clenched teeth. "Awful hard to hold still," he muttered. "I didn't know they wrote poems like this."
"Darling, you don't have to hold still! Move! Be you, you wonderful thing of youth!"
His expression bland and calm, he slid his hand down her belly and into the gap between her thighs. Her slim ass surged reflexively and she thrust forward over him. In her momentary surprise, he drove his hand surely into place, clutching her pussy with his thumb buried in her pubic hair and his fingers digging at her ass. And his other hand slipped to her armpit. Heaving under her pussy, he swung her clear of the floor and guided her onto himself, her slender, artist's body falling on his youthful hardness and her legs sprawling astraddle of his hips. Too fast for her to adjust or to defend herself, he pulled his hand off her pussy and clamped it over her ass, trapping her on his waist, his cockhead lodged against the gleaming folds of her pussy lips.
I thrilled at the abrupt, straightforward action. Rolf had been as honest and efficient as I liked to be and he had only to thrust and she'd hang impaled on that rigid, waiting cock. But even in his directness, he'd had more luck than success. He'd been guided by instinct, not skill. His cockhead pushed at her cunt and her squirming failed to free her because her own half-musing fantasies translated to cooperation, rather than because of his technique.
A startling transformation came over her features. Her eyes, normally wide with what she passed off as poetic innocence, gleamed with the kind of hunger my body knew so well. She stared into Rolf's face with a fierce look of eagerness to match his. And she chewed on her lower lip.
"Oh, good heavens!" she murmured. "Oh, dear!" And when the mounting pressure of Rolf's hand on her back showed he was pushing her against his cock, "Mmph! Oh, no! Not yet, dear boy! The poem! That's not the mood of the poem!"
"Huh ... Oh! I forgot!" He looked startled and confused. His hips undulated and his cockhead jabbed repeatedly at the wet cunt.
Rose's hips jerked, too, and she was thrusting onto the tip of his cock in spite of herself. But it seemed she wanted to develop the situation at a slower pace so she could feel her way along the thread of the poem she'd been so engrossed in. I had to admire her strength of will; in her place, I couldn't have slowed myself once that meaty bulb was lodged in the embrace of my labia. I could only have pounded myself onto it, poem or no poem!
I couldn't really conceive of my son's being able to put on the brakes at this point, either. I smiled to myself, expecting to see his strong young body jerk with a spasm that would drive that quivering cock into the perfectly positioned cunt, spearing the poetess and ending the composition for the moment. He was too inexperienced and excited to do anything else.
But he surprised me. Beads of sweat stood on his face, but he eased her away from the poised cock and let her slide off him. She knelt on the floor again, her belly against the front of the couch and her boobies flattened where they rested on Rolf's chest. She took his cock in her hand again and played with it. And while she played-and while Rolf had to satisfy himself by feeling her pussy with one hand and teasing her nipples with the other-she continued to mutter the fragmentary bursts of lines for her poem. But her voice shook and the words grew rougher and more uneven; an earthy excitement was swelling under the poetic drive.
Whatever her response to the boyish fumbling, she couldn't be-in the state of turmoil I was. Endless nights of fruitless longing lay beneath the lust that seethed in me, heating it and goading it until it burst in a torrent of passionate need. I held my breath to still the cry of desire that welled from my throat. The throbbing in my pussy was so fierce I had to drive my fist into the soft flesh and clamp my thighs on my wrist to soothe it. My bra confined my tingling boobies until I felt as if I were encased in iron cups, and I unfastened the buttons of my dress from waist to neckline, thrusting my hand inside and jerking the bra cups up to free the hot flesh of my breasts.
I caressed myself, then. The sensation of dry, trembling fingers probing the sweaty tissues-skin on skin-released something good. I didn't hesitate to unbutton the dress the rest of the way and let it fall open, exposing the naked breasts and the damp-crotched panties. And I wasn't embarrassed for myself when I slipped my hand inside the waist of the panties and downward through the matted pubic hair to dig at the slippery membranes of my pussy.
Waves of pleasure made me sway as my fingers lovingly stroked the aching slopes between my pussy lips. And my hips undulated freely, thrusting out from the wall, jerking back to crush my ass against the rough adobe, then thrusting forward again. With my other hand, I massaged my breasts. And I watched the graceful fingers manipulate the pink nipples and milk the softer masses of tissue behind them.
But Rose appeared to be moving forward with her composing. She straightened, erect on her knees, and let her boobies dangle above Rolf.
"Both hands, darling boy," she said. "Play with them, Rolf."
He humored her, fondling the milk-skinned cones, testing their consistency, squeezing them and rolling them over her chest in circles. She rested one hand on his shoulder and clung to his cock with the other. Her head was tilted sharply backward, her hair loosening and letting thick strands slither over her shoulders. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed. And she continued to undulate her hips, rubbing her belly on the front of the couch.
Rolf twisted, licking at one of the dancing nipples with a grin. At Rose's sharp intake of breath and the flutter of her belly, he grabbed the puckered lump in his mouth and started sucking at it.
"Ohhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!" Rose moaned with delight. She twisted her shoulders and shook her head with slow, side-to-side sweeps. And her buttocks tightened and hardened, forcing her belly against the couch.
Rolf continued to grin around the partial mouthful, his expression reminding me of the way he'd grinned around the neck of a Coke bottle on those rare occasions in Cleveland when we'd shared a moment of happy laughter. It seemed to me, confusedly attempting to analyze him through the haze of my own fierce excitement, that he was enjoying the leisurely pace of their sex. He felt driven to brush restraint aside and fuck Rose. But he appeared to recognize the bonus of extra sensation he was collecting by letting her delay the conclusion of their activity. His smile was a surface evidence of the bliss he trembled from. And he let his hands rove unrestricted over the slim, naked body at his side. It was his first chance to explore female flesh that way with his hands and he made the most of it.
Rose was as conscious of the intimate manual caresses as she was of the sucking at her tit, to judge by her movements. Her torso writhed under his hands, even as she twisted her shoulders to control the movement of her boobies. And the muscles in her arms leaped erratically, showing the sudden bursts of pleasure she experienced from the touch of his hands as well as those his mouth produced.
I realized something was happening to me while I watched the eager familiarities. I discovered I was wishing Rolf were with me instead of with Rose. It wasn't an abstract, all-inclusive desire for my son to fuck me, but a specific, fierce wish that he were running those young, unspoiled hands over my curves and warming my naked flesh with them instead of hers. The power of my excitement was so great it drowned every semblance of judgment. I promised myself I'd have him in my little private sitting room after supper. That I'd undress for him-or let him undress me-and stand for him while he ran his hands over me the way he was feeling Rose right now. That would be all-just let him feel me-all of me!
I ran my hands over myself, pretending they were my son's hands. I ignored the way the displaced bra got in the way and the swinging of the loosened dress. And I ignored the way my panties spoiled the effect as my hands strayed tenderly over my hips and buttocks. Rose wasn't having to put up with those inconveniences, though. She wasn't having to pretend, I reflected. She was gloriously naked and vibrantly alive to the inquisitive strokes and jabs of young, uneducated fingers.
When Rolf again felt her pussy, his fingers vanishing into the shadowed tangle of red-brown hair at her crotch, she thrust her knees apart and settled onto his fingers. She twisted her torso at her hips, her shoulders swinging from side to side for a time, then from back to front, bending backward and jerking forward until her boobs touched his body.
And suddenly she yelled and leaped to her feet. "ROLF, DARLING! I've lost it, darling! I outran the poem and I can't go back!"
He grinned doubtfully. His expression said clearly he was worried about her next move. If she withdrew from him the fun was over and he'd have to slide off the peak of his excitement the best he could. If she yielded to the lust she'd generated, he didn't care if she never got around to the damn poem. I knew the fear he had of her cooling, and I ached for him. But I knew, too, he didn't need to be concerned. She wasn't going to cool; she'd gotten too excited to let herself cool! And the light in her eyes as she stared down at the hard, young body was that of a hungry cat.
She flung one leg over him and knelt astride his waist. He reached hesitantly for her and she snatched at his hands, laying one on her hip and the other on her belly.
"Feel some more, darling!" she hissed.
He began running his hands over her again while her writhing resumed. In a moment, his fingers lay buried in her pubic hair and his thumbs were out of sight in the folds of her pussy. From the way his wrists moved and his hands twisted, I was sure he was digging at her cunt with the tips of his thumbs. And when she rose on her knees and reached back to lean her weight on her back-stretched arms the pink flesh came into view to prove I was right. He had both thumbs thrust into her cunt, and he was prying at it so it gaped blackly open.
Her hips jerked violently and her tits jumped. She cried out in a low, urgent voice, her pleasure ringing in it. "Darling boy! Oh, Rolf, you know just what to do!"
"Oh, shit!" I whispered to myself. "Sweet-talk him, you goddamn fake! Go ahead! Maybe you can tease him into making you come without your having to let his pecker inside!"
Even as I gave in to my disgust, I realized Rolf had suspected the same kind of treachery. His body was squirming in a cautious, barely perceptible movement that was sliding him toward the head of the couch.
With her head again thrown back and her eyes closed, Rose appeared too intent on her own pleasure to notice that the boyish body was slipping under her. Rolf kept her high in the air with his jabbing thumbs while his cock moved under the straining pussy. And he lowered her slowly, maintaining the stretching, prying force at her rim. As patiently as if he'd been working out a puzzle, he squirmed and twisted and arched until his cockhead was wedged against his thumbs. The rigid cylinder lay at a flat angle, barely off his belly, but as he began to slide headward again, leaving its tip wedged, the shaft rose like a lever. And with a deft, gentle tug of his hands he extracted his thumbs and let her settle onto his cock. The jerking shaft plunged upward into her, a sharp thrust of his hips driving it home even as she sank onto it.
Rose twisted, scrubbing herself for a moment on the base of the buried cock. Then she jerked erect and a wild-eyed expression masked her face. " YEEAAGHHH! ROLF, BABY! DARLING BOY!" She glared incredulously at him. "What? Rolf, what did you do?"
He merely grunted. He sounded satisfied, as he did when he made that kind of grunt after finishing a slab of pie. His hands gripped her thighs, thumbs intimately cradled in the swollen flesh of her pussy and fingers clutching the outer slopes of the slender legs. Watching Rose's contortions, I realized abruptly he was holding her in place.
But she didn't struggle very long. She chuckled shakily and bent forward to rub his chest with her fingers. "You're a rascal, Rolf Kelig! You're not going to be taken in by a cheat, are you!" She laughed gaily, no trace of her literary affectation apparent, and jerked her hips. She was, suddenly and openly, fucking him! His hands slid to her hips, where they reinforced the rhythm of her pumping. His hips leaped to her rhythm and she lowered herself to hands and knees over him, her ass flashing in the feeble light as she jacked herself on his cock.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear, you've got a nice pecker! UNHHH! Fuck hard, darling boy!"
The cool amusement had disappeared from my son's expression. His face was sober and tense and sweat bathed him in his exertions. He watched the jerky swing of her boobs while his cock leaped in her. He grinned only briefly when the pins in her hair gave up their impossible assignment and let the thick brown masses tumble to hide her contorted face.
"Oooh! Oooh! I-don't-do this-very-often!" she gasped, her admission bringing a terrible, hard knot to my belly as I thought of John patiently denying himself the pleasure of her body while she cheated with my son.
If such a thought occurred to Rolf, he gave no sign of it. He thrust brutally, his cock driving upward into her, then withdrawing as she bounced into the air, only to stab deep into her cunt again when she plunged upon it again.
Frantic with desire, throat aching and tongue dry and swollen and breath coming in wheezing gasps, I pressed against the wall and mauled my clitoris with overeager fingers. I felt the paralyzing onrush of an orgasm and gritted my teeth while I changed the nature of the massage. Gently, lovingly, I stroked the side of my clitoris while the hardening knot in my belly trembled on the verge of eruption.
Rolf yielded to the intense stimulus of the flogging, voracious body above his. His heels and shoulders ground into the couch and he arched his body, cock uppermost. Lifted into the air and impaled on the raging young cock, Rose clutched at Rolf's wrists and flattened herself on him, her legs extending with a jerk and her entire weight borne on her pussy at the base of his dick. His buttocks jerked spasmodically; he was jetting his cum into the slender woman's belly! But she was coming with him. Great tremors shook her and I could see the contractions in her abdomen as she writhed on his spurting cock.
My own tension broke with the explosive violence of a shattered steel spring. I sagged helplessly against the wall while the convulsions twisted my vagina and stopped my breath. My knees sank and spread and my hips settled forward and my pussy thrust out to the desperate clawing of my fingers. I sobbed under my breath as the awful tautness began to subside and relief loosened muscles that had been tight too long.