Chapter 2

Once Nora's things had been put away in the spare bedroom, and she had freshened up after her long journey, the three of them sat on the patio, where it was cooler, and drank ice lemonade which Ross made in two large pitchers. There had not been much said since the tearful reunion on the porch, for a shy awkwardness still existed between the three; but there was no more tension, and each knew that it was only a matter of time before they could be easy and natural with one another.

Nora found herself looking again and again at the handsome face of her son, and she felt a deep ache of pride and love and hope each time. The finest moment in the past year-no, in the past five years-had been the feel of his body pressed against hers there on the porch, for she knew that she had not lost him after all-that there was still a chance for togetherness, for renewal of the once powerful affection they had once had for each other.

Nora sipped at her lemonade, truly at peace for the first time in long, torturous months, and let her gaze wander over the rear yard of Ross' home. She had been here before, of course, but it had been such a long time ago that she had forgotten just how pleasant and comfortable it was. In addition to the large kidney-shaped pool, the patio, and a good-sized dressing cabana on the far side, there was a large expanse of cushiony green lawn, a landscaped rock garden, even a small fountain which seemed to draw birds of several different varieties, their chattering and fluttering filling the quiet afternoon air. The porch behind them was large, with windows facing out on the pool that were covered by rattan curtains, and off on their left was an impressive stone-and-mortar barbecue which Ross had built himself and of which he was inordinately proud.

Yes, it was a beautiful, serene home, Nora thought, and it was too bad that Ross had not taken another wife, after Carla's untimely death, to share it with him. This was the kind of home where a woman could be happy, could know peace and relaxation. Ross should be married again; he was such a fine man, with so much to offer a woman, physically and emotionally as well as materialistically . . .

Ross leaned toward her, smiling, his face radiant. "You wouldn't happen to be just a little hungry, would you, Nora?"

"Well, as a matter-of-fact, I am," she admitted. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast this morning. . . "

"Good!" Ross enthused. "I've got three thick, juicy steaks in the refrigerator, some French fries, and maybe a tossed salad. How does that sound-steaks barbecued on the grill over there, of course?'

"Wonderful," Nora smiled.

"How about you, Mickey?" Ross asked.

"I guess I could go for a steak," the teenager agreed.

Ross left Nora and Mickey alone for the first time, and there was a faintly strained atmosphere between them. Her son could not seem to look her in the eye, and he fidgeted on his chair. Nora fervently hoped that the uneasiness was only a temporary thing that would vanish with the passage of time. Watching her son covertly, Nora couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he had become, at the firm, muscled contours of his young body, at the fluid, graceful way he moved and carried himself. He was going to be even better looking than Ross-certainly much more virile than Vern. Still, there was much of his father in the way his mouth quirked at the corners, in the shy movement of his hands, in the sensual lidding of his eyes-especially the eyes, bedroom eyes the girls had called them when she'd been a teenager. She remembered how Vern had looked at her when he'd been in a loving mood, when he had wanted to press her warm softness close to him and to slide his hot, hard penis deep up between her open thighs and moan out his love for her . . .

Nora felt her cheeks flame red, thinking back to the lovemaking which had existed between she and Vern. She stifled a low moan of despair which threatened to erupt from her throat, and tried to block the mental image of herself and her dead husband locked together in unimaginative but still powerful desire. She couldn't allow herself to think that way, not now, not when she had been celibate-a self-imposed celibacy, while she tried to sort out the tattered remains of her life-for the past six months. And especially she couldn't allow herself to think that way when she was looking at her own son, her beloved Mickev. What kind of woman was she to think such carnal thoughts in the presence of her own flesh and blood?

Ross returned shortly with the steaks, and the strained atmosphere dissipated. It was much easier when Ross was around, talking in his quiet way, drawing both Nora and Mickey into the conversation, forcing them gently to speak to one another so that a camaraderie was built up between them. He got a fire started in the barbecue, and soon the air was filled with the smell of wood-smoke and with the succulent odor of grilling meat. Nora insisted on helping, and Ross gave her the task of making the salad while he supervised the progress of the steaks. Mickey set the round metal patio table for the meal, and there was an almost party-like aura there by the pool as afternoon faded into evening.

Standing by the barbecue, watching Nora move to the table with the salad, Ross was struck by her beauty-a beauty that pain and anguish could never truly mar. The sight of her, the sinuous way her hips and breasts and thighs moved beneath her dress when she walked, stirred embers in him which had been too long cold, desires that were at once deeply emotional and definitely physical. He was touched at the very core of him by her unaffected sensuality, and there was a building fire in his loins, the fire of burning need. God, he wanted Nora! He wanted to possess her body, to hold her close, to whisper soft words into her ear, to caress her and to love her. He knew he shouldn't be thinking carnal thoughts about her, not now-perhaps not ever-and yet he couldn't help himself; he was captivated by her, more now than he had ever been, and the passion which seethed within him was volatile and demanding. He couldn't do anything about it, of course, and yet . . . maybe, someday, he could . . .

The steaks were delicious, the salad superb, and the meal itself a complete success. The festive mood deepened as dusk settled. It grew cool on the patio, and Ross suggested that they retire to the living room.

Mickey built a crackling fire with pine logs in the stone-and-mortar fireplace, and when it was warm and cheery in the large room, he turned the lights down. They sat in quiet contentment before the blaze for a time, not speaking, thinking their own thoughts as darkness blanketed the house outside and crickets and tree frogs began singing in the shrubbery and grasses. Then Ross said, almost shyly, that he had a surprise for Nora and hurried out of the room, only to return moments later with two chilled bottles of imported champagne in a silver ice bucket.

"What's a homecoming celebration without champagne?" he said lightly.

"Oh Ross . . . you shouldn't have," Nora whispered.

"But I wanted to," Ross told her simply. He smiled at her, then said to Mickey, "Will you do the honors, nephew?"

"Sure," the youth eagerly replied. He worked quickly with a corkscrew, opening one of the bottles, and deftly poured some of the bubbling liquid into three long-stemmed glasses. Nora, watching him, was filled with a glowing pride at the sure movements of his hands-the movements of a man-and she was struck then with a terrible sense of loss for not being there to watch her son, her own flesh and blood, grow from a boy into the handsome, almost adult which he now was.

Ross said, "A toast, to Nora . . . and to her homecoming."

"To . . . Mom," Mickey said.

"And to you both," Nora added, her words thick with emotion.

They raised their glasses and there was a brief, embarrassed moment, then they all drank. The festive mood heightened, and it was as if there had never been a five-year hiatus in their relationship, Ross thought happily, as if they were a close-knit family group that had never been separated by tragedy and human folly . . .

The champagne seemed to make Mickey loquacious. He told his mother how he had caught the pass which won for Summervale High School the conference championship this past year; that he was thinking of entering State next fall, hopefully on a football scholarship, and planning to study

Engineering; that he was going steady with a girl named Peggy Reynolds, who was beautiful, and that things were pretty serious between them.

He was just starting to voice some of his views on the current political situation, and Ross was pouring more champagne into their glasses, when the doorbell rang.

Ross frowned, glanced at his watch; it was almost eight-thirty. Now who could be calling at this hour? He sighed, excused himself, and went to the door, opening it. Standing on the flagstone porch outside was a petite and yet well-endowed and firmly rounded girl of Mickey's age. She wore hot pants, revealing slim, tanned legs, and a summer blouse without sleeves, and her jet black hair was worn long, caressing her shoulders, wisps curling down to touch the full, pear-shaped globes of her breasts. She had an hourglass waist and a round, smooth face, with high cheekbones and a pixie-ish nose; her eyes were a hot, frank brown, very large, containing a smoldering intensity that told of thoughts and emotions far exceeding her eighteen years-a feral look that was enhanced by the richness of her breasts and the tautness of her buttocks beneath the thin material of the hot pants.

She was Peggy Reynolds, Mickey's girlfriend.

Ross did not particularly like the lovely teen-age girl-he thought she was a bitch at heart, that she was a conniving little wanton who cared about nothing and no one but Peggy Reynolds and Peggy Reynolds' pleasures and happiness, and he wished that Mickey had not begun to talk of a permanent attachment to her. She would hurt him in the long run, Ross felt that instinctively-but he had not tried to interfere, knowing that Mickey would have resented any intrusion into his private life; still, he hoped that his nephew would find out the truth about Peggy one of these days, and soon . . . before it was too late.

In spite of his dislike for Peggy, Ross still felt an involuntary quickening of his breath, a pounding of his blood, at the sheer sexuality the young girl exuded. He couldn't keep his eyes from straying over her breasts, over the clearly-defined cleft of her pussy displayed by the too-tight shorts as she thrust her hips forward provocatively. Then he shook his head slightly, feeling his neck flush with embarrassment, and snuffed out the impossibly lewd ideas which had leapt unbidden into his brain.

He put on a reluctant smile of welcome, said, "Hello, Peggy. How are you tonight?"

"Just fine, Ross," she replied, and he knew that she was laughing at him, mocking him, by calling him by his first name.

"Did you want to see Mickey?" he asked her coolly.

"Yes, I did. If it's all right," Peggy answered, and her even white teeth flashed in a knowing smile, for she was well aware of the effect that she had on Mickey's uncle and the knowledge that he secretly wanted her sexually was perversely satisfying; she was a girl who needed, coveted, the attention of all men. And he was handsome, she thought, even more handsome than Mickey. She wondered speculatively if he was good in bed, and if he had a big cock-an even bigger cock than Mickey had, maybe, and Mickey's was huge and felt like a log deep up in her belly . . .

"Won't you come in, Peggy?"

"Thanks, Ross," Peggy said, and stepped past him, allowing her breast to brush across his arm as she did so. Ross shivered slightly, and then guiltily fought down a renewal of his sexual fantasies; damn, what was the matter with him tonight? He had always been able to control himself in the past, his cravings and desires. Perhaps it was the champagne . . . or perhaps, even more probably, it was the arrival of Nora, the nearness of her that had bestirred the long-still fever inside him . . .

Ross followed Peggy into the living room and introduced her, again reluctantly, to Nora. The lovely blonde mother shook hands with the girl, and as she did so she felt a sudden dampening of her spirits. So this was the girl Mickey had talked so glowingly of. Why . . . why, she seemed like nothing but a little slut! Displaying herself in those tight shorts, acting haughty and aloof but certainly not fooling Nora with her attitude; the lovely blonde mother had seen a lot of girls like Peggy Reynolds in Hollywood and environs, and they were all mercenary, hard-hearted individuals who used their youthfully sensuous bodies and their allure to get whatever they wanted. Peggy fitted perfectly into that category, and even though Nora tried to tell herself that she was overreacting, she experienced a growing tide of resentment and dislike nonetheless.

"How do you do, Mrs. Hammond?" Peggy said.

"Fine, thank yon," Nora answered.

"I imagine you're very happy to be home after . . . well, after everything."

Even though Peggy was smiling sweetly, Nora sensed a hidden undercurrent of malice in the girl's voice. She kept her own voice even as she replied, "Yes, I'm very happy to be home."

Mickey crossed to the lovely black-haired teenager and put an arm possessively about her shoulders, kissing her cheek. He grinned happily, looking at Peggy with the love he obviously felt for the girl plainly mirrored on his handsome young face-a look that made Nora turn away. "What brings you here tonight, honey?"

She smiled up at him. "Well, I know you told me your mother was coming home today, but I talked to Walt Conroy a little while ago and he reminded me of the Book Fair they're holding tonight over in Waycross. I know how much you wanted to go, because there'll be used textbooks that you can use in college in September-and I kind of wanted to go myself. It closes at eleven, which is plenty of time if you still care to drive over, and so I thought I'd come by and mention it to you."

"Gee, I forgot all about the Book Fair," Mickey said. "I would like to go, but . . . " He looked at his mother. "Well, I don't think I can make it, Peg. Mom's home now and we're having a kind of celebration . . . "

"Oh please, Mickey," Nora said quickly, wanting to please him, wanting him to know that she was on his side. "If you want to go to the Book Fair, you go ahead. I understand perfectly."

"I don't know . . . "

"Books are important, very important, and if you have the chance to pick some up cheaply you should do so," Nora told him. "Why don't you and . . . Peggy go ahead?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Hammond," Peggy said sweetly. "Well, Mickey? Shall we go?"

"I guess so," Mickey replied. "As long as it's okay with Mom. And Uncle Ross."

"I think you should," Ross said, for he wanted, suddenly and acutely, to be alone with Nora. He felt a sense of impending excitement that he couldn't exactly define, a need to explore his relationship with his dead brother's lovely blonde wife, a need to be close to her with no one else around. It was a physical need as much as it was an emotional one, a product of his long-repressed feelings and desires for this woman who had been married to his brother, and even though he tried to tell himself that there could be no real intimacy between he and Nora-tonight, maybe never-he couldn't rid himself of the growing fires of desire which suddenly flamed within him.

It was decided that Mickey and Peggy would go to the Book Fair in Waycross, and Nora and Ross walked the teenagers to the door. Once there, Mickey seemed to want to kiss his mother, and she hoped fervently that he would do so; but instead, he just touched her hand and said, "Good night, Mom," and Nora knew that things were not yet back to any semblance of true normalcy-though she felt that the chance that they would one day be was strong and very real.

When Peggy and Mickey had gone, Ross sighed and took Nora's arm, the touch of her flesh sending little shivers of delight through him, and guided her back into the living room. "How about some more champagne?" he suggested as they sat down facing the fire again.

"All right," Nora answered, and Ross poured their glasses full. They drank, then she said, "Ross, I don't like that girl . . . that Peggy. I don't think she's . . . right for Mickey."

"Neither do I," Ross admitted.

"Is he really serious about her?"

"I'm afraid he's getting that way."

"Isn't there anything we . . . you can do to dissuade him?"

"I don't think so. He's a pretty stubborn boy when he thinks something is right, and at the moment he thinks Peggy is right."

"Has it gotten to the marital stage yet?"

"No," Ross said, "but it may be pretty close."

"She's . . . well, she's pretty obvious, Ross. Do you know what I mean?"

"All too well," Ross answered.

Abruptly, Nora laughed-a soft, bitter, painful laugh. "Look who's calling the kettle black," she whispered. "What right do I have to judge other people, after the mess I've made of my own life."

"That's all in the past," Ross comforted her. "There's the future to look forward to now, and that will all be different."

"Oh I hope so, Ross, I hope so desperately."

"It will be," he said positively. He raised his glass. "To the future, Nora . . . to your future, and to Mickey's, and to mine."

"To the future," she replied, and they touched glasses and drank.

They had two more pourings of the effervescent liquid, emptying the first bottle, and Ross opened the second. He could feel his entire body growing warm with heat that had nothing whatsoever to do with the crackling fire before him. His breathing grew somewhat irregular, and he moved closer to Nora on the couch. There was a deep tingling in the pit of his stomach, down low in his groin, and no amount of mental urging would dispel it. He could no longer deny the obvious: he wanted his brother's wife, he wanted her now, tonight; it was almost as if he had to have her or else he would explode with the seething passions spiraling through his flesh . . .

The more Nora drank of the champagne, the more warmly contented she began to become, putting thoughts of Peggy Reynolds completely out of her mind, reveling in the feeling of being wanted, cared for, at last after all the months of desperate loneliness. She felt happy, excited, with the potential salvaging of some of what she had lost when she made her foolish decision five years past. And not only these emotions and hopes and joys were once again living inside Nora Hammond; another, baser need began to make itself felt in her mind, a restless wanting that she had not allowed herself to feel since Art Donnell had forced her out of his home and his life, but which was reborn strongly in her present mood.

She had not had sex, had not had the release of her strong sexual passions, in six full months. She needed, wanted, a man right now.

Nora moistened her lips, recklessly draining more of the champagne. She was completely, painfully, aware of Ross sitting next to her-handsome, gentle, quiet, virile Ross, the brother of Vern, who resembled Vern so much, who had a lean, hard-muscled body just as Vern had had, who possibly would be a far better lover than Vern had ever been . . .

No, no! Nora thought. Oh God, no, I can't think like that, I can't! He's almost like a brother to me, and he's been so kind and good these past few weeks . . . and before that, too, taking Mickey in, giving him a home . . . I could destroy everything if I let my feelings run away with me, I could make him hate me, make him turn me out and away from Mickey. No, as much as I might want a man, want Ross, at this moment, I can't . . . I can't . . . I have to stop thinking about such things because they're impossible, completely and totally . . .

Suddenly, Nora felt the pressure of Ross' warm, masculine thigh against her own as he moved closer to her on the couch, and she turned to face him. His eyes were shining, his cheeks flushed and sheened lightly with perspiration, and his gaze locked and held with her own.

"Nora, oh Nora . . . " he whispered huskily.

"Ross," she responded, and she said his name with a kind of awed incredulousness, as she realized that the same thoughts and feelings she had just been thinking were mirrored on his face, had been in Ross' mind as well. He wanted her! He wanted Nora as much as she wanted him!

Ross, too, was aware of the growing excitement in Nora, and his heart leapt joyously. Incredible as it seemed, she felt the same as he did, the attraction was not all one-sided-Nora was hungry for his flesh, just as he was for hers! He ached to touch her, to caress her firm, full breasts, to tangle his fingers in that soft, soft blonde hair as he kissed her pink, soft lips; he ached to press her voluptuously curved body tight against his own, to love her, to fuse their bodies together in the ultimate expression of feeling. It was crazy, it was irrational, and yet he was powerless to stop the surging passion, the wild need, which consumed him, especially now that he knew how Nora was feeling at this moment. His penis jerked into slow arousal in his trousers, and his testicles began to throb with building sperm as he stared into Nora's eyes, irrefutably saw the desire growing there as it was growing in his own eyes. Neither of them could deny their passion to the other, not now, not and have it believed . . .

Simultaneously, they both leaned forward to place their empty champagne glasses on the coffee table. Then they leaned back against the couch again, their bodies turned toward one another, and continued to lock their eyes together. Nora squeezed hers tightly shut then, wetly parted her lips, and Ross could hold himself in check no longer. His arms lifted and pulled her to him, his mouth covered hers, completely engulfing her lips with his warm, moist ones. Nora's tongue flicked forward immediately to slip past his teeth and into his mouth, and she was moaning now, her hand circling his neck, pressing his head tightly, molding their mouths together like the fusing of molten ore into an alloy. His fingers caressed her shoulder, moved down as if they were entities of their own that he had no command over, moved lightly over the trembling hot swell of her breast. Their tongues were sawing mercilessly in and out of one another's mouth now, in an attitude of excited copulation, and Nora made tiny, excited mewling sounds in her throat.

Ross felt his cock stir into full, turgid hardness, and he pulled her tighter to him, reveling in the feel of her body, her mouth, for the first time, thinking wildly that she was everything he had ever thought she would be, that he had loved her all along, that nothing else mattered but her-all of her, every cell of her. His fingers closed over her soft, resilient breast, kneaded the warmly trembling flesh, his prick throbbing painfully now, his breath shuddering hotly into the beautiful blonde woman's mouth as hers was thundering into his, deep moans of desire purling from the very core of Nora's being.

She knew that this was wrong, that she ought to stop it before it was too late, but she did not want to stop it, she wanted it to happen, she wanted Ross to make love to her as she had wanted no man since Art Donnell in the early days of their relationship. What's the matter with me? she thought dizzily. Am I really that much of a slut that I can't control myself the first night I come home . . . oohhh hut it's been so long, so long, and my pussy is on fire for Ross . . . I can't wait to feel his penis inside me, I can't wait. . .

Ross guided her down on the soft couch, and now his right hand was sliding upward along her bare thigh, sliding along the hot skin up under the hem of the ice-blue dress she wore. Higher and higher it moved, causing Nora to shiver with her mounting passion, and then the tips of his fingers were touching the smooth nylon crotch band covering her vagina, slipping up and down the hotly moistening furrow as she widened her legs to assist his ministrations.

Ooooh, his fingers feel so good, they feel so good between my legs! Hurry, Ross! Ah God, hurry and finger fuck me!

Ross' probing fingers, as though anticipating her thoughts, pushed the flimsy elastic leg band of the panties aside, extending his middle finger to slip it teasingly up into the wet, trembling passage of her pussy, exulting in the fevered thought that she would soon be his, that he would be putting his cock where his finger was right now very, very soon. He brought the finger up, up along the burning wetness of her passion-drenched cunt to the hardened bud of her clitoris, playing with it, reveling in the feel of her softness and the vibrating arousal of her firm, perfectly curved body, his breath exploding like the juices of orgasm from his mouth into hers, his tongue fucking between her lips mercilessly.

Then Ross removed his working finger from her clasping hot channel, and his hands were feverish as he sought to make her naked, to remove the dress and undergarments which clothed the hot flesh that he lusted so desperately to see and touch. The dress unbuttoned easily, and Nora dazedly helped him pull it over her head, drop it onto the floor at the foot of the couch. Her bra was next, cascading onto the puddled dress, revealing the hard-nippled, quivering mounds of her full, whitely rounded breasts; then her panties, drawn slowly, slowly down over her smooth curved hips and thighs by Ross' eager fingers, while Nora obediently raised her buttocks from the couch to help him. At last her soft, fleecy blonde pubic triangle came into view, wet with the juices of her arousal, then the petal-like, softly blonde-fringed expanse of her moist hot cunt was in full view of his loving, passion-fired eyes.

The sensuously aroused woman felt spasmodic little jolts of pleasure ripple through her flesh as Ross moaned and his big hands closed over her taut, firm breasts. She heard him gasp in further delight as his thumbs rolled over the large, distended, pink-tinged nipples, making them harder -and then she felt his head lower onto her chest, felt his hot, wet mouth encompass one of the aching peaks, flicking and rolling it maddeningly with his fiery tongue. She groaned in sheer delight, and her hips began an intense, undulating rhythm on the couch as Ross continued to suck hungrily and wetly at her nipple while he moved on the couch beside her, groaning out his excitement at her perfectly preserved womanhood.

His hands and mouth left her flesh then, and Nora with mounting fervor, knew that he was making himself as naked as she was, that she would soon feel Ross inside her, that she would soon be loved again, loved again, needed again . . .

"Ooooohhh!" she moaned in wild abandon. "Ooohhh, Ross darling, hurry, hurry!"

Her eyes fluttered open in that moment and she looked at him, saw him kneeling on the floor beside her, saw him naked for the first time. Her gaze moved down his corded, lean body and came to rest on his loins-on his thick, turgid, blood-swollen penis standing out hugely, proudly from his dark-haired lower abdomen. She drew in her breath sharply, her eyes going wide. God it's so big! she thought in further ecstasy, her thighs opening and closing spasmodically at the prospect of soon having such a huge, pleasure-giving shaft slicing hotly up between them. It's so much bigger than Vern's, so much bigger even than Art's . . . oooohhhh, I can't wait to feel all of that inside me, I'll go out of my mind if I don't have it pretty soon . . .

"Nora," Ross whispered, "my darling, Nora, oh Nora, I love you, I want you so much!"

"Hurry, Ross, do it to me, do it to me now!"

The handsome uncle of her teenage son raised up onto the couch, settled his hirsute body beside hers, and his head dipped down once again to her whitely quivering breasts. She moaned softly with lewdly unleashed desire as she watched him take first one nipple, then the other into his warmly salivating mouth, licking and sucking the rigid fruit until she wanted to scream from the waves of pleasure washing through her fevered body. Her hand searched down between their tightly clasped nakedness, located the rock-hardness of his cock. He gasped as the hot, searing tips of her fingers closed over his rigid shaft, and then his mouth lifted and closed over hers and their tongues lashed and twirled one another, as if trying to blend into one. She crushed the full length of her body against his and ground her pelvis hard into him, then twisted suddenly, pulling him over on top of her, opening her legs wide as they would go, her soft, hot cunt flared open, secreting the fermentations of her desire, waiting for his invasion of her soft, moist recesses.

Nora's hands were running wildly up and down along his body, tracing the hard muscles of his shoulders, the cleft of his back, the hard, muscular buttock cheeks, exploring all of him. His prick rested hard now, trailing web-like threads of semen, against her thighs, pressed into the narrow, hair-lined slit of her open pussy. She arched for a moment, levering their entwined bodies up with the strength of her back, reached around under her buttocks then with both hands and with her long, well-manicured fingernails spread her vaginal lips slowly apart, giving his cock greater contact with the moist, sensitive flesh as it lay cradled down into the full length of her wet, throbbing furrow. She relaxed, dropping her body back to the couch, her ex-husband's brother's turgid shaft trapped hotly between her moist hot thighs.

He forced his hands between her shoulders and the bed and ran them down the soft curves of her spine and hips, making little mewling sounds deep in his throat to match the ones she was gasping forth. The raised ridges of her spine felt hot to him as she undulated her magnificently proportioned body against him in slow, teasing rhythm. Muscles rippled lightly just under the thin tanned skin, giving testimony to the feline power she possessed-a woman built for sensual pleasure, needing it in order to survive, loving it and embracing it. The tenseness of the cords in her thighs pressed against the outside of his hips, and he wondered vaguely how they would grip him moments from now, when he sent his rock-hard cock burrowing far, far up into her quivering, waiting belly.

Breathing raggedly, his brain aflame with lusting desire, Ross pushed his hands farther down beneath her, cupping the fullness of her buttocks in the palms of his sweat-slick hands, pulling her dampened furrow hard against his masculinity. He moved up and down the fiery slit, sensing it grow hotter and wetter as her passion seethed out of her. Her hips began a more desperate rotation up against his loins until her legs, without warning, snaked out wide on either side of him, her calves hooking over and locking against the back of his thighs, pulling him tighter to her in a crablike position.

"Oooooaaaahhhhhh!" she wailed in delirious ecstasy. "Ross . . . Ross, darling, do it to me, put it up inside me . . . let me feel your cock inside me . . . I want to feel it, darling, give it to me now, right this second!"

Her pelvis was grinding forward as she spoke, and her hands were already between their bodies, circling his palpitating shaft to guide it between the moist lips of her hot, eagerly waiting pussy. Ross groaned animally as he felt his ex-sister-in-law's hands move his hardened cock up and down between her widely splayed legs, running the full length of her soft, moist crotch, parting the wet, blonde, fleece of her vagina with the blood-engorged tip. The pressure in his testicles was excruciating now, and he knew he couldn't hold back another second. He had to ram it, deep and hard inside her hotly waiting cunt, just as she wanted him to do! He had to fuck her!

Ross flexed his hips with a sudden driving thrust that drove his huge, rock-hard penis deep into the gaping wet mouth up between her voluntarily parted thighs, drove it into her hotly constricting belly with a flesh-splitting force.

"Uuuuuuuaaaahhhhh!" Nora squealed beneath him, but it was the scream of thankfulness, of ecstasy, rather than the scream of pain.

Ross felt the smooth pulsating cunt walls slip wetly, hotly, around his fleshy rod, consuming it as it raced to the full depths of her vaginal sheath, the copiously seeping walls lubricating the way. Suddenly, the full length of his immense hardness was buried inside her, the swollen head thudding harshly off the moist delight of her waiting cervix, his balls slapping with a resounding staccato sound against the nakedly mooned cheeks of her ass. Then, having conquered her with every thick inch of his maleness, he began immediately to fuck into her squirming, pliant flesh beneath him, his body attuning itself to hers as she fucked her hungrily clasping pussy desperately back up against him, matching his stroking, urging him on harder and faster with tiny passionate purling sounds as she licked and suckled his ear, panting hot wet words of encouragement into it.

"Mmmmmmm, that's it, darling, that's it, aaaahhhh, that's the way I want to be loved, deep and hard, oh Ross, I love the way you fill me up, I can feel every inch of your cock, darling sweet keep doing me harder, harder, harder, aaahhh . . . ! "

And she thought, It's beautiful, it's so beautiful, this is the best it's ever been, oh Ross, I love you, I love you, I love you . . . it's so perfect, so perfect, nothing can spoil it now, I feel alive again, truly alive, and nothing can spoil it now . . .

As far as Mickey was concerned, the Book Fair in Waycross was a fat disappointment. They had nowhere near the selection their advertisements had promised, although, as Peggy pointed out, it was pretty late in the day and maybe they had done a whopping good business earlier. Still, Mickey found only one book that he could use-an Engineering text that he saved only two dollars on-and as he and Peggy prepared to leave after only half-an-hour of browsing, he found himself wishing he had stayed home with his mother and his uncle Ross. After all, today was a kind of special occasion, and it was only proper that he spend the time with his . . . family.

He felt a faint, warm inner glow as he drove his lime green Corvette, a present from his uncle when he'd graduated from Summervale High that June, out of Waycross and onto the two-lane road which connected the two towns five miles apart. He knew, with a sense of well-being, that the glow was a result of seeing his mother again, of having her home once again, in spite of all she had done to him and to his father in the past. Things were very clear in his mind now; he knew that he had been wrong to turn so completely against his mother, for her guilt and her repentance were plainly evident on her face and in her eyes, and Mickey was compassionately aware-as his Uncle Ross was-that Nora Hammond had suffered more than enough for her sins. He was ready to forgive her now, for he had discovered, that afternoon and evening, that he still loved his mother, had loved her all along, and wanted to be with her and help her from now on . . .

Mickey drove swiftly, as he liked to do; he was a good driver, and the Corvette responded to the deft, sure commands he placed on the gleaming sports car. Peggy leaned close to him, pressing her thigh against his across the chrome console, pressing her swelling soft breast against his arm, and he could smell the fragrance of her jet-black hair as she snuggled her head onto his shoulder. The handsome teenage youth felt his breath catch in his throat at the nearness of the beautiful, provocative girl, and he felt a fresh surge of the love and desire he had come to feel for her. He was the luckiest guy in Summervale, maybe in the whole state, to have such a warm, passionate, lovely woman as Peggy Reynolds was, and his heart threatened to burst with pride every time he was seen with her. He couldn't wait to make her his wife, to settle down into a home with her and have two or three kids-an existence that would make him blissfully happy for the rest of his . . .

Peggy whispered, "Mickey, sweet?"

"Mmmmmm?"

"Let's go up to Lookout Peak and park for a while." Her voice was husky and soft, and she nibbed her breast against his arm like a cat.

"Gee, Peg I don't know. I want to get home tonight. Like I told you, it's kind of a special occasion . . . "

"Sweetie, let's park for just a little while," Peggy insisted. "I'm on fire for you tonight."

"Peg, we're going out tomorrow night. We can go up to the Peak then, and-"

"Mickey, baby, my pussy is wild for your cock right now," she breathed throatily. "I'm hot as hell for you."

"Peg . . . I wish you wouldn't talk like that," Mickey scolded her. "You know I don't like it."

"You liked it Monday night," she giggled. "You liked it when I told you how I wanted to take your big cock in my mouth and suck on it like

'"Peg!"

"Oh, all right, you old prude," she pouted. "Peg, I want you too, you know that. I can't get enough of you, honey. But . . . well, tonight just isn't a good time. Try to understand, okay."

"I understand," Peggy said coolly. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, I really will," Mickey told her, feeling a stirring of desire in his loins, for the sexuality she exuded affected him like an aphrodisiac every time he was with her. "I'll do it to you three times, in three different positions, and then I'll eat you up, I'll eat all of you up!"

Peggy giggled again, delightedly, forgetting her pout. "Promise, sweet."

"Promise."

"Okay, then," Peggy said, and rubbed her breast against his arm kittenishly again. "I can hardly wait . . . "

They reached Summervale, drove through the quiet, dark streets into Clayton Heights. When they neared Ross Hammond's home, Mickey said, "Listen Peg, why don't you come in for a few minutes before I take you home? You can have a glass of champagne, and get to know my mother a little. I know her and Uncle Ross will still be up; we haven't been gone very long."

"Oh . . . I guess I could," Peggy acquiesced. "I really like champagne."

"Good," Mickey grinned, and squeezed her thigh possessively with his free hand. Peggy caught his wrist, slid his fingers into the tight, hot crevice between her legs, parting her thighs slightly to accept his hand.

"Mmmmmmrnmm!" she crooned contentedly.

Mickey turned the Corvette onto his uncle's street, then into the driveway alongside the house, the quiet engine making a soft purring sound in the stillness-nothing more. He switched off the engine and the lights, and he and the lovely young girl slipped out of the car.

Taking her hand, Mickey said, "We'll go in through the kitchen. Uncle Ross always keeps the door there unlocked, and I forgot my front door key."

"Okay."

They started along the cinder path which hugged the side of the sprawling, modern house. It was very quiet, with just the sound of the crickets to disturb the silence. Through the partially open living room window just ahead, Mickey could see the flickering light from the fireplace, which told him that his mother and uncle were, indeed, still up. He and Peggy moved forward-and it was then that they heard the sounds coming from inside the living room.

They were low, moaning, panting sounds, co-mingled with the distinct labored squeaking of couch springs, and both teen-agers stopped. Peggy leaned against Mickey, whispering, "What was that?"

"I.. . I don't know."

"Let's go look!"

"Peg.. . "

But she was leading him off the path, over to the window; the drapes had not been fully drawn across it, and there was a foot-wide section which allowed them both to see clearly into the house, into the living room illuminated brightly by the dancing flames of the pine log fire.

Mickey's eyes blinked rapidly for a moment, then focused on what was transpiring on the couch before the fireplace, on the sight of the two sweating, nakedly straining bodies plunging against one another there. It . . . it was his Uncle Ross! And . . . and . . . and.. .

Oh Jesus Christ, no!

His mother!

His mother and his Uncle Ross were fucking in wild, heaving abandon before his vertj eyes!