A Complete Education Ch. 01

"You like that, you slut?"

"Yeah, you know I'm your slut, Paula. Use your-- Oh, god!"

Suddenly Jemima's leg was above me, hooked over the back of the couch, the elegant calf down to the toe, all tense and sinewed. Good lord. So close I could reach out and touch it. So close that by raising my head up a bit I could lick it. I began frantically stroking myself again, fixated on the minute tensions of her ankle.

"Nobody does me like you, no man and no woman."

My mother gives a muffled moan in reply.

Suddenly Jemima was tensing, and her leg kicked out, into the air. A yelp, an indescribable sound--unlike any sound I've heard from my abundent collection of web porn.

"Oh shit." It's a curse of satisfaction, and then more kissing sounds.

"And how about you?"

"The bottle, like this," my mother said. And then, just as Jemima's lean leg had appeared above me, now my mother's hands appeared. Splayed out at first, the fingers tighten, her manicured fingernails digging into the brown flesh of the couch. She grunted loudly, slowly, a prolonged delight, and it sound from her voice that her head is just beyond the lip of the couch, her voice coming straight down at me. I tried to imagine the scene in my mind, starting with her fingers and extrapolating outward, her elbows pressed upon the back padding, knees on the edge of the couch, bent over deeply at the waist, her ass upturned toward the bottle in Jemima's hands, the bottle gently working its way between the lips of my mother's pussy. Jemima lovingly stroking my mother's back, then gathering her hair in one hand, and pulling at it. My mother gasps back.

"That's it, Jem! Deep, honey!"

I imagined reaching up, touching my mother's hand, and she gripped my wrist tightly, knowing all along, squeezing me, including me in her beautiful, arcing orgasm. Instead I cup my hand over my cock as I cum, and use my mother's screams to muffle the sound of my zipper closing up.

They went quiet again, gentle kisses on the couch. There's not much I

can do, so I wait.

And wake up, wondering if it was a dream. But I was still behind the couch, and there's my cum dried upon my hand and there on the couch. And sitting up, there were my mother's fingernail marks in the leather. Were they still there? Are Jemima and my mother still lying together on the couch? I stop breathing, listening for their own breaths. But I heard the sound of my mother's snoring coming to me from upstairs. She always snores after a night of drinking. I stand up. There were no other signs of the debauchery. Clothes had been picked up, furniture has been straightened. I have a sudden, terrifying thought--what if they discovered me when cleaning. The scene plays through in my mind:

"Paula, have you seen my hair clip?"

"I flung it somewhere, I think. Check behind the couch."

"Oh god."

"Did you find it?"

"Paula, you need to come have a look at this."

"Oh god."

"Do you think he saw us?"

"How could he not?"

"Should we wake him?"

"No, I can't deal with it now. I'll talk with him in the morning."

I would have to wait until the morning to see--nothing to be done about it now. I went to the kitchen, and took a handful of Cheerios, eating them one at a time. There was the bottle. The champagne bottle, still half full. I popped the rest of the Cheerios into my mouth and drew close to it, cautious. I reached out and touched it's long, slender neck. Sticky. I picked it up, and brought it to my nose.

Tangy, pungent. And the sweetness of the champagne in the back of the scent. So little Sean didn't know what pussy and champagne smelled like. I tilted the bottle back, took a big swig, and slammed the bottle back down on the counter. Bullshit.