A Modern Harem Pt. 06

A Modern Harem (Part 6)

Kathryn M. Burke

In mid-October there was something called Parents' Weekend, where the parents of all freshman were invited to show up and make sure their little darlings were doing all right in their first month or so of college. Bridget's mother and father, Tara and Joe, were scheduled to show up, and everyone was looking forward to meeting them. But when the Friday of Parents' Weekend arrived and there was a tentative knock on Joyce's front door, Hilary found that only one person was there--a woman, presumably Tara.

She was a real beauty--or would have been if there wasn't a kind of spooked expression on her face. She floated into the living room as if she was in some sort of trance, barely answering Hilary's query, "Are you Bridget's mom?" When Gerald emerged from the kitchen, he was especially impressed with her appearance: she was about five foot six and was wearing a superbly tailored business suit that showed off her luscious curves around bust, hips, and bottom. But the look on her delicate oval face, surrounded by masses of jet-black hair, alarmed him.

"Ma'am, is everything okay?" he said.

She looked at him as if he was a ghost who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and made no reply.

Bridget now came into the room and gave her mother a token hug. But she too was concerned.

"Mom, what's up?" she said. "You don't look well."

When Tara saw her daughter, her face suddenly crumpled in misery as she cried in agony, "Your daddy has left me!"

There was a thunderous silence--broken only by the sobs of the poor bereft woman.

"Left you?" Bridget cried out in disbelief. "When did this happen?"

"About a week ago," Tara said.

"And you're only telling me now?"

"I didn't want to upset you while you were working hard at school."

"Mom, I think this is something I needed to know. What exactly happened?"

"I don't know! Your father suddenly announced that he was running off with his secretary. That girl is barely older than you!"

"Mom, I know that 'girl.' She's at least twenty-five."

"Oh, so that makes it all right?"

"No, of course not. But--but why? I mean, have you been having troubles?"

"I suppose we have. I think we got into a rut--and I also think that he was just waiting for you to go to college so that you wouldn't be around to see his betrayal of me."

"So where is he now?"

"In Florida, I think."

"Florida! He took off for Florida with--"

"With this floozie."

"I'm not sure she's a floozie, but it's a pretty rotten thing to do."

It was only now that Joyce, who had been baking cookies in the kitchen, came out into the living room. She'd caught only a part of the heated conversation, but was quickly supplied the basic information on Joe's disgraceful behavior.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Joyce said, embracing Tara awkwardly.

There was a general round of sympathy from all the occupants of the house, and a decision was quickly made to get Tara out of the sterile hotel room she'd booked (in expectation that she'd be there with her husband) and put her into the second guest room here in the house. Bridget and Hilary would be in the other guest room, and Gerald and Joyce would hold the fort in the master bedroom.

Hilary and Joyce tried to make some comfort food for dinner--a kind of miniature Thanksgiving dinner with sliced turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and so on. It seemed to help, although Tara mostly picked at her food and kept staring at her plate, refusing to engage in conversation. The others tried to keep up a lively chatter, but it didn't seem to be having much effect on Bridget's mother.

It was no surprise that she chose to retire early, around 9 p.m., trudging morosely up to her room and closing the door.

The others looked at one another.

"Gee, what a horrible thing to happen," Gerald said.

"You got that right!" Hilary said, for once taking things seriously. "That guy must be a real scumbag." Then, after a quick glance at Bridget: "Oops! I didn't mean that. I'm sure he was a good father to you."

"He was. I love him. But I just can't believe he's done this."

"You had no inkling?"

"Oh, I heard them arguing every now and then--but all husbands and wives do that, don't they? I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Well, it's a shame," Joyce concluded heavily. "We'll have to make sure she has a nice time this weekend."

Everyone retired fairly early, not feeling in the mood for frivolous entertainment. But as Gerald and Joyce were cuddling naked in their bedroom (they were too embarrassed to engage in actual coitus, although they were leaving open the possibility of some sort of quiet mutual masturbation), they heard a disturbing sound coming from the second guest room.

"Omigod, what's that?" Gerald whispered.

"What do you think it is, you dummy?" Joyce said. "She's crying."

"Tara?"

"Of course! What do you expect her to do, given what's happened?"

"It sounds awful!"

"No joke, Sherlock. But women need to do that sometime."

"Oh, Joyce, I can't bear it! It's like her heart is breaking."

"It probably is breaking. Her husband of twenty years has just dumped her for some sweet young thing just a little over half his age."

"Isn't there anything we can do to help her?"

"You mean, isn't there anything you can do to help her."

"Me?" Gerald squawked. "Why me?"

Joyce actually slapped Gerald (lightly) on his forehead. "Do some thinking, silly! This woman has spent her whole adult life getting comfort and sympathy from a man--namely, her spouse. So who else can make her feel better but you?"

"But--but what do you want me to do? Just go there and--"

"Yes. If you really find it so painful to listen to her bawling, then it's your responsibility to go over to her and make her feel better."

"I can't go like this!" he cried, gesturing at his nudity.

Joyce made a face. "Oh, I suppose not--although it's nothing she hasn't seen before. If that's all that's bothering you, then put on some underwear."

Gerald peered closely at Joyce as if trying to figure out exactly what she was saying. "You really want me to--to--"

"Yes, I really do. I think you could help." Then, looking at him straight in the eyes: "You have my formal permission to do whatever it takes to make her happy."

Like a zombie, Gerald got up from the bed, slipped on his boxer briefs, and padded down the hallway to Tara's room.

His hand shaking, he opened the door. He had a sense it would be unlocked, and it was. Slipping in, he was barely able to see in the dark room the figure of Tara lying on the bed; she was resting on her side, facing the window with her back to the door, so she didn't see or hear Gerald come in. By this time her sobs had quieted down to a sort of soft weeping--but in some ways that was even worse than the wrenching wails he'd heard earlier.

He circled the bed and knelt down beside it, his face now very close to Tara's. In his gentlest, most sympathetic voice he spoke her name.

She gasped and backed away, finally noticing him for the first time. She stared wide-eyed at him, her tear-streaked face now registering acute fear. "Wh-what are you doing here?" she whispered.

Gerald was now kicking himself for being so thoughtless. His blundering into Tara's room, nearly naked, had frightened her and made her misery even sharper. Extending a hand and stroking her cheek, he said, "I'm really sorry you're so unhappy. I wish I could make you feel better."

That seemed, amazingly, to be the ticket. A broken smile came over Tara's face, and she slid away to make room for him on the bed, holding out her arms in welcome. "Thank you," she said.

He slipped in. He wasn't sure how much she knew or cared that he was practically nude, but he was heartened by her embracing him closely and curling up against him as if he were a trusted father or uncle. Then she began to cry again--but Gerald knew that this was something she had to do. Now that she had a man to be her rock of stability, she poured out her grief and held him even tighter. He could feel the tears dropping on his shoulder.

For his part, Gerald merely draped his arms lightly around her. This was, after all, a woman he'd only met a few hours ago--and here he was, wearing only his underwear and hugging her in her thin, short nightgown! He could feel her large, heavy breasts against his chest, and she was unconsciously pressing her abdomen against his also, as if she needed to touch him from head to toe to gain the comfort she sought.

One of his hands was around her shoulders and the other in her lower back. That second hand he gradually lowered so that it was on her bottom.

The gesture was almost automatic: holding this woman evoked so many memories of how he'd recently held Joyce, Hilary, and Bridget in this exact position that he couldn't prevent his hand from straying. Incredibly, Tara didn't seem at first to notice where that hand was; but at last, its warmth on one of her butt cheeks brought it to her attention.

"You're being naughty," she said, still sniffling a little and saying those words without any sense of outrage or disapproval.

"I'm just trying to make you happy," Gerald replied, now pasting little kisses on her face.

"What about Joyce?"

"She won't mind."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

And with that, Gerald raised up the hem of Tara's nightgown and put his hand on her bare bottom. She let out a sigh of pleasure and cuddled even more closely to him, and that made Gerald's next move--the sliding of his hand between their bodies so that it covered her sex--a little more difficult. But he managed it, especially as Tara instinctively spread her legs to allow him access to her private parts.

The stroking and fondling that Gerald now began was--as both of them realized--largely therapeutic. Tara was mourning the death of her marriage just as much as Gerald and Joyce had mourned the death of their spouses, and she needed some reassurance that she was still a living, vibrant female. As he detected wetness oozing out of her, she opened herself up to his touch--fingers sliding up and down on either side of her labia, rubbing her engorged clitoris, and inserting themselves deep into her vagina, getting even more moistened by her juices than before. Her breathing becoming irregular, she clung to Gerald and gave way to the waves of pleasure coursing through her.

And then, when a sudden orgasm overwhelmed her, she cried out sharply and came close to biting Gerald's neck like a vampire as her climax flooded her body and mind like a tsunami. Unlike the other women in the house, Tara's body didn't quiver all over, but there was no doubt that she was rendered almost comatose by the unexpected stimulation she'd received from a man who, although largely a stranger, already seemed an intimate acquaintance.

She took some moments to quiet down, and when she did so she gave Gerald a watery-eyed smile and kissed him firmly on the mouth. No words were needed, and she knew that it was now her turn to repay Gerald for his kindness. Gerald didn't know whether she would allow him the ultimate invasion of her body, but she settled that question by making him lie on his back while she got on her knees, whipped off the nightgown (allowing Gerald only a momentary glimpse of her robust bosom and fur-covered delta), and then lay back down on him at full length, peeling away his underwear to free his cock.

There followed the strangest copulation Gerald (and Tara) ever had.

He had no problem with a woman being on top: sometimes it's good for the female to do most of the work. But, although Tara did insert his member into herself, she just lay there, her legs spread on either side of him and her head cradled in the crook of his neck. Gerald sensed that this was to be a quiet but intense coupling, and so he didn't do any thrusting at all, and she made no effort to do any either. Instead, their bodies were simply fused as she encircled his shoulders with her arms and gave him little kisses on his neck, throat, and shoulders. Sometimes she just lay still, and Gerald almost wondered if she'd fallen asleep.

But the sensation his cock was experiencing was incredible. At first he wasn't even sure he was actually in her; but gradually the warmth, wetness, and tightness of her vagina made itself evident to him, and no further stimulus was needed for him to experience the height of physical and spiritual intimacy. He did place a hand on her bottom, since she seemed to like that; but otherwise they remained almost motionless, united as two people have rarely been.

Time seemed to have stopped as the two gloried in their unity. And when Gerald's cock began pumping Tara's pussy full of his seed, each successive jolt bathing her vagina with his thick discharge, she let out another sigh that signaled her satisfaction at stimulating a man in this unusual way. I can still make a man come.

They remained joined for minutes afterward, not wishing to become two separate bodies again. But at last Tara got off of Gerald and lay down on her back next to him, feeling his emission seep out of her and onto the bedsheet. She gave him a silent look of thanks and then curled up to go to sleep. Gerald would have liked to do more, but realized that this one coupling had been about as perfect as it could possibly be; and he also sensed, as she did, that there would be more meldings of body and soul--and more active and enthusiastic ones--in the future.

*

Tara stumbled out of bed, leaving Gerald sleeping heavily. Snatching some Kleenex to mop up the remnants of his come as it seeped down her thighs, she slipped on her nightgown and made her way downstairs.

She found Joyce in the kitchen, quietly sipping coffee. She couldn't help uttering a gasp and looking at the other woman in alarm. But Joyce gave her a broad smile and said, "Hello, dear. Sit down here next to me."

Tara slid into the chair Joyce had indicated, too fearful to say anything. She could hardly believe that Joyce wouldn't be furious at Gerald's probing of her body, which she was certain Joyce knew all about.

But all Joyce said was, "He's a wonderful man, isn't he?"

"Yes," Tara said, wanting to say so much more but unable to find the words.

"I hope he made you... feel better?"

"Yes--ever so much better."

It was at that point that the two girls thundered into the room, also wearing their nightgowns. Both of them looked with a sly smile at Tara: they too knew exactly what had happened in that second guest room.

"Good time with Gerald last night?" Hilary burst out.

"Hilary, please," Joyce chided. "You're spoiling the moment."

"Oh, come on, the moment's over. I'm sure it was splendid while it lasted, but now it's time to think of what happens from here on out."

"What does that mean?" Tara said in utter bafflement.

"Nothing, nothing," Joyce said.

"Mom," Hilary said, "you mean you haven't told her?"

"Told me what?" Tara cried.

"Of course I haven't told her," Hilary said nervously. "She'll think we're a bunch of--"

"What are you people talking about?"

"What we're saying," Hilary said, staring right at Tara, "is that Gerald took my virginity."

"Mine too!" Bridget piped up happily.

"And now we take turns bedding down with him. It's all great fun--he's such a sweetheart."

There was a stunned silence as Tara gazed at each of the women in turn. "You're telling me," she whispered frantically, "that--that Gerald has slept with all of us?"

"Sure looks that way," Joyce said.

"But--but--" she sputtered, then turned her attention to her daughter. "You, Bridget? Aren't you a lesbian?"

"I guess I'm bisexual," Bridget said with some satisfaction.

"You know what we got here?" Hilary said, as if suddenly understanding the theory of relativity. "We're a harem!"

"We're not a harem!" Joyce snapped.

"I think we are," Bridget concluded.

"Look, you guys," Joyce said insistently, "a harem was something in the Middle Ages in Arabia or somewhere. There was this big room and a lot of young women in silks or whatever. Maybe there would be a eunuch to protect them. The Sultan would snap his fingers and one of the women would come to his room and--well, you know, service him. That's nothing like what's going on here."

"Okay, maybe not," Hilary said, like the lead person on a debating team, "but that makes us a modern harem. Here we have two middle-aged ladies--"

"We're not middle-aged!" Tara exclaimed.

"--who have good jobs and earn their keep, and two other younger ladies who are going to college and will get good jobs later. I wouldn't mind wearing silks, but otherwise we're pretty up-to-date--and we're still a harem."

"Okay," Joyce said defeatedly, "we're a harem."

It was at this point that Gerald walked in. Looking around at the four women in turn, he was struck by how different they were--united only in the fact that he'd bedded down with each of them, and would apparently continue to do so for the indefinite future.

"Um, are you talking about me?" he said.

"We sure are, Sultan," Hilary said tartly.

He gave her a puzzled look. Joyce rescued the situation by saying, "We'd better get breakfast going. Are you young ladies willing to oblige?"

"Oh, all right," Hilary said, heaving herself up from her chair. "Come on, Bridget, let's start slinging the hash."