A Tangled Web Ch. 08

Ted grinned weakly and rejoined, "DO you, now?" He reached down, stroked the saffron peignoir covering the teenager's back, and asked, "What about YOU, Cindy... do YOU know how STRONG I am, TOO?" He played his fingers in her long brunette hair, which was now mostly unraveled from its braids and radiated across her shoulders, onto his chest. When she raised her head and smiled, he added, "Your mom wants to TEST me."

Arlene poked and stroked Ted's lax prick until it stiffened somewhat, then she fluffed it further with her own cock-sucking techniques. When it hardened to her satisfaction, she unrolled the condom around the standing staff. "There, NOW, you're set up," she giggled. Moving off the bed again, she patted Cynthia's bottom and said, "Up and at 'em, honey."

Cynthia rose to her hands and knees and straddled Trotter's recumbent frame. He pulled her to his face and kissed her strongly, thrilling at her eagerness to explore his mouth with her tongue. He tasted himself as she did so. Arlene, stepping behind her daughter, placed her hands on Cynthia's hips and steered her into position while Ted growled and the girl groaned.

When Cynthia's pussy was aligned, Arlene pressed her pelvis down and pulled back. With little need, but still appreciative, of her mother's assistance, Cynthia felt Ted's bone divide her nether lips and bury itself in her happy hole. He lifted his hips while she dropped hers. The latex sheath grabbed, then slid easily. She contracted her cunt and hugged her welcome visitor.

While the coupled couple rose and fell, Arlene hunched over her daughter's bowed back. She pressed her own pussy firmly to Cynthia's peignoir covered bottom, just above Trotter's jamming joint. Her daughter's thin rayon robe abraded Arlene's dark bush and teased her excited clit. Reaching around, she clasped her left hand on Cynthia's boob and twiddled its puffy crown while she reached back and down with her right hand and tickled Ted's tightening nuts with her nails.

Every lifting pounding thrust interacted. Ted huffed. Cynthia puffed. Arlene twittered and twitched her twat against her daughter's taint. The rhythmic rollicking romp, accompanied by much mewling, gasping and gnarring, lasted, despite the ecstatic agony, beyond Trotter's expectation. Even considering his massive seminal evacuation into the eighteen-year-old's mouth, he could not believe how powerful and stagnant he felt all at the same time.

Cynthia's crisis arrived, culminated, and returned twice. She bounced and yipped incessantly. And still, although his nuts were supercharged, Ted held off. Arlene pinched her daughter's buttocks and hissed, "MY turn, honey... move up!" She pushed until Cynthia cleared Trotter's cock and crouched with her knees by his ears. Arlene swiftly scooted forward and swallowed Ted's tool with her own hungry pussy, while again crushing her sweaty tits against Cynthia's back. This time, however, she grasped both the girl's breasts and mauled them as she ground her hips.

Ted craned his neck and was met halfway when Cynthia lowered her cunny to his mouth. Seizing her ass, he held her fast as he fell back to the mattress. The forceful drop made her yelp while her muff masked his face. His hips recovered their lost beat. Arlene grinned madly and rode his pole. Cynthia could not contain her hysterical joy as she poured herself out like the proverbial bottomless pitcher.

At last, Trotter neared his point of no return. Arlene incoherently snuffled and whimpered. Cynthia squeezed her legs like bellows and bawled. Ted yanked Arlene's ass, pulling her pussy hard to his lurching loins, and drove his dick to her deepest point. He seized Cynthia's clit with his lips, sucking away its very existence, and unloaded multiple shots into the Trojan.

When the frozen tableau thawed, and the women rolled, left and right, off Ted, Cynthia, still wheezing from her hyperventilation, exclaimed, "Oh, MR. TROTTER! That 'something' was 'something' ELSE!"

Arlene laughed. "Yes, Tickler... good JOB! Can you spend the night? We'd love it if you COULD."

Ted shook his head weakly. "I can't, Arly, truly. The doctor said Mary would sleep through until morning, but she went down at a quarter to six... and I don't know what Doctor Sparks meant by 'morning.' He kissed his girls and smiled. "But let's have a little cuddling nap. I don't have to leave right NOW."

Exhausted, Cynthia did not have to be invited twice. She curled into Ted's ribs and sighed. Her left hand scratched once, softly, through his chest thatch before she fell asleep. Arlene gazed across Trotter at her well-fucked daughter and grinned. Kissing his earlobe, she buzzed, "You're a keeper, Tickler... if only we could find a way." Then she, too, shut her eyes and exhaled a deep breath.

Ted lay with his bundles tucked tight beneath his arms and stared at the ceiling through the darkness. The air was heavy with the infused scents of Shalimar, sweat, and sex. He wondered about Arlene's last words and repeated them into the room, "Yes... 'if only we could find a way'."

While their eldest daughter lay drugged, and their son-in-law lay a-bed with the Hart women, considering them for permanent mistresses, Jock and Isabel McGuinness laughed and played cards with Arthur and Cecilia. Jock was losing. This, in no small part, because he was still vexed and horny.

It was difficult for him to focus on the game strategy. Every glance across the table at Isabel made his dick jump. Likewise, each look at Arthur was a reminder the guest bed was in her sewing room, directly across the hall from their bedroom. She was always inhibited when there was a sleep-over in the house.

The Kienzle mantle clock in the parlor chimed the nine o'clock hour, just as Arthur completed his final qualifying red canasta and went out, catching Jock big. Isabel folded her cards and looked at the scores. "Well, there's no sense tallying. It's clear that Artie is over five thousand and no one else is above four. Good job, Artie!" She leaned over and kissed the beaming boy.

Jock added, "And good timing, too. The clock says, 'it's bedtime' for boys and girls.'" He chuckled, kissed Cecie and punched Arthur's shoulder gently. "Brush your teeth, come back for hugs, and then get to bed. Now, SHOO! Both of you."

Jock separated the decks and put away the cards while Isabel followed the obedient children down the hall. Cecilia went to her own half-bath in the garret and Arthur used the main bathroom. Isabel stepped into her sewing room, pulled down the Murphy bed, and swept back its covers. After plumping the pillows and smoothing the bottom sheet, she returned to the living room and said, "I think I'll turn in, too, Jock. It's been a tiring day for some reason."

Jock's hopes had risen when she spoke of going to bed, but they were dashed by her complaint of being tired. He knew that would put the kibosh on their fucking, even if they were alone on the planet. "Alright, dear," he replied evenly. "You go on. I'm going to sit up and read for while." He crossed the room and kissed her. "You want to wait for Cecie and Art, or shall I send them to your room to say their goodnights?"

"You are too thoughtful, Jock," Isabel answered sweetly, patting his cheek. "It really is one of your best features. Send the kids down. They won't be long, but I DO want to get in my nightie. Try not to wake me when you come to bed, dear." They kissed again and she left.

Jock turned the clock chime off and pulled a volume of Twain from the parlor library shelves. He had read two paragraphs, from where he left off in "Roughing It", when the kids bounded in and gave him minty kisses. He hugged them both and smiled as they ran out to find Isabel.

At ten o'clock, Jock closed and shelved his book. He walked quietly down the hall and up the stairs. At the landing, when he saw no light under Cecilia's door, he turned and walked back down. Opening the sewing room door, he verified Arthur was sound asleep and then sealed the room again. Crossing the hall, he moved to the big brass bed and paused. Isabel's heavy regular breathing promised she was well into dreamland. Jock smiled in the dark and walked back into the hall.

"A drive in the dark, Jock," he spoke softly to himself. "That's the ticket for you. Get some fresh air." Lifting the front door latch as quietly as possible, he stepped onto the porch and eased the door shut behind him. Soundlessly, he walked the path to the driveway and slipped behind the REO's steering wheel. The driver's door made a dull thud, which sounded to Jock like a whip cracking, but was, in fact, inaudible beyond three feet.

Jock released the parking brake, stepped on the clutch and rolled noiselessly backward into the empty street, turning the wheel and pointing the hood north by dint of habit. Safely distant from the bungalow, he turned over the engine, shifted into first and set off; steering one-handed with his left elbow on the open window sill.

The mild May night air brushed his face. Its carried scent reminded him of Greta Van Der Molen's light floral perfume. Jock looked at his Roamer watch face and wondered if she was still at The Shillelagh. Turning left on Lowry Street, he headed for the Industrial Area. His dick rubbed his thigh as he recalled her dandelion yellow hair and huge pink baby-targets.

Mid-span on the Lowry Bridge, Jock did a double-take: There on the pedestrian platform, walking eastbound toward him, was Greta. He wheeled to the curb, slid across the bench seat and cranked the window down. "Hey!" He called to her as she drew parallel to his front bumper. "Greta?"

"Ja, it is me. Who is there?" The statuesque blonde raised her right hand to shield her eyes from the REO's headlamps. The harsh light crisped her every edge and curve. Her breast stretched under her white peasant blouse above her tightly laced black velvet corset. A breeze off the river lifted her forest green cotton dirndl, showing off her white petticoat ruffles and pale lower thighs.

"Jesus H. Christ, she's amazing!" Jock exclaimed to himself as he stared at the 5' 9" nineteen-year-old Dutch refugee. His nuts ached and his throat constricted. Her busty hippy hourglass silhouette made him instantly hard. Recalling the sweet pleasure of pushing his prick into her lemon pie, he adjusted his swollen package and croaked, "It's me, Jock... Jock McGuinness."

"Oh ja, de aardige man. De vriend van mijn oom." Greta's Dutch was lost on Jock but the happy recognition in her voice was not. He opened the passenger front door as she approached the sedan and lowered her arm.

"Don't know where you're GOING, Greta," Jock said amiably, " but GET IN... I'll give you a lift."

Switching to English, Greta answered, "Oh dank je, I mean, THANK you." She slid onto the front seat and closed her door as Jock straightened up. "The evening girl was very late. I missed the last tram." In the dark cabin interior, she beamed at Jock, more brightly than the outside overhead bridge lights. "It is a long walk to my uncle's house."

Greta ran the back of her left knuckles across Jock's wrinkled right cheek and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "You are a very nice man, but you go somewhere else, ja? I don't want to... oh, how do you say it? Put you out." Touching Jock's shaved craggy face had thrilled the girl as she, too, had a strong good memory of his cock in her cunny. "Ik heb liever je in," she thought, feeling her pussy tingle and dampen.

"It's no trouble at all, Greta," Jock assured her. "I was restless and thought a drive would be good." He involuntarily rolled his shoulders as a heat wave poured down his spine. "I know where Brian lives. Glad to get you home."

Greta slid close to Jock, pressing her hip tight to his. Adding fuel to the fire, she half turned her torso, dropped her right hand on his near thigh and nudged his left ear with her nose. "If you are RESTLESS... " she breathed. "I know something ELSE good for that. We can go someplace and I will SHOW you, ja?" Her fingertips inched higher on Jock's leg. Her spicy honey tulip perfume crowded his lungs while her thirty-seven-inch bosom crowded his ribs.

Getting her message, loud and clear, Jock put the car in gear and said, "Sure, baby, my office is close by." Five minutes later he parked at Acme Distributors and held the door as Greta exited the driver's side behind him. Slipping his arm around her slim waist, he hugged her and said, apologetically, "It's not set up as nice as your uncle's poker room, but there IS a bed in the back room."

Greta's soft pliant lips pressed Jock's and she burbled, "Fancy maakt niet uit of het groot genoeg is voor ons allebei."

Jock laughed and admitted, "I have NO idea what you just said, but you sure make me want to hear it again!"

Greta smiled and translated, "I just said, it is enough if the bed fits us both."

Jock deliberately hung back on the stairs to his office. The rear view of Greta excited him as she moved upward. Unlocking, he ushered her through to a small room. Formerly used for odds-and-ends storage, he had cleared it out and installed a good-sized single iron-frame bed to accommodate his regular twice-weekly, and occasional off-schedule, fuck sessions with Arlene Hart. Sweeping the buxom barmaid into his arms, Jock growled, "Dutch and English are well and good... how's your FRENCH?" His right hand tugged the bow of her velvet corset and loosened her laces while she wrapped her arms behind his neck.

Tipping her head back, Greta answered huskily, "See for yourself." She mashed her mouth against his and drilled her tongue through his opening teeth. They danced, moaning, as they frisked each other. She inserted her hands between their chests and popped his shirt buttons while he slipped his hands behind her and released her bra band catches through her blouse.

Realizing they were their own worst obstacles, the frenetic pair silently devolved into cooperative action. Greta stood while Jock slid her stretchy peasant blouse, jumper, undone vest and bra down past her wide hips. Stepping close to him, she kissed him lightly and finished unbuckling and opening his trousers. In moments they were reduced to underwear.

Greta pushed Jock's boxers down, clearing a path to his waving erection. Kissing her way over his ribbed undershirt she knelt before him and pulled his taut buttocks forward. Her lips pursed and sweetly addressed the welling pre-cum in his cock's pouting slit. Jock rubbed her shoulders and groaned as she took his lollipop into her mouth and gently sucked.

Unsure of his capacity, Jock hooked his hands under Greta's armpits and pulled her to her feet. His dick popped audibly from her wet lips as she stood. "MY turn, baby," he whispered with a gravelly voice. "I didn't get to smell your yellow tulip this afternoon." He pushed her back until she fell supine across the cushy double-thick tick mattress on the iron bed's spring frame.

Jock dropped to his knees, whisked Greta's transparent white rayon panties off her flying feet and parked her hams on his broad shoulders. Hunching in, he licked his lips as he looked at her brilliant yellow muff and long, bright pink, medium-thick labia. She bowed out her knees, opening her hips and gateway. He held her broad bottom in his palms and served her up.

Greta clenched her ass and arched her back, forcing her needy pussy flatter against Jock's feasting mouth. He thrust his tongue deep in her tunnel, then slowly pulled back and slid to the top of her slice. Greta's hot button stiffly stabbed his tongue tip as she met him with another lunge. Nibbling briefly and returning swiftly to her wet pearly hole, Jock sucked and teased her repeatedly to good effect.

"Nyyyaaah!" Greta screeched, "Mijn God! Neem me ... Ik kom eraan!" Jock slurped as she flooded his face and writhed around his jowls. Her thick juice ran as, with a single strong move, he stood. Elevating her pelvis and rolling her back onto her shoulders, Jock jammed his long-denied dick into her cunt.

Looking down and around her stuffed pussy, Jock spotted his preferred target an inch lower. Pink and puckered, Greta's iris winked as she contracted her muscles and squeezed his prick. He pulled out and guided his missile to its new destination. Greta grunted as his glans bumped, and then squeezed past, her sphincter's rim. Well-greased by her natural lubricants, Jock was home, if not dry, in three solid thrusts.

"JA! JA! JA!" Greta squealed with each push and met his incoming force with exuberance. She clutched her left breast and pinched her pink nipple while her right hand dove and fanned her boatman. "Ik ben MEER komen! Stop NIET! In GODSNAAM!"

Jock's excitement grew stronger the more he pounded her ass and the louder she yelled. Her incomprehensible Dutch only enflamed his passion more. His seed built to spilling and he roared, "ARRRGGH! Right THERE, Baby!" He slid slower as her contracting glutes crushed around him, but nothing blocked his spouting semen. In pulsing spurt after spurt, it fled his nuts and filled Greta.

Heaving a huge long sigh, she relaxed and lay limp on the bed with her ass soft and heavy in Jock's strong spread hands. He grinned at Greta's glowing face, noting that the beads of sweat on her brow were just like Mary's, when she was fully fucked. He pulled out of the Dutch teen's rectum and gently lowered her legs. Testing his new language skills, Jock said hesitantly, "Dank... je. Is that right?"

Jock's jism tickled as it slowly back-washed out of Greta's butt. She laughed a lovely lilting melodic laugh. "Ja, aardige man. Dat klopt precies!" Then, helpfully, she said, in English before slipping back into her native language, "JUST right... dank U, ook!"