Betsy - Reawakened Ch. 08

Then again, she'd explained the differences to him. This was her home, not a hotel. And they were sitting where her family likely ate most of the time. She was setting a tone, separating what they had done from what they were doing; and that from what they would do later. When he looked at it from that perspective, he was surprised he was being asked to go without something on.

Offering him dessert, he happily accepted. She abstained, going about cleaning up the kitchen while he enjoyed the apple pie she'd pulled fresh from the oven. He was also enjoying the view. Her dress might have been rather plain, but in the light coming from the kitchen window, he could see just how sheer it really was. The silhouette of her curvy, feminine form was visible underneath as she washed and dried the dishes. He became lost in the graceful way she moved about, humming happily to herself like a contented housewife.

He was still lost in that image when she came over to the table. "Are you finished?" she asked, flashing a brilliant smile.

Dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, he placed his fork on the empty plate. "Mmm... yes, it was delicious, Betsy. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Sam," she winked, taking the dirty dish in her rubber-gloved hand. Spinning, the hem of her dress rose quickly, offering the briefest glimpse of her incredible thighs. He'd seen her naked for hours on end, and yet he found himself getting hard at what he imagined to be under her modest attire. She dipped the dessert plate in the steamy, soapy water, scrubbing it with a brush to make it sparkle. "So, do you remember where the basement is?"

"I presume it's still below us," he quipped.

Her lilting giggle actually made him harder. "Yes, it is. Do you recall how to get there?"

"The door is in the laundry room, isn't it?" he answered with a raised eyebrow, his response more of a question than a statement of fact.

"Yes, that's right. Why don't you go down and make yourself comfortable? There's beer in the fridge, or you can mix yourself a drink. The bar is fully stocked. I'm going to change into something more suitable for your desires, and then I'll be down to join you."

He was struck by the way she'd phrased what she'd said, and he chuckled. "My desires?"

"Yes. You are here to fuck me, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," he answered with a stunned expression, suddenly having some doubt again as to whether he should be there at all. "Look, Betsy, we don't have to -"

"My husband would tell me otherwise," she winked again. "So, I'm going to slip into something that will remind you why you're here. I wouldn't want to give you the impression that I'm not agreeing to do this for him. You just have to follow my rules, remember?"

"Certainly," he grinned, realizing it was all part of the role she seemed to be playing.

"Good. Why don't you mix me a drink while you're down there? A vodka and tonic on the rocks, please, extra stiff... just like you are right now," she teased, catching a peek of his throbbing erection as she passed by on her way to her bedroom.

"Okay."

"There's ice in the freezer down there. I'll be down in a bit," she called out from the hallway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Damn, I look gooooooood," Betsy said as she looked at her reflection.

It was unlike her to be so conceited, but she allowed herself that moment of vanity. The truth was, she did look good. In fact, she looked hot. She'd just finished putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Her long, silky auburn tresses were pulled up high, giving her a more sophisticated appearance. Her eyes were perfectly made up; the mascara making her lashes thick and voluptuous. The dark eyeliner and the heavy base of rouge gave her a mysterious allure. She'd used a darker shade of lipstick than the usual bright red. This was more of a maroon shade, matching the eye shadow.

She twirled in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, looking at how she'd dressed. Well, almost dressed. She'd gone all out; wanting to make sure Sam had no allusions as to why she was meeting him down in the entertainment room.

"Thank goodness I got that catalog from Frederick's," she sighed happily, referring to a booklet she'd gotten in the mail from a retailer out of Los Angeles. It was a company that specialized in women's lingerie, her friend Paula hooking her up with one the last time they'd been together in Chicago. Betsy placed an order, and with that shipment, she started getting the catalog, which led to more orders of sexy things to wear in the bedroom for her husband. Or as it so happened, out of the bedroom for someone else.

Betsy was in a black corset; one that was very daring. The lacy top lifted her breasts, pushing them together to form an exaggerated cleavage, while still exposing a hint of her nipples and areolas. She wore matching low-cut lace panties that showed a great deal of her hips, and most of her neatly trimmed bush. Then there was the garter belt, framing her lower half, holding up the sheer black seamed-stockings she'd only worn once before.

As she slipped on a pair of four-inch black heels, she sighed. Only this time, it was more resigned. "Why don't I dress like this for my husband?" she wondered. The truth was she'd purchased some things, but she'd not worn them. She was in an outfit Darren didn't even know she had, and that saddened her. She reasoned at first that a lot of that had to do with having the boys, yet that was but an excuse. She loved feeling sexy, and yet she seldom, if ever, dressed the part for Darren at home, saving whatever sexy outfits she had for those erotic vacations they took each year. "I have to do better for him. Shit... he's allowing me to play with Sam like this. He deserved to see me in this first."

Vowing to make it up to him for giving her the wicked weekend pass, she shook off the melancholy, intending to take full advantage of the opportunity her husband had provided her. She wasn't sure why their life had changed so dramatically over the last few years, but she wasn't going to question it. She loved who she was, and who they were as a couple; she knew they loved each other. They were just different than they used to be. They were more open, and more willing to try new things.

That said, she wasn't sure what he would think about how she was feeling at the moment, her pent-up tension making her restless. Her desires betrayed her, and it wasn't just for handsome man waiting in her basement.

She found herself slipping quietly back to Gene's room, wondering if Tony had been right. After all, Gene was in college and in his twenties... and he was good friends with Diane's son. There was no reason to doubt what Tony had told her. At the same time, he didn't live at home anymore. Not full-time, anyway. He was at school on a large sprawling campus in Southern Virginia, coming home less and less as he got used to being out on his own. He'd actually stayed on campus during the summer, finding a good paying job working in the pro shop of a golf course.

Because of that, she doubted that there might be something left behind. She was sure Tony had been honest, but there was no reason to believe that Gene hadn't taken the evidence with him. Why would he leave his pot behind? She stood in the doorway, wondering if she was wasting her time. Where would she even start to look?

It was strange that she was looking at all. It had been less than a day since she'd been introduced to the mysterious weed, but she had to admit she loved how it made her feel... especially during sex. Not to mention the lack of a headache she had the next day. While she had a stiff drink and a stiff cock waiting for her downstairs, she was suddenly craving a stiff hit as well.

"I hope I'm not becoming an addict," she said in a brief moment of fear. But Diane was right. It wasn't part of her personality to become hooked on anything. She loved coffee, but there had been occasions when she'd quit drinking it for long periods of time with no ill effects. She figured it was the novelty of it, but she did like the buzz and the added pleasure during her orgasms. She wondered if that was a one-time thing, brought on by the heady experience of having a threesome without her husband. Or was the intense feeling she got from cumming while being high actually that real. Never one to be afraid to experiment with her sexuality, she was looking at the second trial as just that, an experiment. She intended to mix sex and drugs, all in the name of science.

"Where would he even keep it?" she wondered as she looked about the room. She knew Gene wouldn't put it with the Playboys he kept in a box in his closest; magazines that really belonged to his father, plucked secretly from the trash so he could read them later. She knew he had them, and where. But she didn't mind. Hell, she was the one that bought the magazines for Darren more often than not. She had just hours before. That her curious older son had found them was not a surprise. In fact, it was a bit of relief that he was showing his interest in naked women, what with him being the shy type. A mother sometimes worries about the strangest of things.

Instead, she paused at the closet, thinking he'd never hide it there. She was in there too often putting away clothes. For that same reason, she ignored the drawers of his chest. No, he'd try to be more clever than that, thinking he could find the perfect hiding place; one where no one would ever suspect to look for anything.

Turning, she eyed his guitar. It was an old acoustic model he'd bought on a whim, saying he wanted to become America's answer to Eric Clapton. But he never picked it up to her knowledge. It stayed on a stand in a corner, as kind of a decoration underneath a poster of Cream. She didn't mind that he never took the time to learn to play the damn thing. She only bitched in her head when she had to dust it off from time to time when she cleaned his room.

"Huh. I wonder. They say sex and drugs go with rock and roll," she nodded, looking at the psychedelic writing on the poster. Picking up the guitar, she shook it, hearing something inside. Turning it over, she moved it carefully, until a big plastic baggy appeared at the sound hole in the body. A little more shaking, and the bag slid out, landing on the strings.

She grabbed the edge and pulled it free, setting the guitar back in place. Inside, there was actually a generous amount of pot. She wasn't sure how much, but she knew it was more than he probably should have on him if he ever got caught with it. There was also a package of wrapping papers, a lighter, and fourteen or fifteen perfectly rolled joints ready to go. The only difference from the ones she smoked the night before was these were significantly fatter.

"Jackpot!" she grinned, not at all upset to confirm that her son was smoking marijuana. In fact, she was actually happy, because he had left it at home. She was sure he had another source at school. That or he had bought even more from Tony, and left some behind so he wouldn't have to look him up if he came home for a weekend. Regardless, she didn't feel guilty about taking the entire bag to her room.

Pulling out the lighter and one of the joints, she put the rest of the bag in her underwear drawer before heading to her bathroom. Opening the window, she spent the next ten minutes starting her high, remembering how Diane showed her to take the hits properly. When she finished, she flushed the butt down the toilet, turning on the exhaust fan before closing the window and the door.

"It's time, Betsy," she stated, just starting to feel the warm, suddenly familiar intoxication of the pot taking hold.

Heading down the hallway in a flowing silk robe, she made sure to step confidently, as if someone were watching, all the while knowing the sound of her heels were announcing her pending arrival to her guest downstairs. She wanted him to anticipate her, to actually have desire for her like she casually mentioned. She also wanted him to wait.

The excitement grew with each step closer to the laundry room. Her nipples ached from being so hard; her pussy was on fire. She could practically hear her juicy cunt squishing as she purposely placed one foot in front of the other in a way that made her hips sway, even if it was just for her own sense of excitement.

She opened the door to the basement slowly, removing her robe, hanging it on one of the hooks she had at the top of the stairs to store coats in the winter. With there being no closet by the back door of the house, the one they almost always used, Darren had installed them for her for convenience. Closing the door behind her, she carefully made her way down the stairs, clutching the railing tightly because she was feeling more stoned by the second.

Sam was on a well-used couch, absentmindedly stroking his cock, a beer bottle in his other hand while he watched something on the old black and white television. His head turned when he saw movement to his left out of the corner of his eye, a loud gasp escaping his open mouth as she came fully into view.

Betsy simply smiled as she made her way to the bar, her drink waiting for her on the forest green Formica top. She gulped half her vodka tonic in one shot, closing her eyes as the cool liquid coated her throat.

"Ahhhhhh," she exhaled as she came to terms with what she was about to do in her own home.

"You... you look incredible, Betsy," he said as she started strutting toward him.

"And you look uncomfortable," she said in return. Downing the rest of her cocktail with just a second gulp on her way to him, she placed her tumbler on a coaster on the old end table next to the couch. Sitting on the matching coffee table, she scooted it forward, bringing her closer.

Betsy wasted no time. Any thoughts of foreplay were discarded long before, when she wrote down the rules of Sam's stay. They were both hot and horny as it was. Any prolonged preamble for a lovemaking session had already been ruled out of the question. She was there for one reason and one reason only. She was there to fuck.

And suck, apparently. Leaning forward, she engulfed his shaft deep into her mouth, ramming her lipstick coated lips over the head before jamming it into the back of her throat. Her nostrils flared out as she relaxed her muscles, taking more of his length with each dive over his cock. In just a few moments she'd swallowed him whole, holding herself still. Then, just as abruptly, she began fucking him with her mouth.

The saliva flowed past her lower lip and down her chin, a trail dangling from her pretty face as well as his balls. The gargling sounds overshadowed whatever noises were coming from the television. It was as sexy as it was disturbing the way she attacked his fleshy rod, and his head flew back as he closed his eyes.

She sucked him that way for a minute or two, coating his shaft with her spit, making a mess of his crotch and the old dark brown cushion underneath his ass. She didn't care. The furniture down there was from before they moved, and while it was at one time very elegant and tasteful, it was now exactly what you'd expect to see in a basement recreation room. They were hand-me-downs furnishings that they'd handed to themselves.

Holding his shaft, she rose from the coffee table and thrust it back with her calves as she stood, like a rock and roll star rising from his piano. Placing one knee firmly on the cushion to his right, she let the other hover as she aligned her pussy over his throbbing purplish head. Pulling her panties to the side, she split her labia with the thick mushroom head, rubbing it back and forth between her folds.

"God that feels amazing against my clit," she cooed, not really speaking to him, but more to the room she was in.

A perverse thrill shot through her when she sank her pussy over his length, feeling it stretch her velvety walls. It wasn't just that she was fucking another man in her home; the idea of doing it on that couch added to the naughtiness of it.

Darren had begged her over the years to let him fuck her on it, when it was still their living room couch. He dreamed of making love there. Hell, he would have settled for eating her out. It was everything he could to do to try and convince her, but she always refuted his advances, telling him that couch was for company, and that the children might catch them.

The truth was that for the longest time, they were a 'bedroom only' couple when it came to sex. And while things had certainly changed over the last few years, she still hadn't found the compelling reason to fuck him on it, even after it was moved to the basement. By then, she viewed it as old and sort of filthy, even though she kept it immaculate like the rest of the house.

It helped that she'd fucked Darren on their new couch in the living room upstairs soon after they got it as a compromise. With the changes in their life and how they viewed sex, she suddenly found it a turn on that someone else might sit where she came so hard. But she never got around to having sex with him on that original couch. Instead it was Sam who was balls deep inside her, breaking it in so to speak, and she let out a naughty laugh.

He was going to ask if something was funny, but he got lost in way she began riding him. She loosened the ties on her corset, allowing her breasts to spill out. Then she'd grabbed his head by the hair, pulling him into her chest, holding his face into her cleavage as she bounced on his cock. He held her waist, guiding her as he nibbled and bit at her fleshy bosom.

Feeling him suck hard, she knew what he was doing, and she started to protest. But the idea of his leaving a mark behind somehow excited her. If she wasn't going to allow him to kiss her, he had to do something with his mouth. Letting him bite and suck on her flesh seemed like a compromise she could explain later to her husband. And it would remind them both long after the weekend was over of just how dirty of a slut she could be if he was going to turn the reins loose and let her go.

Instead of scolding Sam, she encouraged him, telling him to suck hard, and leave behind any evidence he wanted.

"If my husband wants me to be a whore for him, make me look like one!" she screamed.

"OH FUCK YES!" he barked back, lost in the moment. His hands went to her corset, pulling down the lacy front further. In fact, he ripped it a bit.

He was concerned at first, but that only made Betsy fuck him harder. "YES! TAKE ME!" she howled.

Sam dove into her chest, sucking and biting her nipples, stretching them out. She groaned approvingly, humping harder, feeling an orgasm building. The way his shaft drug across her clit made her tingle; or maybe that was just the effects of the pot and the alcohol. Regardless, she was swooning and sweating as she launched the first time.

"UUUHHGGGGAAAAAAAHHHH!" she bellowed, her lungs burning as she let loose both a hellacious scream and a torrent of cum.

Sam sucked again on her breast, hollowing his cheeks as he held on, trying to leave the telltale bruising that comes with unbridled passion. Or in this case a hard, primitive fuck.

Lifting her with him, he stood and turned. He placed her back onto the cushions, gripping her ankles as he sank deeper into her cunt. He leaned forward, biting her shoulder, leaving more marks behind there. She didn't fight it. Instead, she did the same, scratching her nails down his spine in a way that they both knew would leave behind marks.

"BITCH!" he growled.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" she angrily snapped back, only to have him grab her hair and twist her head. His mouth found her neck, at the very base of her shoulder, and he swooped in like Dracula. "OH FUCK!" she shivered, knowing that was one hickey she wouldn't be able to hide.