Blitzed

Needless to say, within minutes of them leaving I was on my hands and knees on the bed, trembling as we enjoyed our first father/daughter fuck since we left home. As he unloaded inside me I made a silent promise to Mum and Hamish, to do what I could to make up for Dad and I stealing their chance.

As it turned out my help wasn't needed, because they returned just over an hour before lunch. I knew they had been talking when Hamish nudged Angus and whispered "Go on laddie, ask yer Mum." Looking at me he pulled a face. "He's been naggin' us. Wants t' know if you an' yer Dad will play in the sand wi' 'im. Isn't that right son?"

Angus nodded uncertainly and sat on my lap. "Can we Mummy?"

I glanced at Dad and he stood up. "I don't see why not. It's his holiday as much as ours." He looked at Mum and Hamish. "OK, come on you two."

Hamish shook his head. "You three go on ahead. We'll hang around and order some sandwiches or whatever they have in the kitchen. We'll see you on the beach in a while."

Before Dad could insist they come with us I rose from my chair, hoisting Angus on to my hip. "OK, good idea. We'll see you down there." I glanced back as we turned towards the path to the beach, my son walking between us holding our hands, and saw Hamish, now minus his shorts, push the door to. I walked as far as the first bend in the path and stopped. "I must have dropped my sunglasses somewhere" I told Dad. "You go on and I'll catch you up."

It wasn't true, I had hidden them in the folds of the towel I was carrying, but it gave me an excuse to return to the hotel. It was only my instinct that told me they had shagged the first time we had a picnic lunch, and I saw this as my chance to know for certain. Creeping to the rear of the unit I peered through the window, relieved to discover that Mum and Hamish had been too impatient to bother going into the bedroom. The high sill of the window prevented me from seeing more than the top of my husband's head, and moving to the door I held my breath as I turned the handle, hoping that they were too preoccupied to notice the door opening.

I couldn't see much through the narrow crack, but Mum was sitting on a chair beside a small writing desk, with her back to me. Hamish was standing with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, an intense look on his face as her head bobbed back and forth. From my position it was impossible to see more, but my imagination gave me a perfect picture of her mouth sliding back and forth on his cock. A moment later she straightened and rose, and for an instant before he took his place on the chair she had vacated, I saw his stiff dick, glistening with her saliva. Turning to face him she smiled and lifted his hands to her tits as she sank down to engulf his cock.

I was disappointed that I was unable to see him going in and out of her fanny, but at least I had the confirmation I needed, and I watched her rise and fall for a few moments, my heart thumping so hard I was sure they would hear. As much as I wanted to watch him cum inside her I was afraid of lingering too long in case a passer by saw me spying, or even worse, in case Dad started wondering why I was taking so long and came looking. Still, I had seen for myself that Hamish and Mum really were shagging each other, so I was more than content. It would have been nice to see her slit slippery with his cream, but it wasn't important enough to risk discovery for. Carefully pulling the door closed, I hurried along the path, remembering at the last second to don my 'lost' sunglasses before I reached the beach.

There was nothing really noteworthy about the final week of our holiday, other than that Dad and I took turns with Mum and Hamish in collecting a picnic lunch, and of course shagging. I had hoped for one more opportunity to have Armand between my legs again, but it wasn't to be, and I felt a twinge of regret when we took our leave and boarded the boat for Lavandou and home.

There were two surprises waiting for Hamish when we arrived home, one pleasant, and the other less pleasant but nonetheless not entirely unwelcome. The first became apparent when he went to check how Clive Kelly had managed in our absence. Almost a quarter of the motor cars in stock when we left had been sold. Acting on his own initiative Clive had engaged his younger cousin as a junior salesman, to 'warm up' prospective clients, and keep them interested until he himself could clinch the sale, promising the young man a share of his commission when 'the boss' returned. Since the system appeared to be successful, Hamish decided against interfering, although he spent a frantic week and a half seeking replacements for the depleted stock.

The second surprise concerned Bert Proctor. Although Hannah had been a more than willing, even eager participant, in the weeks leading up to our holiday Hamish had become increasingly resentful of the way Bert mistreated his wife's tits and fanny. This resentment had unconsciously affected my husband's attitude towards the mechanic, without Bert knowing why. It came as something of a relief then, when Bert thanked him for taking him on and giving him a start, but told him reluctantly that he had found employment in another city, and would leave in two weeks.

This meant that Hamish would have to don his overalls again until a suitable replacement could be found, but first, since Clive had mentioned the poor sales image of using the workshop office to sign sales contracts, he ordered and supervised the construction of a prefabricated sales office at the rear of what I still thought of as the Turnbull site.

When our son was in bed the same night, Hamish was feeling me on the couch and he hinted again how good Doris had looked without hairs. I definitely wasn't in love with the idea of anything sharp so close to such a delicate area, but I was in love with my husband, so I agreed to allow him to shave my fanny.

The soapy caress of his shaving brush had me in a lather in more ways than one, and I grasped his wrist to press the stiffly flexible bristles against my clitoris. It took a great effort of will to hold still when he applied the razor, and I heaved a sigh of relief when he finished, but I had to admit the end result was worth it. Until I saw it in a hand mirror I had never known that my love bud was so prominent, which in turn explained why I was so easily aroused. Seen for the first time, my now hairless slit looked to me even more attractive than Doris had, although admittedly the grainy black and white film didn't do her justice. The caress of his hand as he applied talcum powder was more sensual than I could have imagined, and I reached for his dick, my only thought being to feel it inside me with his shaft caressing my exposed clitoris.

A couple of days later when Dad took my knickers off, I was a little apprehensive about how he would react to my new bald state, but his response was totally unexpected. With a delighted smile he parted the smooth lips, and for the first time ever I felt his mouth on me. To describe the feeling as amazing would belittle it. Not even Doris had licked me with such skill, and when I came my climax was almost violent as I tangled my fingers in his hair to pull his tongue deeper. When he finally raised his grinning face and prepared to put his dick into me, I couldn't bring myself to let him go unrewarded, so I shook my head and took him into my mouth.

Inevitably this new turn of events added a new dimension to our activities. Now that Dad knew I, unlike most women according to him, was not deterred by a mouthful of cum from sucking his cock, we began to pleasure each other with our mouths with as much enthusiasm and almost as often as we shagged, although happily Hamish still preferred to put his cock in my fanny.

A week before Bert left Hamish took on a third year apprentice mechanic, to take care of routine servicing on the days he was out on buying trips. Lady Luck continued to smile on us as the business prospered beyond our wildest hopes. With Malcolm Fisher, the apprentice, to ease the workload, Hamish was able to spare two, and often three afternoons a week looking for new stock, although he still worked late hours in the garage after Malcolm had gone home.

A few weeks after the apprentice started a pattern began to emerge. On the days Malcolm was required to attend trade school, Mum took it on herself to take a midday meal to Hamish, returning an hour or more later with the empty plate, and, I had no doubt, a full twat. This took a load off my mind, since I had been trying to think of ways for them to spend time together, without them suspecting that I knew what they were doing.

The sales side of the business continued to flourish, thanks in no small part to Hamish's reputation for honest and fair dealing, something that was sadly lacking in many sectors of the second hand car trade. By late 1950, with five salesmen now on the payroll, including Clive who was now officially sales manager, Hamish applied to one of the major car makers to become an authorised dealer. Unfortunately, after a visit from a representative he was rejected, on the grounds that to be associated with a dealer operating from what was essentially a bombed site did not fit in with the image the company wished to project.

After serious thought and much discussion, at the beginning of 1951 Hamish took a gamble, and invested a large portion of the accumulated profits in having an impressive showroom built. His next application, supported by sales figures and bank records was successful, and a month later he took delivery of a full range of new cars. In the succeeding months and well into 1952 sales continued to grow, and on the 'recommendation' of the car maker's representative during one of his regular inspection visits (the way the recommendation was phrased hinted that dealer authorisation could be withdrawn as easily as it had been granted), a modern service centre was built next door to the showroom, and behind the garage, which was then demolished.

Malcolm, who by now had completed his apprenticeship, was invited to take part in a three week course at the car factory, to further familiarise himself with each model. Hamish was involving himself less with the mechanical side and more with administration, which necessitated the hiring of another mechanic, to work under Malcolm's supervision.

Opportunities had become restricted when Malcolm no longer had to attend trade school, but a chance but unrelated comment led me to conclude that floating between both sides of the business also allowed Hamish to take time to visit Mum at home for their regular fuck.

The 1950s were a time of flux. Under the influence of American magazines and such, British youth adopted more and more slang in place of familiar expressions. For example they stopped going to the cinema, or the 'flicks' as my generation called it, referring instead to 'taking in a movie'. Many terms used by my generation only in the privacy of the bedroom began to appear in the common speech of teenagers. Words like 'boobs' and 'knockers' were readily bandied about, as were 'clit', 'snatch', 'pussy' and 'clam', which last I found particularly distasteful. Amongst other expressions, 'screw' and 'fuck' were preferred to the now too British 'shag', and I became so used to overhearing them that they became automatic additions to my mental word jigsaw.

Perhaps the most notable foreign influence, mostly Parisian, was in women's clothes. As hemlines slowly crept up, underwear began to shrink, as did the descriptions. Underwear manufacturers reaped greater profits, as in the name of fashion they charged three times as much for a third of the material. Brassieres became smaller, and in turn were referred to simply as 'bras', whilst knickers were banished in favour of 'panties', and the appropriately named 'briefs'.

In May 1953 Hamish bought our first television set, and on the second day of June Mum,Dad, Hamish and I sat huddled before the small screen to watch the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.

Later the same year the armistice brought the Korean conflict to an end, and more of our soldiers returned home to be welcomed as heroes.

One morning I went shopping for groceries after taking Angus to school, and I picked up a few things for Mum, since I was stopping off at her place on the way home. She was coming down the stairs as I opened the front door, and when she saw me she pulled her housecoat closed, but not before I noticed that her mound was as smooth as mine. I assumed from her reddened pussy lips that Hamish had paid her an early visit, but she smiled and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Hello dear, look who's here."

If it hadn't been for the uniform with the three stripes on his sleeve I might not easily have recognised the figure coming down the stairs. The hair was thinning and grey, and the waist thickened, but the embarrassed smile was unmistakably Chuck. As he reached the bottom stair I dropped the shopping and threw my arms around him in delight and gave him a warm kiss of welcome. He shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably at almost being caught in the act, but I pretended not to notice, and dragged him into the living room whilst Mum made cups of tea for herself and me, and coffee for Chuck. Pushing him on to the couch, I demanded he tell me about what had happened to him since we last saw him. Over the next hour or so he told us about his various postings around Europe and Asia, finishing in Korea, where his job as supply sergeant kept him a safe distance from any action. Now that conflict was ended, he had decided to end his army career after more than twenty years and return to his homeland, but first he had to look up and say goodbye to the only people who had ever treated him as family.

When he had finished I told him about Hamish and Angus, and how, starting only with a few army surplus Jeeps, my husband had built up a prosperous business. He seemed genuinely pleased, even joking about the American made Jeep, and saying we couldn't have made it without the Yanks. As I got ready to go home he insisted on walking with me to carry my shopping.

During the short walk Chuck seemed preoccupied, then he stopped and looked at me. "Look, Thelma. About your Mom."

I shook my head quickly. "No need to explain. Mum would never have done anything with anyone she didn't have feelings for, so as far as I'm concerned that makes it alright."

He heaved a sigh of relief and resumed walking, and when we arrived he set the shopping on the kitchen bench and stood looking at me. "The years have been kind to you Thelma. You hardly look a day older." I smiled at the compliment, even though it wasn't true, and tried to think of something to say in return, but he beat me to it. "The things we did together... you know?..." I nodded, remembering, and waited for him to continue. "Well I was thinking how it was always in the blackout, so I never actually saw you."

I knew what he was thinking, and in truth I was thinking the same. My fingers went to the buttons on my blouse. "Perhaps it's time you did then." He watched intently as I took off my blouse and reached behind me for my bra fastening.

A smile lit his face as my breasts fell free. "They are bigger than I remember."

I returned his smile and patted my tummy. "So is this. Having kids can do that to you. Heaven knows what I'd be like if I'd had more than one."

"Probably just as good." He was being gallant and I knew it. I fumbled with the fastening of my skirt, but he shook his head. "Better not go any further. I don't have a rubber."

I let my skirt drop and taking his hand, turned towards the stairs. "You don't need one." Stretching out on the bed in the spare room, I slipped off my panties, feeling his eyes devouring my hairless slit as he undressed. "That's bigger than I remember too," I grinned when he stepped out of his underpants and his dick sprang free.

"You're so like your Mom," he whispered, lying down next to me. I wasn't sure if he was referring to my being shaved, or comparing my looks and figure with Mum's, and I hoped it was the former, not being too keen on the idea of being compared to a much older woman. Then his fingers were between my legs, and I no longer cared what he meant. I squeezed his hard cock, moving my hand up and down its length as his fingers explored my wetness, then I pulled him over me. The slide of skin on wet skin was bliss when he pushed into me, and the memory of furtive fumbling in dark doorways returned as we fucked with complete and uninhibited abandon. This time though it was infinitely better, because there was no unwanted rubber barrier to take the edge off our pleasure when we came in a rush of liquid release.

As we dressed afterwards, we each promised to keep in touch, but we both knew they were only words, said to fill in that awkward moment of realisation that things had run their course. At least we had finally had our chance to say goodbye, and a pussy filled with Chuck's cum seemed a fitting way to close the door on the past.

Angus turned fifteen in 1957, and although, like most mothers, I had hopes that he would go on to university to study law or medicine, I did not stand in his way when he expressed a wish to take after his father and become a mechanic. Within days he took up an apprenticeship, and 'Browning and Son' became more than just a name. Mum continued her lunchtime visits, but now that she was feeding them both she was forced to be more discreet, so reluctantly she had no choice but to keep her knickers on.

Over the last couple of years, Dad's gas ravaged lungs had been getting steadily worse, until it reached the stage where even shagging me put too much strain on his breathing. Work was out of the question, and he was spending more time in bed than out of it, which meant Mum had to give up her job to look after him, with me taking over when she needed a break. He lost none of his sense of mischief though, and sometimes during Mum's absences he would ask me to sit on the bed beside him so he could feel me.

Five weeks after my son started work we were all devastated when the inevitable happened, and Dad passed away. Mum remained stoic throughout the funeral, and over the following couple of weeks, but one morning I popped in to check on her and found her looking at a photo of Dad, and weeping quietly. I knew words were no good, so I sat holding her until the tears stopped.

That was the only time I know of that she cried over Dad's passing. It wasn't that she hadn't loved him, because she most certainly did. I think it was more that she was relieved not having the pain of watching him fight for every breath. More than a little worried about her becoming depressed on her own, I had a word with Hamish, and between us we persuaded Mum to stay at least a few nights a week in our spare room.

Dad had been gone about six weeks before Mum was finally able to talk about him openly. We were sitting on the couch having our usual morning cup of tea, when she put her cup aside and fiddled absently with the top button of her blouse. "I really miss him you know."

I nodded. "Yes, I know. We both do. We all do," I amended.

"No, I mean I miss him here," she touched her breasts, and then between her legs. "and here. Especially here."

I don't know what made me say it, but the words were out before I could stop them. "At least you still have Hamish."

She looked at me sharply. "What do you mean?"

I smiled. "It's OK Mum. I know. I've always known."

"And you didn't mind?"

"Not at all. Men will be men, and if Hamish was going to shag another woman, I'd rather it be someone who wouldn't try to take him away from me."

She was silent for a while, then she took a deep breath. "Seeing as you know about Hamish, I'd better tell you something that happened late one night a few months before our holiday in France. It was on one of the very rare occasions your dad was able to persuade me to use my mouth -- you need to understand that girls of my generation were brought up to believe that only 'bad' women did that sort of thing, mostly for money. Heaven forbid they did it for pleasure -- anyway I was doing it and I tasted something on him that seemed out of place. I wasn't sure what it was at first, until it dawned on me that it was not unlike the taste on your dad's lips after he kissed me down there, which was what he used to do when he was trying to convince me to let him put it in my mouth. He thought it would make me more willing."