Facets of Love Ch. 05

It started with her asking me to suck on her boobs so she could start lactating and eventually breast feed Robbie while Mary and I had nightly sex. Yeah, it's a bit of a stretch, but the woman had just lost her husband. I played along, thinking it was just a temporary thing and, once she got her milk flowing, she'd start feeding me ham and eggs for breakfast again and let me get the cream for my coffee out of the carton.

After a week of me drinking her milk, she decided I needed a daily blow job. She gave an equally lame excuse for why my coming down her throat was good for her daughter. I obviously didn't believe her but, hey, I wasn't getting anything from Mary at the time and my balls were turning bluer than a Democrat's necktie.

Turns out the daily blow job was just a gateway drug to what she called "sex lessons". I had to make her come before she got me off. She had the gall to suggest I wouldn't be able to satisfy her daughter once we started having sex again. Unfortunately, I didn't have the balls to call her on it. We started twice a week "how to make a woman scream for more" sessions that, I have to admit, were not only enjoyable but also informative.

The problem was, I didn't need lessons. I already knew how to please Mary and she certainly knew how to satisfy me. We proved that nearly every night. But Martha insisted she and I continue our twice weekly illicit interludes. Which worried me. Casual sex with my nearly middle-aged mother-in-law wasn't worth the risk to my marriage. So, I came up with a plan to scare Martha off.

Instead of backing off, I amped up the action. Soft caresses and gentle kisses turned into ass slapping, pussy pounding, doggy style fornicating. I'd fuck her so hard she'd dump me for a gentler man her own age.

But she liked it. The rough stuff. And asked for more.

Which, in my mind, meant anal. I'd turn her tight little asterisk into the highway to hell. No lube. No warning. I'd start off in her puss, slap her ass until it glowed like the red-light district and, when she least expected it, pull out of her primary hole and dig a secondary tunnel. She'd scream bloody murder, kick me out of the house, and make James fire me. I didn't care. I could find another job and someplace else to live. Preferably in a different state. As long as I had Mary and Robbie, I would be fine.

That was my plan. Rape Martha's ass and suffer the consequences. Intolerable situations required drastic action.

But I didn't.

I came close. The Sunday before Mary's first trip to Gainesville, I had Martha on her hands and knees. Her ass was up, her tits were down. She was getting close to coming. I could tell because she quit spouting therapy-speak and transitioned to grunts, groans and moans. I gave her a couple of deep strokes in her well lubricated puss, pulled out, and poised my more than ready cockhead at the entrance of her ass.

But I couldn't do it. Because that's not who I am. I was raised to respect women, not torture them. And that's what it would have felt like if I had continued. Instead, I kissed her on the shoulder and backed away. Leaving my confused and frustrated mother-in-law naked and alone on the bed.

When Martha didn't say anything about it for the rest of the day, or the next two days, I thought I'd won. Hoped she'd finally come to her senses. Then, on Wednesday, she came up to me and said,

"Robert, I want you to fuck me in the ass."

Which brings me to the weekend in question. The first weekend Mary spent in Gainesville while Martha and I took care of Robbie.

Martha and I discussed the entire process in detail. Not in front of Mary, obviously, and also not in Robbie's presence, although I'm fairly sure his four-month-old vocabulary didn't include the words "anal" or "sex". But we talked the hell out of it. Where we would do it. What we'd use to protect the bed. How she'd prepare her ass. What type of lube we'd use. Which position. Not to mention the endless nonsense about why. Why she wanted me to fuck her in the ass.

Not for a minute did I believe her bullshit story about a guy with a horse cock trying to screw a woman with a vagina smaller than a thimble. Their names alone convinced me she was making it up. Peter and Olive. At least she didn't call him Dick. And what kind of parents named a girl after a martini garnish?

Saturday night. When Mary and Gloria were drinking wine in Gainesville and Robbie was snoozing in his crib down the hall. That's when we did the dirty deed.

We did it in Martha's bedroom, the master suite with a king-sized bed and a TV hanging from the wall. I asked Martha if she minded me turning on one of the playoff games. She laughed, like I was kidding.

Martha gave herself an enema, I drank a couple shots of whiskey from Frank's secret reserve. We both got naked, went through the normal pre-sex stretching exercises ... tongue curls, nipple tweaks, finger plunges ... and then proceeded to the standard oral stuff. I wetted her pussy, she stiffened my dick. We were just about to get down to business when Martha asked,

"What part of your body do you think is most useful during sex? I'll give you a clue, it doesn't hang between your legs."

"My lips?"

"Close. It's your tongue."

"You expect me to lick your asshole?"

"No, although I wouldn't mind if you did. But when I said your tongue is your most erotic attribute, I was referring to the times when it's in your mouth, speaking."

"So, we're just going to talk about fucking you in the ass?"

"Oh no. We're definitely going to do it, but what you say can be just as effective as what you do."

"Sorry Martha, but I've got no friggin idea what you're getting at. You're going to have to talk me through this."

"Exactly. We're going to talk through the entire process. Now take your finger and lube up my ass.

"That's right, squirt it on my puckered hole and, when you've got a nice little puddle built up, work it inside of me with your finger.

"Perfect, just like that. Now here's where you use your tongue. Tell me what you feel."

"Uh, the inside of your asshole?"

"Come on, you can do better than that. Your job is to convince my little hole to accept your humongous dick. To do that, you're going to have to sweet talk your way in. Try it again. What do you feel when you stick your finger up my ass?"

"Well, it's warm. And smooth. And tight."

"How tight?"

"Like the finger of a glove."

"What kind of glove?"

"A soft glove. Made of silk, or whatever your nightgowns are made of."

"Really? You like my nightgowns? Tell me why. Keep rubbing lube into my ass while you tell me what you like about my nighties."

"I like how sheer they are. They cover your body, but I can see through them, especially when the sun hits them the right way."

"Do you like seeing my naked body?"

"I do."

"What's your favorite part?"

"Your boobs, and your ass, and your pussy."

"Not my lips?"

"I like them too. Especially when they're wrapped around my cock. But if I had to choose, I'd say your boobs are your best assets."

"I can tell. You can't keep your eyes off of them. Or your hands. Or your mouth. So, let's not neglect them.

"I want you to squirt some more lube onto my ass. Keep moving it around with your finger. And while you're doing that, scoot around to my side and take hold of a boob.

"Perfect. Right hand on my ass, left on my tits. Don't mix them up. Now heft the weight of my breasts while you go deeper into my ass. Can you feel how my nips harden just from your touch. Can you smell my arousal? Even my pussy wants you to violate my ass.

"Now tell me how the glove fits your lone finger? Is it still as tight as it was, or has it loosened up a bit?"

"You're right. It's not near as tight as it was before."

"What should we do about that?"

"Stick in another finger?"

"Would you like that?"

"I would."

"Then ask. Ask my ass if she has room for two fingers."

"May I fuck your ass with two fingers?"

"Yes, you may. As long as you go slow and use lots of lube.

"Oh my. That's certainly a different sensation."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No. Not yet. But thanks for asking. And thanks for being so patient. Getting your dick in my ass might be an all-night affair, but once we've done it. Once your cock is deep in my poop chute, I'll guarantee it will be worth it.

"So, keep working those fingers around. And don't be stingy with the lube. I want my ass to be just as slippery as my puss before your cock makes its debut. And while you're doing that. While you're stretching my back door entrance so it can accept your manhood, I want you to tell me why you love me?"

"What makes you think I do?"

"I don't. I think you tolerate me at best. But if you did. If you, or anybody, decided to love me sometime in the future, what would cause the change in heart?"

"No change in heart would be required. From me or anybody else. Everyone who knows you loves you. Not because of your beautiful smile, sensuous lips, easily aroused pussy, or big boobs. Okay, maybe Robbie loves you for your boobs, but when he gets older, he'll fall in love with you all over again. Because you are Martha Spencer, the most accomplished woman I've ever met. And even though you can be a real bitch at times, I only get annoyed with you because you sometimes stand between me and the one person I love more than any other."

"Are you just saying that because you've got your finger in my ass?"

"No. I don't think so. Although having a boob in my hand has been known to cloud my judgement. But the more I think on it, the more I love you."

"Good. Because I love you too. Even if you did take my five-hundred dollars on false pretenses and knocked up my daughter.

"Now let go of my boob and fuck me in the ass. And remember, even though we're doing it for the benefit of all mankind, we're still allowed to enjoy it."

It took a while. Getting my dick in her ass was a slow process. It took me nearly five minutes to get my helmet past her outer defenses. Push and pause were the operative terms. I pushed when she told me and then paused as her sphincter stretched. Once I made a beach head, once the widest part of my spear made its way past her tiny opening, I offered to call it quits and claim victory. But Martha was a woman on a mission.

With a generous amount of lube and effort, I finally bottomed out. Unlike her other holes, there was no cervix or throat to stop my advance. I just kept going deeper until my belly bumped up against her ass cheeks.

And then I drew it part way out only to push it in again, slightly faster.

And again, faster still.

And several times more, until I got permission to give the stallion his head.

We were doing it doggy. Martha's bouncing boobs were protected by a cushion, her screams muffled by a second pillow. She managed to get a finger on her clit while I set the pace with my hands on her hips. I didn't slap her ass and didn't yell out obscenities. Even though I was fucking her in the wrong hole, it wasn't as a punishment.

Her normally running commentary about my technique quickly morphed into an incoherent string of gibberish.

"Full. So full. Too full."

"Can't take..."

"Don't..."

"More..."

"Yes... there... please"

"Fuuuuu..."

The final sound out of her mouth reminded me of a blood hound baying in the swamp when she found her prey.

And then she collapsed on the bed and was silent. And still. Like comatose still. So still I rolled her over to make sure she was still breathing.

"Stay," she said through labored breath. "Spend the night in my bed. Hold me in your arms until the sun comes up. I deserve it, and so do you."

Robbie woke me at 3:00 am. Martha didn't move so I went to him, changed his diaper, and laid him next to his naked grandmother. Robbie latched on, drank his fill, and was asleep before I got him back into his crib. I spent the next hour in the nursery, listening to my son sleep while I tried to figure out what just happened to my life.

Mary got home just before 2:00 on Sunday afternoon. Robbie and I were on the couch, watching a football game as we talked about what kind of swing set we should build. Martha was in the kitchen baking an apple pie for Sunday night dinner. James was out of town but promised to come by later that evening for drinks and dessert.

Mary glowed as she walked into the house. I immediately knew things had gone well for her in Gainesville. She gave me a kiss, Robbie a hug, and then went into the kitchen to help Martha.

"How did my boys treat you when I was gone?" she asked her mother.

"Robbie was a doll," Martha said. "But your husband was a royal pain in the ass."

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

My next session with Peter and Olive produced the breakthrough they so desperately needed.

I had long before replaced my standard therapist's couch with a king-sized bed in an adjoining office. The three of us, all naked, spent two hours on the bed gently stretching and relaxing Olive's tight pussy so Peter's unusually wide namesake could enter in. I won't go into the gory details but, the process was similar to what Robert and I did to get his similarly sized cock into my ass. Except Robert and I didn't have a third set of hands, lips, and tongue to keep everything stiff and lubricated.

Despite my fear that we might need the services of a paramedic, the overjoyed couple finally consummated their marriage and left the office with promises to practice every night until their next session.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

February 2019

When I got to Oklas that February, May had already moved her stuff into my room. No reason was given. The inn wasn't full, and the forecast wasn't calling for a winter storm. Apparently, I'd been assigned a permanent roommate. Manny put it best.

"Oklas is a small town. Somebody farts on the east end of town, the entire west end smells it before the sun goes down. No sense trying to hide what you and Doc May are doing. Everybody knows you two are a thing and nobody cares. She's the best doc we've ever had and you, Mr. Ryan, employ half the town. You're damn near locals. If a stranger comes around asking about who you sleep with, your secret's safe with us."

After dinner that night, instead of me going to the bar while May snuck off to our bedroom, the two of us walked up the stairs together, like we were a couple. Once in the room with the door closed, May did something that surprised me. She took her bra off without removing her shirt and thew the garment into a corner like it offended her.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"Take off your bra. It's the first thing you do when you get home."

"Same reason businessmen take off their ties. They're uncomfortable."

"Then why wear one? For a woman with your figure, I'd think a bra, just like a man's tie, serves no useful purpose."

"Are you saying I've got small boobs?"

"I think the proper term is 'cleavage challenged'," I said.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm completely satisfied with the size of my breasts. They're just like my college GPA. A solid B+. But you're right, I really don't need a bra."

"Then why do you wear one?"

"Because of my nipples. They're more sensitive than the egos of insecure politicians. Rub them the wrong way, and they'll stand proud, stiffen their backs, and try to poke their unyielding points of view through the protective fabric of society."

"You want to run that by me again?"

"Small breasts are more sensitive to touch and temperature changes. What mother nature didn't give me in breast meat, she more than made up for with nerve endings. If I don't wear a bra, my damn nips grow to the size of Vienna sausages. It's hard enough to get my patients to pay attention to what I'm telling them the way it is. Imagine what it'd be like if my blouse looked like I had a pair of shot glasses glued to my chest."

"Okay, I get your point." I laughed, trying my best to not stare at the two bumps under her blouse. "But, getting back to your insecure politician analogy, what happens if somebody rubs your nipples the right way?"

"Same thing as what a politician does if you stroke his ego. He stands even taller and straighter, soaks up all the attention he can get, but eventually loses control."

"Are you saying..."

"Yep. I can orgasm by nipple stimulation alone."

As much as I enjoyed discussing her nipples, proving her claim was even more fun. She may have exaggerated a bit about their size. Her nips were certainly larger than the standard thimble, but not quite as big as a Vienna sausage. They were more like the "Little Smokies" I ate while watching a football game. Kind of wrinkly, about as thick as my little finger, and mighty tasty.

It took me a while but, using some of Martha's "how to please a woman" techniques, I eventually got May to come by touching nothing but her nips.

Not to be outdone, May got the same result out of me by using only her lips on my cock.

-

Mary Spencer Jones

Robert's evening call from Oklas came a bit later than it normally did and he also seemed slightly distracted. When I asked him about it, he apologized and said he'd got into a political discussion with some colleagues in the bar and lost track of time.

Truth be told, I welcomed the delay. If he had called at his usual time, I would have had to extract my tongue from Mom's pussy and hers from mine.

Not that I was purposely trying to learn new ways to please a woman but, for some reason, whenever Mom and I got romantic, my thoughts turned to Gloria.

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

March 2019

I had weekly sessions with Peter and Olive for the next couple of months.

Their first successful episode of intercourse was the result of two hours of hard work, relying heavily on my intervention. I warned them at the time that, just because they did it once, didn't mean the next time would be a piece of cake. As usual, I was right. They were a bizarre case. His large cock and her small hole were simply not compatible.

At times, I was tempted to suggest a divorce.

"Olive, go find yourself a pencil dicked geek for your next husband. They make a lot of money and are easily satisfied.

"And Peter, you'd be better off with a farm bred girl with big boobs, wide hips, and a big enough pussy to simultaneously birth twins."

I obviously never said the words out loud, but I sure thought them quite often.

Despite having numerous other clients, Peter and Olive were special. They were a challenge. Solving their problem would be a significant advance in the field of sexual therapy and a pretty feather in my professional hat. So, I sojourned on and, after several setbacks, finally came up with the right cocktail of skills to get them to the finish line.

Using oral sex to set the mood and the reverse cowgirl position for the grand finale, Peter and Olive were finally able to do it without any outside assistance. They proved it to me in my office. Two weeks in a row, I sat in my chair, fully clothed, while Olive impaled herself on Peter's spear, bouncing gleefully up and down until they both came.

It was done. They were cured. Cum laude graduates of the Martha Spencer school of sex.

"Go home," I told them. "This last session is on the house and don't bother coming back next week. You have all the skills you need for a full and enjoyable sex life."

As the happy couple walked out of my office, my heart momentarily soared with pride, only to be brought back to earth as I wondered what my next big challenge would be. I had climbed the mountain, reached the summit, and now it was time to find another peak to scale.