Facets of Love Ch. 06

It's okay, I thought. Ryan's driving me home and it's not like he hasn't seen my tits before. I'll insist we don't make any stops along the way and hope nobody sees my unusual nips poking through my shirt in the apartment parking lot or hallway.

Mary's idea of breakfast was a granola bar and some fruit.

"I know it's not much," she said. "Mom usually makes bacon, eggs, and pancakes on Sunday morning. You're welcome to stay if you want, but I thought you might want to get on the road before she comes down."

"Why's that?" I asked. "Didn't you enjoy our intellectual discussion last night? I especially liked being called a 'tiny titted tart'."

"Was that before or after you asked if she charged her clients a premium for a 'happy ending'?"

"You're right. That was uncalled for. In the future, I'll try to limit my caustic comments to safer subjects, like her advancing age and declining libido."

Conversations like that are why I don't have a permanent significant other. I tend to rub people the wrong way. Friends, family, coworkers, and patients. If they wear clothes and walk on two legs, I'll eventually find a way to piss them off. Except for Mary and Ryan. I'd lied to them, slept with their spouses, and tried to kick them out of my life. But they still loved and wanted me. Or at least Mary did.

Despite the horrible things I said about her mother, Mary gave me a goodbye kiss as she deposited me into Ryan's truck.

"Think about our offer," she whispered in my ear. "I don't want to lose you, and neither does Robert."

Not that I had any intention to ever come back to Tampa, but I was curious to see if Ryan really wanted me back. Would he spend the two-hour drive to Gainesville castigating me for stealing his sperm and then walking out on him? Or would he use the time trying to convince me to move in with them, telling me how much better off I'd be with a man in charge of my life?

"Tell me about Dr. Gloria May Carter," Ryan said as we pulled away from his mother-in-law's house. "Tell me the good and the bad. Your triumphs and failures. Your loves and hates. I want to know everything about the woman who captured both my heart and my wife."

"I thought we agreed not to discuss our private lives," I said.

"That was an Oklas rule, which is now null and void. You now know everything about me worth knowing. It's your turn. Tell me what molded you into the unique and wonderful woman sitting next to me in my truck."

Before I continue, I have to explain that I was indeed sitting next to Ryan. I mean right next to him. Shoulder to shoulder. Our thighs mere inches apart. It wasn't my choice. I didn't climb into his truck and slide across the single bench seat to purposely sit close to him. If I had my way, we would have taken Mary's Honda so there was a center console between us. Or Martha's minivan, with me in the back seat. But Ryan insisted on taking his ancient pickup truck, with no backseat, no console, and no seatbelt by the passenger side window.

"I took it out and installed a harness for Robbie's car seat," was his explanation and he refused to put the truck in gear until I was strapped into the middle seat.

So, we started the trip looking like two rednecks going out on a date and then he asked me to talk about myself. He didn't chastise me for seducing his wife. He didn't bore me with details of his job. He didn't want to talk about the rumors of a pandemic in China. He was genuinely interested in me.

Why not? There is nothing in my past that will help him find me in the future. I've already severed all ties with my family. And, after everything I've put him through, he deserves to know.

I started with my first memory. Going to kindergarten and being scorned by the other children because my clothes didn't fit me. I described how my once loving mother slowly transformed into an uncaring alcoholic. I didn't go into detail about my father and uncle abusing me but mentioned it so he'd understand my general distrust and loathing of his gender.

It was actually a cathartic experience. The first time I'd ever turned my emotions into words. And what better shoulder to cry on than that of a man I would never see again.

It wasn't a completely sad tale. I bragged about graduating from high school at the young age of sixteen, taking only three years to get a BS in chemistry, and making it through med school in record time. And it wasn't a complete monologue either. Interspersed between stories of my crappy family life and amazing academic prowess, I managed to elicit a few stories out of him as well.

"I know it's none of my business," I asked, "but being married to the sexiest woman alive and having me as a mistress, how in hell did you wind up in bed with your mother-in-law?"

He laughed. "It started two weeks after my son was born. Mary and Robbie were upstairs, Martha was cooking breakfast in her nightgown, I'd just come back from a run, and... well, she started telling me about her 'Nipple Envy' theory."

"Nipple Envy? I think Mary mentioned something about it to me when we first met."

"That's not surprising. Martha's theory actually helped get our sex life back on track after Robbie was born."

We were just passing Ocala, over halfway to Gainesville, when Ryan started his explanation of Martha's weird ass theory. By that time, I was getting comfortable sitting close to him. I'd turned slightly, leaning my back against his right side, my head resting in the crease between his chest and shoulder. My legs were stretched out on the remainder of the bench while his arm draped over the back of the seat, his hand gently stroking my upper arm.

"The premise of Martha's theory," he continued, "is that, once a woman has a baby, her husband no longer has access to her nipples. And men, being the needy, selfish bastards that we are, become envious of the kid who gets to suck on those nipples whenever they want."

I don't think he did it on purpose. I don't think Ryan deliberately moved his hand from my arm to my chest as he explained Martha's Nipple Envy theory. But he did. He had his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand on my boob, which he continued to caress just like he was previously doing to my arm.

"Her husband was supposed to do it," he said as his fingers brushed up against my overly sensitive nips. "He was going to suck on Martha's boobs until her milk came in."

I should have stopped him. One smack on his wrist would have brought him out of his haze. A single snarky comment about putting his hands at ten and two would have done the trick. But why?

Why interrupt what was turning into a fascinating story? Nobody could see us. And even if they could, it wasn't like he was molesting my naked breast. He was absentmindedly tweaking my nipple through a T-shirt I'd borrowed from his wife. And, as much as I enjoyed the sensation, the chances of me coming without direct skin-to-skin contact were infinitesimal. So, I nestled into his embrace and listened to Ryan explain how he let his mother-in-law seduce him.

As my nipples grew and hardened, so did my respect and hatred of Martha. I had underestimated her. She really was a genius. After everything she had done to Ryan, he still believed that Martha's intentions were pure. She was so manipulative, so devious, that Ryan thought she'd seduced him to save his marriage. Admittedly, part of the fault was Ryan's. He was almost as naïve as his wife. If it weren't for the Martha issue, I'd be tempted to live with them for no other reason than to protect them from the rest of society.

But, as much as I loved the two of them, I was not about to sacrifice my happiness to shield them from the devil known as Dr. Martha Spencer. It was only a matter of time before she transformed the most perfect couple I would ever know into the worst kind of people in the world. People like my parents. And I refused to go through that again.

Ryan removed his hand from my breast and put it back on the steering wheel when we pulled off the interstate at the Gainesville exit. Which was a good thing, both for traffic safety and Mary's panties. Another ten minutes of nipple play, and I'd have soaked through the loaner underwear, leaving a big wet spot on the crotch of my jeans.

"You mind if I come up and use your bathroom?" Ryan asked as we pulled into my parking lot.

"Not at all. It will give me a chance to change clothes so you can take Mary's back with you."

We passed two women in the parking lot and another in the hallway before getting to my apartment. None of them seemed to notice how my obtrusive nipples tented Mary's T-shirt. Probably because they were too busy checking out Ryan.

While he used the facilities, I stripped off my clothes, put the damp panties and Mary's slightly soiled shirt in separate plastic bags and placed them on the kitchen counter, ready for transport back to Tampa.

I'm not sure who was surprised the most when Ryan came out of the bathroom, completely naked, to find me lying on the couch, also naked.

"Bedroom?" he asked.

I nodded.

He picked me up in his arms.

I pointed to the proper door.

He laid me on the edge of the bed.

I spread my legs.

He placed my ankles on his shoulders.

I guided his cock into my puss.

He pushed. All the way. To the hilt. Which wasn't his normal modus operandi. Ryan had always been a gentle lover. Lots of foreplay. Touching, kissing, licking. Fingers, lips, tongue. That was his formula. He never led with his dick, until now.

Or, maybe he and Mary weren't as naïve as I originally thought. Mary used her tongue to wake me in the morning. Her lips kissed me goodbye as she handed me off to her husband. His fingers tweaked my most sensitive erogenous zone for the last forty minutes. By the time we got to my apartment, my pussy was wetter than a swamp in a monsoon.

Did they plan this? Did they plot my seduction while they fucked each other's brains out last night? That would mean Mary purposely threw my bra in the toilet. Ryan intentionally removed the passenger side seat belt and knowingly played with my nips. And Mary's morning pussy licking... she never intended for me to cum. It was just a way to get me in the mood for what her husband had in mind. Which was a slow, deep, thorough fucking.

Oh my god. As much as I liked to be licked by a talented lady, there was no substitute for a thick, warm, cock that penetrated to my core.

"I love you May. I love your brain, your body, and your sass."

The way he said it. Looking directly into my eyes while he slowly plunged to my depths, withdrew to the shallows, and then plunged in again. Taking his time. Thinking of my pleasure not his. I knew he meant it.

"Mary loves you too. I know she told you this morning, but I want you to know that she also told me. There is room in our hearts and our house for you. Just say the word and we'll help you move in."

"What... what about Martha?" I gasped, on the brink.

"Don't worry about her. We'll make it work. We'll give you and our child the family you always wanted. The family you deserve."

The body can experience two different kinds of orgasms. One springs from the brain. It happens when a culmination of sensory inputs overwhelms your nervous system, resulting in a physical response centered entirely on your own pleasure.

The other kind of orgasm, the type I'd never experienced until that day, comes from the heart. It is an emotional explosion. An overwhelming eruption of warmth, security, and belonging. Kind of like love, but better. A heart-based orgasm is not centered around self. It is shared with another person.

The brain and heart orgasms should be dichotomous. They shouldn't be able to exist together. But on that day, I experienced them both.

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

She was gone when I came down to fix breakfast Sunday morning. The big mouthed, small breasted, supposed doctor was on her way back to Gainesville, where I prayed she would stay. I had no idea what Robert or Mary saw in her. During my brief encounter with the woman, I didn't find a single redeeming quality.

Whatever hold she had on them couldn't be sexual. Yes, she had managed to seduce both of my adult housemates, but if it came down to a bedroom competition, I knew I could out-fuck and out-lick her eleven times out of ten. With her body, it would be like bringing a butter knife to a gun fight. I was, after all, a certified expert on the subject.

Whatever her angle, I was determined to break her away from my family. The baby would be a problem. Robert was not the type of man to abandon one of his children. But, from Mary's description of the woman's tiny apartment, I'm sure she had a price.

"Fifty thousand and I'll pay for your abortion," was what I was thinking. Petty cash for me but a fortune for a woman struggling to meet daily expenses and pay off college loans. I'd get James to make the arrangements.

Once the obnoxious doctor and her bastard child were dealt with, I'd have to address the more important issue. Besides needing help raising my baby, I also wanted continued access to Robert's giant cock and Mary's sweet pussy. Neither of which I would have if they moved out. Keeping Mary, Robert, and Robbie in my house was my top priority.

Despite hearing Mary scream like an opera singer last night, I knew I had something to offer that they wanted and couldn't get from each other.

Me.

-

Mary Spencer Jones

Robert got back from Gainesville a few minutes before 1:00 pm on Sunday.

"How did it go?" I asked as he got out of the truck.

"I'm not sure. I did what we discussed, both on the way up and in her apartment, but when I asked her to come live with us, she didn't answer."

"Why not? It's a simple question. Yes or no."

"I'm not sure she heard me. She might have been slightly distracted when I asked."

"Is that your way of saying you fucked her brains out?"

"It was your idea."

"I'm not accusing, I'm commending. If you did to her this morning what you did to me last night, there's no way she'll turn us down."

"I don't know. She told me some things on the way up there. Personal stuff about her upbringing. I'm not sure she's ready for what we're offering."

"We gave it our best shot. Now, before we move on, tell me about the ride up there. Did you get her to come just by rubbing her nips?"

"Almost. If I had another fifteen miles, I think she would have left a wet spot on my bench seat."

"Wow, I wish my nips were that sensitive."

"Your nipples are perfect just the way they are. As is the rest of you."

A good husband always knows what to say. I rewarded him by pressing my tits against his chest as I kissed him on the lips.

"Do you remember what we have planned for this afternoon?"

"You take Robbie grocery shopping while I fuck your mom unconscious?"

"Exactly. And feel free to smack her on the ass every once in a while. That's what Dad did when she got out of line."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"My boobs may not be overly sensitive, but there's nothing wrong with my ears."

-

Robert Ryan Jones

Martha was a problem. My sexy, conniving, loving, hateful mother-in-law was the ultimate conundrum. She did wrong things for the right reasons. Some days I didn't know what I'd do without her while others I didn't know what to do with her. Mary and I agreed that we needed to keep her in our lives, but we had to set limits, lay down the law. Somehow, we had to convince this hardheaded alpha female that, to get what she desired, she'd have to accept things she didn't want. To put it simply, if she wanted us, she'd have to accept Gloria May.

That was my assignment for Sunday afternoon. I had to both punish and pleasure her. Break her down and then build her up. Not normally my thing, but after the way she treated Gloria May the previous evening, I was willing to let my inner troglodyte run wild.

As soon as Mary and Robbie left the house, I confronted Martha in the kitchen.

"You and I need to have a talk," I said.

"Are you referring to tonight's dinner menu or do you have something else in mind?" Her smug look infuriated me. Her low-cut dress, exposing a good portion of her bountiful bra-less breasts, had the opposite effect.

"Let's start with your shameful treatment of Gloria May last night and, once you've apologized sufficiently, we'll move on to why you tricked me into impregnating you."

"No," she said and turned away from me.

"That's all you can say?"

"It's all I should have to say, but if you need further clarification... No. I won't apologize for treating a slut like a slut. And no, I didn't trick you into getting me pregnant. I didn't tie you down and rape you. Let the record show that you were a willing and eager participant in the act."

She was bending over the kitchen counter, working on a salad, not even looking at me. Like her collection of lettuce, tomatoes, and croutons were more important than my concerns. She was controlling the conversation and, if I didn't act fast, I would quickly lose the upper hand.

Whack!

In one swift move, I raised the seam of her dress with my left hand as my right smacked her bare, panty-less ass.

Whack!

"Really Martha. You're calling Gloria May a slut and yet you're the one walking around without underwear."

Whack! Whack!

Two more blows, one to each cheek.

"And there's a big difference between consensual sex and intentionally going off birth control."

Whack! Whack!

"Says the man who took advantage of my teenaged daughter."

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"That was different. She said she was on the pill."

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Go ahead. Hit me until your arm gets tired. Spank me until my bum turns purple. It won't change the fact that I'm having your child and, short of murder, there is nothing you can do about it."

I reared back to give her another blow and realized that, not only was her ass already the color of a ripe tomato, but she hadn't done anything to escape my grasp. In fact, I wasn't even holding her down. She was willingly leaning over the counter, letting me beat on her butt like a tom-tom drum. There was also the small matter of a large bulge in my shorts.

Since her ass seemed to be immune to pain, I decided to take my vengeance out on a different part of her anatomy. One of the many things Martha had told me during our "how to please my daughter" lessons was to ensure a woman's vagina was properly lubricated before sex.

"Shoving something as big as your cock into an unprepared pussy is almost as painful as childbirth," she had said.

That was my next brilliant idea. A sure-fire way to make Martha regret her deeds. I'd shove ten inches of hardened steel into her bone-dry cunt. No preamble. No gentle entry. One powerful thrust forcing my mushroom headed lance past her outer barrier, through her inner entrance, up her dry gulch, all the way to her cervix. If that didn't make her scream in agony, nothing would.

She didn't scream. And I felt absolutely no resistance to my penis plunge. Because, after five minutes of beating her bottom, her pussy was wetter than May's after a half hour of nipple play. And Martha's moan wasn't one of discomfort. It was as if I'd just rubbed a soothing salve on her recently abused ass.

Not willing to believe that getting her ass spanked really turned her on, I tried it again. Pulled my cock out of her puss, swatted her already stop-light colored gluteus maximus, and plunged right back in. Only to get another moan. After a dozen or so repetitions, Martha's groans increased in volume and pitch, my cue that she was on the verge of coming.

Which wasn't in the plan. At least not yet. I was supposed to punish her, break her down, make her acknowledge her indiscretions and apologize before I rewarded her with a life altering orgasm.