Les Autres Ch. 01

"Hallo, oom," she greeted him, while her fingers began loosening the laces of the black velvet corset overlaying the waist of her forest green cotton dirndl.

Doherty watched his nineteen-year-old niece's hands work below her billowing white peasant blouse. His own hands pulled two crystal double-shot glasses from under the bar and set them on the counter next to a bottle of Powers and a bottle of Bols Genever. "Hallo, Rosie," he replied, practicing his limited Dutch and using her pet name. As he poured himself a single malt Irish whiskey he asked, assumptively, "Dutch Gin for you?"

"Ja, bedankt ... met wat suiker," Greta answered, with a lilting light voice. She knew her native language was a big thrill for her uncle, even though he understood virtually none of it.

Brian pointed to the sugar cube in the second shot glass as the jenever splashed and eroded its edges. "Ja," he said, proudly displaying his bi-lingual skills before switching to English. "I thought you might want some... but after THAT... I'm going to get some IRISH into you."

Greta advanced to the bar, tossing her undone vest onto the large round table in the middle of the room as she passed by. With a big smile, she raised her glass and toasted, "Proost! Hardly can I wait for 'some Irish' in me... But, oom, do you WANT to get... uhm, how do you say?... ;in DUTCH?'" Her eyes sparkled as she riposted his double entendre with her own newly learned American colloquialism.

Doherty downed his whiskey, then wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand as he banged his empty glass on the bar. "ALWAYS, Rosie," he replied huskily, while he stepped around the end of the counter and faced her.

Greta laughed again and looked down. Brian's rigid six-inch cock wigwagged "hello" to her in a universal language. She gently closed her left thumb and index finger on its ruddy bald head and pressed the spongy velvet surface. His slit grinned back at her. "Yes, Uncle Brian," she said, as his soft plump bulb throbbed in her light pinch. "I see our good friend is eager, too."

Brian groaned as her hand slipped below the helmet and slid down his shaft. While she hefted and pulsed his cradled heavy hanging nuts, he pulled her stretchy blouse, with her jumper's shoulder straps, to her elbows. Her plaster-white 37DD breast tops bloomed above the Chantilly lace-trimmed cups of her slightly less white underwired brassiere. Leaning forward, he kissed his niece warmly. His hands unhooked and tugged away her bra.

Dropping his balls, Greta ardently returned Doherty's kiss as she reached behind him and dug her fingernails into his firm buttocks. He growled into her open mouth and waltzed her past the table and chairs toward a thick deep burgundy velvet drapery hanging against the room's side wall, opposite the door.

While Greta's pliant lips played with his, and their tongues dueled, Brian threw the curtain's brass rings back on their gleaming steel rod, revealing the room's special alcove and huge brass four-poster bed. Breaking their kiss, he suggested forcefully, "Let's get TO it, then, Rosie... you know how busy Friday night can be."

"Ja, oom, I know," Greta breathed. Her honey-spice-and-tulip perfume was more intoxicating for Doherty than the Powers whiskey. "But, not so busy, so soon," she burbled, nearly inaudibly. "We will take time... enjoy each other, ja?"

"Oh, JA, Rosie... ja," agreed Brian, in a decrescendo. He bent his head to her big pale breasts and kissed his way to their outsized coral areolae and bright pink nipples; the inspirations for her sobriquet. His fingers lightly teased and tugged one side while his lips and tongue feathered the other. Greta's moaning increased as he switched rapidly back and forth.

"Oh, je maakt me GEK!" Greta cried out and pushed her uncle's shoulders until he slid down her body, pulling her dress and ruffled petticoat to the floor as he knelt. When his face was in front of her white semi-sheer rayon panties' sopping gusset, she clutched the back of his head and pulled him tight to her long camel-toe. She screamed with unfulfilled agony. "Eet me, NU!"

Doherty was overcome by the pungent erotic sex-scent blossoming before him. He whisked down Greta's briefs and buried his nose in her abundant dandelion muff. Her medium-thick pink wet pussy lips divided around his diving driving tongue. She ground herself onto his cheeks and twitched her ass in his gripping hands. When he latched onto her little man she came, hard. "Ja, door GOD, ik ben klaar! Take Me! NEUK ME!"

Brian was more than ready, too. He rose and pushed his niece backward onto the bed, following her quickly. She pulled his armpits and embraced his hunching back. He swiftly targeted and entered her, exclaiming, as he sunk to his pubis, "Oh... YEAH!"

"JA, oooOOM!" Greta echoed deliriously, feeling Doherty's fat dick fill her and begin its delicious slithering slides. Her cunt squeezed him rhythmically in concert with his deep straight thrusts. Greta's climax rebuilt and burst anew. She wailed, "Mijn GOD... stop NIET! Weer! Ik kom eraan... WEER!"

Brian huffed and gritted his teeth. His scrotum bound his charged eggs and his chest pounded. Lunging strongly, he laminated his loins to Greta's nest and exploded. Gasping as he ejaculated, he exclaimed, "Me TOO, Rosie!" She raked his spine with her sharp nails, while he panted, "HERE'S the IRISH for you... Drink UP!"

"Ja... MEER! ... Geef me MEER!" Greta refused to release her uncle's flexing spitting prick. She clenched her thighs, her ass, her cunt; milking the stiff stick and begging him for more.

Depleted at last, Doherty flopped his hundred and seventy-five pounds down onto Greta's heaving sweaty mounds. Their mass flattened against his hard pectorals. He nuzzled her neck, reveling in her perfume, while she soothingly stroked out the red streaks her clawing nails had left on his lats and deltoids. She mewled sweet nothings into the air, basking as her orgasmic glow warmed her, and then, transferring through her tits, penetrated Brian's torso.

Like a human cannonball, Elizabeth Doherty burst through the snuggery door, interrupting the post-coital cuddle. "You BASTARD! You WHORE!" Red with rage, she used her two hundred pounds to her best advantage, clearing a path to the alcove by shoving the big round table and all its surrounding chairs out of her way. "Get UP! Get OUT! You ungrateful WHORE!"

Greta, trying in vain to cover herself with a pillow, scrambled awkwardly from the bed and sidled warily past her aggrieved aunt. Stooping, she scooped up her costume and panties. Elizabeth spun and ranted, "I said, O-U-T... OUT! Put your clothes on in the storage room... you HUSSY! Get OUT of here!" With Brian's cum and her own juices dribbling down her inner thighs, Greta slunk out and quietly closed the door behind her.

Alone with her cowering husband, Elizabeth sputtered as she brought her outrage under control. "Now... you unfaithful DOG... You LISTEN to me and I mean 'listen' GOOD!" Narrowing her icy blue eyes, she glared needles and continued. "I don't CARE if she's your sister's only daughter... OR that she's a refugee from the Nazi take-over in Holland... She is OUT."

Elizabeth's breathing finally self-corrected and her voice evened out. "I mean 'OUT'... as in FIRED. As in OUT of my HOUSE... and OUT of your PANTS!" Sliding her hands up from her hips to her buxom bust, she grabbed hold of her breasts and shook them inside her dress. "You want TITS? These 40's are here WAITING!"

Dropping her hands to her hem, she hiked her skirts and thrust her pelvis forward. Her thick rusty-brown beaver poked out at the leg seams of her cream-colored panty briefs. Her fat cunt lips bulged against the gusset. She continued, "You want to EXERCISE your pathetic prick? THIS is your playground!"

Dropping her dress, Elizabeth hissed, "But you ABSOLUTELY do NOT fool around with that TROLLOP or any OTHER woman. The Church won't forgive a divorce, but I'll get absolution if I CASTRATE you... and put your nuts in the pickled eggs jar on the bar." She stepped to the end of the bed and shook her fist. "And that's EXACTLY what I'll do, Brian Doherty, if you step outside your yard again."

Not waiting for a response, Elizabeth wheeled around and stalked out. She grinned through tight thin lips when she saw Greta had already vacated the storeroom. Marching upstairs, she exited to Bridges Avenue like a whirlwind, without a second glance at her niece, who was nervously pouring a draft beer for a leering longshoreman.

While Elizabeth Doherty was storming from The Shillelagh into an otherwise clement June evening, Arlene Hart stood on the back porch of the Victorian mansion at 46 Garvey Street. She continuously tapped the right toe of her high-heeled navy pump on the porch floorboards. With her jaw was set and her teeth clenched, she repeated, louder, a set of four hard staccato raps on the door frame.

Jock McGuinness opened the door and greeted her, "Hello, Arlene." Seeing that she was agitated and guessing he had not heard her first knocks, he offered, "Sorry, I was in the front room reading Twain... been here long?"

"Long enough," Arlene answered curtly, pushing past into the hallway, uninvited. Jock, with a furrowed brow, followed her into the kitchen where she stopped and spun about-face. Before he could speak, Arlene poked her stiff right index finger into Jock's hard chest. Scowling, she seethed, "Just where do you get OFF, Jock?" She poked him again. "I told you, this afternoon, we could fuck, but YOU said, 'I'm bushed' and gave me money to go buy 'the boys' drinks."

Arlene jammed her finger a third time into Jock's solar plexus. He was beginning to get sore. "So," she demanded, again, "Just where do you get off, getting rid of ME so you can go into MY home and rape my DAUGHTER?"

McGuinness flushed involuntarily and blustered, "Rape? That's a pretty strong word, Lena."

Arlene slapped his face, leaving a red handprint on his cheek. "Don't 'Lena' ME, Jock! 'Rape" is the word, when a woman says 'NO' and a man forces himself on her... Cynthia told me all about it."

Jock grabbed Arlene's right wrist before she could strike him again. "Alright, now YOU listen to ME, Arlene," he began, straining to remain peaceable. "Cindy only said, 'no' when I kissed her, a little bit, the first time." He searched his bookkeeper's face for clues to her reception. "She LIKED the second kiss and WANTED it... wanted ME." He risked releasing Arlene's hand. "Yes... I fucked her. Couldn't help myself... she's beautiful, just like her MOTHER."

Jock closed the distance between them and slid his hands up Arlene's bare arms to her shoulder points. Holding her firmly, he said, sincerely, "I didn't turn you down so I could be with Cindy. It just happened that way." He saw Arlene's eyes soften as she processed his words. "Did she tell you we did it just once? Well, that's not true." He chuckled and confessed, "I had her front, back and sideways. I came THREE times and she was CHIRPING throughout, believe me."

Seizing the moment, Jock pulled Arlene into a tight embrace. He entwined his left fingers in her hair while his right hand smoothed her dress' sleek fabric from its scooped back neckline to her bottom. "She's a sweetie, and YOUNG, but she's not in YOUR league, Lena." He knew his wooing was winning her over when Arlene slumped into his chest, stuffed her hands inside his khakis' hip pockets and flexed her fingers into his butt cheeks.

She knew, from her experiences with Ted and Cynthia in recent weeks, that Jock was not exaggerating. Her daughter had been introduced to sex and was not now going to join a nunnery. Arlene did not like the complexity of sharing her men, though. "Ted's ONE thing," she thought, as she stared past Jock's head at the kitchen wall, "but, Jock is another matter, altogether."

Sighing without disengaging, Arlene spoke softly into her boss' ear. "OK... I GET it... but don't 'DO IT' with her again. I'm already splitting you with your wife... don't divide the pie THREE ways... Alright?"

Jock, relieved to hear Arlene had no clue he was also fucking Mary, patted her ass, then coursed his right hand upward again. Still lightly scratching her scalp with his left hand, he unzipped her dress while he breathed heavily into her ear, "Alright, Lena... Cindy's off-limits." Spreading the back of her dress, he unhooked her black lace bra and dove his hand under the elastic of her sheer black rayon panties. "Now, what do you say... You want that 'rain check' now?"

Arlene's pussy percolated in her briefs and answered for her as Jock's exploring fingers wedged between her thighs and covered themselves with her fresh dew. She moaned and melted onto his burly chest. "Y-yesss," she hissed sotto voce.

Jock stepped back and watched the unsupported blue-and-yellow dress fall around Arlene's ankles. She shrugged and shimmied herself free of her flapping bra. Stooping, Jock swept her into his arms, kissed her and then asked with a boyish grin, "Upstairs? Downstairs?"

Arlene smiled and said, "Doesn't matter to me." Then, looking at him with half-closed eyes, she quipped, "so long as you are 'In milady's chambers.'" Rolling left in his cradle, she dug her fingers through his thin undershirt and mined his chest for the hard nuggets she knew she would find there.