Secret No Longer Ch. 03

[Thanks to all who have given comments and votes to Chapter 01 of this story. At this moment as I write this, Chapter 02 has not yet been approved and posted. I am aiming at coming up with the successive parts of this story at about the same rate as it takes for approval and posting.

Here and elsewhere, some have questioned the way I write some scenes, sex scenes in particular. To some the style seems overly poetic and ethereal, though the most common adjective is "flowery."

I do have a specific reason for that approach. I do not insist that it's exactly the right one; like all writers, I'm groping for the ideal approach and depending on readers to guide me.

I have just submitted an essay in the Essays and Reviews category that goes into this, titled "The Ideal Sex Scene? My (perhaps heretical) theories on the art" If you're curious about the basis for this aspect of the style I use, please take a look at that.

Thanks again.]

Hi, all, this is Jason. Remember, Linda and Janine and Fred and all? Right, that Jason.

I'll guess that a lot of you are really waiting for my mom, Linda, to take up where she left off. Well, just chill there for a while; that's on the way. Dad just gave you some exposition and I think I should give you the rest.

First, though, one thing: I know a lot of you think it's pretty weird, Dad and Sammy getting into pictures of Mom and Jannie doing their mambo, me taking the pictures and—yeah, I'm busted—watching for my own fun, and all that. Maybe it is pretty weird. Maybe Dad will explain some of that later on, maybe not; I don't know. I do have a few ideas, though, that might hold some water.

First, remember that part where Mom was recalling a time when Dad was giving a speech somewhere and Sammy was off in South Nowhere doing geek stuff? That should be a clue. Yes, they travel. A lot. And neither one of them is the kind that uses being on the road as an excuse to screw around. In my view, if they can bring a bit of home and wife with them in these pictures instead of hustling one-night-stands in the hotel bar, that can only be a good thing.

Second, well, these are two damn good-looking women. Why wouldn't Dad and S. both like the idea of enjoying a glimpse of each others' wives, knowing it's cool and safe and out in the open? I mean, they aren't about to try to hustle them, just enjoy the view. What's the harm?

(By the way, if you happen to be one of those weenies that thinks husbands like that are wimps, keep it to yourself. I know Dad a hell of a lot better than you do. Sammy too. If I can't delete your noses, I'll sure the hell delete your posts. Take heed.)

You can see, however, that neither one of these deals with where I fit into the picture, how they can accept me as intermediary, spy, photographer, and especially, voyeur, particularly when it comes to voyeurism with that incestuous streak in it. Well, let's just wait and see what might turn up later about that.

OK, where was I? Right. How it all started.

Naturally, it really started when Mom and J. first got into their thing. You already know as much about that as I do, so let's jump ahead.

If you're a guy and you're straight and you're young, you probably have a few fantasies about older women, often called MILFs in the current parlance. If you're not so young, you probably used to. Come on, admit it! Anyway, I had one in particular. Yes, Janine. I don't know what kind of impression you've gotten of her so far; just take it on faith, she's a ten-megawatt hottie. I don't mean to say I was all hung up on her or anything like that; I was just, shall we say, (cue broad BBC-English accent) inclined to appreciate the benefits of her most favorable visible attributes (end accent, mercifully).

She's a pleasure to see all over, but her hottest specialty, at least arguably, is her nipples. Those puppies could drill holes through a concrete wall and never sweat the work. I think she used to go to a lot of trouble to hide them, but as time went on, she stopped fussing about it. I can't begin to count the number of times that I've tried to take a good look at them without ending up gawking and scaring her off, especially when I was in my middle teens and hormones out of control. (All right, all right, so they still are, but not quite so much. Gimme a break.)

One day I returned early from class. There had been a quiz that day and we were free to leave when we were done. Sometimes I park on a side street and get to my apartment at the end of the house through the back yard. It's an easier trip. On this particular day I had just entered the yard from the back gate and fastened it. As I turned, I heard the rear sliding-glass patio door open and Janine's voice giving Mom a cheerful good-bye. That's their almost-daily routine so I hardly noticed—until I looked.

Janine was waving back to Mom, and then scooting across the yard to the gate leading to her yard and house, and she was only half-dressed! She wore a bra and panties, but her jeans and other clothes she carried on her arm. I figured they must have been trying on clothes or something and J. had just decided to cut over without getting dressed. The trek is private enough—except when a hormone-drenched college kid with a built-in, 24/7 hard-on for her just happens to be watching from the shade of the mulberry tree in the corner.

I couldn't have looked away if I tried. There she was, hot as ever, in a half-sheer bra that revealed to me, for the first time, the color of those nipples which, until then, had only been enjoyed by their outlines, and panties that matched the bra. She never turned far enough in my direction to let me see what secrets may lie in the regions where her slender, tapered legs met, but I sure got a damn great rear view as she passed through the gate and out of sight.

As I was recovering my ability to move, I saw a shadowy figure of Mom going back from the door. The reflection of the outside world in the glass left only a limited view, but it was enough for me to realize that she was nude and I was watching her own fine butt on its way to wherever.

At that moment, though, my thoughts were entirely on the Lady of my Dreams next door. I felt embarrassed at my own shaking as I discovered I had trouble with the door-key. I collapsed on the bed, brain full of that heavenly apparition, and had no resistance to opening the zipper of my own jeans and discharging the tension alone.

As much as I had enjoyed the mental snapshot Fate had given me, later on I was increasingly curious about just what had happened that ended up with Jannie traipsing back home without bothering to get dressed. That's pretty weird, especially for women who tend to be somewhat more protective of their bodies. Sure, the odds of being observed—except as previously noted—were essentially nil, but still, it was weird, weird enough to induce me to do a bit of investigating.

I got into the habit of returning home as soon as possible after class. Mom has never quite gotten a handle on my class schedule without referring to it on paper, so I figured that if there was anything in particular going on, I'd hit on it eventually. I was right.

I was home early again that day. In fact, I cut class, but not for the sake of my spying. The actual reason doesn't matter. My apartment is attached to the house but accessed separately from the rest of the house. I decided to take advantage of my early return to sneak through the garage from the side door and see if anything interesting might turn up.

I silently opened and passed through the door joining the garage to the kitchen and listened. There were sounds emanating from somewhere in the house, unusual sounds. In moments I traced their origin to our guest bedroom, and barely more than a few more moments, identified them, though it was a considerably longer time before I allowed myself to believe what I was hearing. They were the moans and cries of sex!

My heart sank. Was Mom having an affair? Was there some slimy son-of-a-bitch in there giving her a pounding? I could not believe it. Not Mom. And, as you know, I was right.

When I had listened just a little longer it became clear that there were no men in there, just two women. And even by their moans and sighs I could identify them.

Mom and Janine? Lezzies? I mean, WTF, big time?

I didn't know what to make of it. On the one hand, the sounds and the mental images the sounds spawned were incredibly arousing, but concern over what this might say about Mom and Dad and their marriage overrode and quenched all that, cold.

It was a pensive Jason, not an aroused one, that walked back through the garage and to his apartment in silence.

I had to know. You have heard plenty about all that camera and optical system, but you also know I had bugged the room for sound. In fact, I did that first. If this was some kind of ongoing habit, they would certainly talk as well as gasp and moan, and I would be getting it all into audio files.

It was with inestimable joy that, in time, I happened upon the first of those moments in their conversation that set my fears at rest, one of which I later played for Dad to reassure him. You probably remember that. They were both just fine with hubbies and marriage beds; this was a different drive altogether. What a relief!

So, then, the next reaction was obvious. Hearing my next-door hottie's voice making all those noises of sex in between whispering tantalizing hints of the play-by-play—you know, oh, yes, Linda, suck my nipple, like that, oh lower, lower, my pussy—you get the idea—left me helpless, caught in the images, getting a full-blown (though not blown the way I might have liked) hard-on moments after I heard the first of it, persisting until I could tear myself away and relieve the pressure in my own private space. When I caught myself actually cutting a class just to get back to my audio-voyeurism, I knew I had to do something about it.

Naturally, having heard, I now wanted to see. And, naturally, that's a bit harder. Sound penetrates doors; light doesn't. I felt nasty and creepy with what I was about to do, but like others in this saga, I justified—or perhaps more honestly, rationalized—my eventual choice on the basis of the illicit nature of Mom and J's enterprise.

Being discovered would be, of course, disastrous. I resolved to take time to do it right, both for the quality of the results and the security. Mom told you about that cabinet with the beveled-glass windows. Actually the pattern is a bit more fancy and intricate than that, and there were certain regions in the glass whose sizes, shapes and positions gave me what I needed to put together that optical contraption you already know about. It took time, and sneaking some time in the shops at the J.C., but I got it done with only brief periods when the glass had to be removed from the cabinet. I was sure nobody had noticed the removal and replacement. I patiently waited until a time came when Mom and Dad were both going to be away for a while and I knew I'd have a lot of uninterrupted time to fine-tune it. I put it together, made that false side, colored it to match the interior, got some of the stuff used to decorate the interior and added it to help camouflage the system, and then installed the eyepiece that penetrated the wall from behind it, making sure it could be quickly removed and hidden in case of trouble. At first it was real-time viewing. The camera would come later.

It didn't happen right away; like Mom said, they don't get into the hot stuff every day.

That first time! My God, what a first time! I parked a long way from usual and snuck in like a cat burglar. The old bedroom was so infrequently visited that I had no worry of being caught there, as long as I kept quiet. I was early. I slid those boxes to one side, got things comfortable, and waited.

Mom was the first to enter the room. She was giggling, all girlish and cute. I thought I had a glimpse of what she might have been like in the innocent years of childhood. Jannie followed her in and jumped on top of her, legs straddling her chest. I froze, willing my breath to remain calm. Jannie was topless already, and facing straight in my direction! Those breasts and nipples I had so long adored shone proud and high before my optically-assisted eyes. I was lost in the view, scanning every square micrometer of their form, the swell of the firm flesh, the teasing dimensions of the nipples.

Thus transfixed I witnessed Mom reaching up between Jannie's legs, to the waistband of her snug slacks. The button loosened and Mom drew the zipper down. It was like peeling a banana, but a banana whose inner secret was a sight of heavenly glory. Jannie was laughing and wiggling those hips, teasing Mom, unaware that she was at the same time teasing to a frenzy a young man who had furiously fantasized about this very sight many times without ever in his wildest wet dreams thinking he could ever witness it awake.

She wore nothing under the pants this time, and I saw the upper perimeter of her bush peek up from the descending fabric like the sun peeking up from the horizon at dawn. With each tiny movement of Mom's fingers drawing it down, more and more of that succulent womanhood was revealed to my fevered view. My heart was racing to the point that I could almost swear they could hear it, and my cock—need I even tell you—I had already released from the prison of my jeans and barely touched. I knew that if I were to give it any more attention than that, I would be spewing seed all over the place before the show was half started, and I wanted to save that.

Jannie's pants were finally beside her on the bed and her completely nude form, entirely unobscured, moved from straddling Mom to beside her. Mom remained on her back, her head facing my direction, as Jannie unfastened the buttons on her blouse.

Now, until that moment, I had every reason to believe that my only sexual interest in the scene would be Jannie. Mom would be, from that viewpoint, like an assistant, barely noticed. After that moment, I would have no belief in that any more.

Uncharacteristically, Mom had foregone a bra, apparently knowing she would not be needing it yet. Jannie's fingers were unfastening the buttons from her neck downward, which was sexy, but so far, sexy more because Jannie was doing it than that it was Mom she was doing it to. Moments later she had finished that task and softly separated the sides of the blouse to expose Mom's breasts.

I was as stunned by the sight, and stunned twice over to realize that I even could be stunned by the sight. My own mother's breasts, triggering a reaction only barely less intense than Jannie's? I was too aroused by Jannie to deny Mom's effect on me, and I was too aroused by Mom to let go. At that very moment there entered into my trance a trickle of something not nearly as welcome. It was guilt and shame, not over my voyeurism, but the incestuous thrill that had so suddenly and unexpectedly become part of it. I did not want to accept that it I could be a mother-hungry pervert, no matter what the provocation, but the vision before me left me powerless to change it.

Mom had risen to her knees, placed wide apart. Her back was to me, and that extraordinarily narrow waist and the rounded form of her hips which combined in such perfect concert were displayed in tight, black pants. I recalled some quiet appreciation of Mom's sexy appearance in that outfit before from time to time, but that was all. I didn't feel guilty about merely recognizing that Mom was a sexy woman; it just didn't get my engines running—not until now.

Then, very suddenly and unexpectedly, there welled up within me a surge of sheer, unmitigated rage, rage against a particular, unique injustice, that being knowing that every male of adult years and straight orientation on this whole damned planet, every damn one, was free to at least admire my mother's beauty and the sexual irresistibility of her shapely and fetchingly animated body—every single one but me. It meant that they were just men being men, but I was a fucking pervert, uniquely banned from that number.

It's not fucking fair! I was pissed, damn pissed. And yet the vision in the eyepiece would not set me free.

Presently the simple power of the sight displaced the anger and I could once again focus on the view. Jannie, here facing in this direction, was reaching down between Mom's legs, and, I could tell, stroking her clit through those tight, sexy pants. Mom's hips started rocking back and forth and her whole body was swaying with the sensation. I begged Fate to let this continue and, in the very same breath, cursed myself for even wanting it. Desperately willing the progress, I saw my wish granted when Jannie's fingers moved upward and I saw the fabric of those pants relax, slide down, and disappear, revealing Mom's nude body to me, disclosing the magically shapely ass which, I knew, men numbering in at least three digits would kill to be able to see as I was now seeing it.

Almost as if scripted for my benefit (remember, this is long before they found the camera and started playing to it while assuming it was Dad and Sammy rather than me watching), Mom slid a little to the left, revealing Jannie's pussy to my sight. I am not among those who think shaving improves the view (sorry, guys, that's just how it is) and I have since learned that Dad and Sammy are of the same preference. I guess there are maybe half a dozen men on the planet who think that way, and here are three of them. So, anyway, it was a glorious patch of brownish-blonde fuzz that became the signpost to Jannie's eager sex, begging now for Mom to give it satisfaction.

Mom joyfully complied. She scooted back the way she was before, and Jannie straddled her face. Her tongue worked its way past the folds of Jannie's labia and discovered her aching clitty. She gently grasped Jannie's hips in her hands, deriving pleasure and excitement from the steadily accelerating thrusts and bumps flowing from Jannie's arousal.

My face could have been nailed to that wall as I witnessed Jannie now bucking back and forth like a rodeo bronc, her gasps and moans interspersed with calls to Mom to choose a particular touch or movement. Her back arched; her breasts swayed and thrust with the eager convulsions of her entire body which then convulsed my entire consciousness. My breath was now a tortured labor to meet its demands with silence; my cock was a steel ramrod, aching to abandon this hiding place and rush into the room, to beg forgiveness and the right to enter each of those stellar pussies right then, if but for just once in this lifetime, for which I was prepared to meet any wish they might demand in return for the privilege.

Jannie was now leaning back, thrusting that pelvic decoration forward against Mom's tongue and fingers to full and absorbing prominence, like an actor whose time it has come to command the stage and the spotlight alone, forcing every eye and mind to focus on that one point. Mom's expert lingual touching of Jannie's clit, in a way, I suppose, only a woman knows best how to do, lit the final peaks of Jannie's heat that announce an imminent orgasm. In moments the explosion happened.

Can you imagine what it was like for me, for years having dreamt of, surreptitiously admired, and despaired of ever seeing, this woman's full physical, sexual force, now convulsed in a climax that seemed, I'd swear, portrayed just for my eyes, so strongly and unabashedly was that pelvis, that bush, that pussy, subtly but powerfully amplified by the equally unabashed nudity of the rest of her form, thrust straight toward my clandestine eye? And then, in this unexpected and troubling turn of events, to see all of that driven by the equally fiery force of my own mother's sexuality, until then chastely concealed behind the closed doors of hers and Dad's bridal chamber, all the while knowing, even fearing, that the very same passionate care she had given Jannie would soon be returned?