Stanley Steamer Ch. 13: Mari's Old Xmas

Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker, the last of a three-part story arc, is fiction, so chill. Fuckers are over 18 and shun condoms. Tags: fuckfest, bisexual, pregnancy. If you object, stop reading. No incest here. Voices and details may be unreliable. Opinions may not be the author's. Read prior chapters first. Comments are demanded. Enjoy!

Stanley Steamer 13: Mari's Old Xmas

Stanley's houseful of women are steaming

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MARIANA

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I was SO fucking glad to get off the casino floor and work with Lorna in the tribal publications office. Regular hours! No smokers! A croupier's next step up is pit boss. That job and its hours are still crazy. Pregnancy is crazy enough. But even our office hours get bent. The boss wanted it done by Saturday night so that's how long we worked. An Indian casino-resort is its own sovereign world. It's the rez.

At least Lorna and I punch the same clock now. We make our separate beds and shower together in the morning, share breakfast, walk to work, share lunch, fix dinner, shower together again, and maybe share a cute guy from the resort. Sure, we are both crazy in love with Stan and we will have his babies. Well, I try to think I am not crazy. But we are not nuns during the week.

===== [5 Jan 2003]

We left our condo behind the casino after a late wake-up. Jeans and flannel shirts over bikini undies suited the day. Lorna drove us past the Cabazon dinosaurs, over deep Whitewater Pass, up Morongo Grade, into Yucca Valley's sloggy traffic, and on to rocky Rancho Relaxo this mild Sunday morning, for as much of Stan as we could get on our rare three-day break.

Other vehicles had braved the access trail already. I recognized some cars as Lorna parked -- but not the limos, or the unmarked van set where an eroded granite monolith leaned to a corner of the fieldstone house. A ninja-clad man I did not know walked to the trail carrying a folding highway barricade.

"You're the last ones in. Be totally quiet. Absolutely no noise."

Yes, my spectacular blonde roommate and I exchanged puzzled looks. We left our sandals at the open front door and padded inside. Stan's big sister Pam, in a blue dress, looked less frazzled than usual when she hugged and kissed us.

"You're just in time. The mikes are set and they're about to start. The girls out there are my daughter Megan and Stan's twins Talia and Tanya. The singers think they're just as musically magical as Stan. Kaylee and Nikki are in love with them all and the twins are going to live with them. It's all crazy and Stan says lots of money will flow in."

Stan had daughters? Who would live with the singers? My brain buzzed.

"Do you grok any of this?" I asked Lorna. She shook her head. Pam laughed.

"Don't worry, we'll clue you in later. Keep your shirts on -- it's all outside."

We followed her to the boulder-bound nook outside Stan's bedroom. Stan, the Asian singers we knew, twin blondes, and a dark-haired girl looking like Pam, sat on stone benches around the round rock table. A guitar, small and bigger mandolas, and smaller and larger keyboards, sat on the table. A tense man in white coveralls tended a sound board. Stan's lanky brunette mom Ursula and cousin Jeri waved us to rock-sheltered seats. Ursula wore here trademark skintight red leathers over slight bulges. Jeri wore denims.

Two women and four men in dark suits huddled near the sound man.

Jeri hugged and kissed us. "Agents, producers, Sony execs, yada yada." She dismissed the suits with a flick of her wrist. "Ignore them. They're only here for the money they'll siphon off."

The soundman said, "All ready when you are." The suits sat on other rock benches. "Start whenever you want," he told the casually-clad musicians.

The six looked at each other and said nothing. The dark-haired girl, Pam's daughter Megan I guess, shrugged, picked up the smaller keyboard -- I saw an end-blown melodica -- and piped a simple low line. Nikki and Kaylee hit their mezzo and soprano notes. Megan piped again, the singers sang, and my pussy was wet before I could inhale twice.

They finished and paused. Stan picked a few notes on the baritone mandola. The singers sang. I nearly collapsed. Lorna was breathing hard. Pam made a SHOOSH gesture at her. Incredibly erotic sounds echoed in the rocky thirty-foot-wide hideaway. Magic music. Fucking magic.

One blonde girl played a few notes on the larger keyboard -- I knew Stan's portable clavichord. Magic repeated. A long moment passed. The other girl sketched a pattern on the classical guitar's lower strings. More fucking musical magic, and a pause. She fingered a stark high note pattern that Stan doubled low on mandola. The magic was thick. And again and again.

We had heard them do this before. No rehearsal. No talk. Only sorcery.

Stan eventually noted the watch on his hairy wrist and said, "Lunchtime. Take an hour." Had the morning passed so fast?

I could barely move. Jeri helped Lorna and me stand. We staggered through Stan's bedroom to the kitchen. The suits and soundman left their shoes at the front door. The barrier-carrying ninja (without a hood) hauled a stack of pizza boxes from an insulated sack and arrayed them on the extended dining table. Bottles and glasses occupied the kitchen island -- pour your own poison.

Stan came in. Five girls followed. He saw Lorna and me and trotted over for long hugs and kisses. And introductions.

"Lorna and Mari, my weekend wives. Talia and Tanya, the daughters I never knew of. Megan, my sister's girl. Everyone say 'hi' but keep your shirts on."

Greetings here usually meant sucking exposed nipples. None were available.

These three were all eighteen. I understood thirty-something Pam as Megan's mother, but Stan and these bombshells? We shared hugs and kisses anyway.

"Long story and you'll hear it all later," Stan answered my unasked question. "I was very young." He sluiced down his overloaded pizza slice with great dark beer. I knew he favored Anchor Steam.

The suits talked business at their end of the table. Family and friends shared gossip and jokes at our end. Truth and lies flowed with the beer, wine, juices, whatever was in those bottles and boxes. Pizzas disappeared. This crowd was hungry, thirsty -- and horny as fuck, if they weren't deaf or dead.

Lorna and I got the basic story. Stan and Pam's daughters arrived to spend school break here. They shared enough of Stan's DNA or karma to make the same musical magic with the singers. They were recording now and making money, and they were immediately switching to area universities to be close to the singers -- and to Stan.

Stan's watch dictated the end of lunch. All returned to the nook. More music and magic exploded. Most of the audience -- us and the suits -- were rubbing crotches, their own or a neighbor's.

More music for a couple hours. A break for fluid I/O, input-output -- drinking and peeing. Then more music. I am amazed than ANY of us could move when they ended and stood.

"You can all go now," Stan waved at the outsiders. Some suits started to argue. "Begone," Stan said. "The ladies are out of time and so are you. We'll interface tomorrow," A suit-skirted blonde hugged Stan. "Later, Ellise. Mañana."

The soundman and the ninja gathered microphones and cables. They loaded the unmarked van and drove off. The suits piled into a limo and departed. Jeri and the five musical girls carried luggage to the front door for the other limo's driver to schlep. Stan waved family and friends to soft furniture in the inviting expanse of greatroom.

Brilliant redhead Anathea joined us with scanty leathers over her pregnancy.

"I'm glad that's done. I don't think I could hear your music without raping someone. My hormones are driving me a nutz too. You've seen it before."

The world would be in trouble if Anny got as crazy as Babs had.

"I hate to say it but we've got to go," Kaylee said. Her Japanese face smiled. "And it's all such a dream! Is our limo a crystal coach, drawn by Pegasus to fly us from the castle? Fairy tales are never this good!"

"You'll be back," Stan said. "With red slippers and fat bankbooks."

He gathered his daughters in his arms and looked at Lorna and me.

"I'm learning to be a daddy but they'll be close. Expect them, and the other ladies, to be here many weekends. They'll only be a couple of hours away. And Megan, too."

"But now we've got to get to San Berdoo," Nikki said. She and Kaylee spooned behind the twins and held their boobs. "We'll squeeze them into our small place for now but we'll move soon." Squeeze them in, sure. The four kissed.

Megan held and kissed the girls. "And I'm moving near school in Riverside. It's all been so fast! But we'll all be weekenders here. Just like you. I'll get to know you." She licked her lips at Lorna and me. My pussy got wetter.

Ursula dropped a leather satchel by the front door. "I'll be here for more than weekends but I've got a swim meet in San Diego. I'll stay with my sister and her boy-toy of the month. We'll squeeze him in." Was that a code phrase?

Jeri said, "Ain't it the shits? The studio sends me on a remote gig of unknown duration. Right now. I'll sleep on the plane after a little cannabis candy."

The limo driver sounded his horn. Ursula yelled out the door, "Four minutes!"

The goodbyes were deep and passionate. Tongues danced in all kisses. Stan's girls tasted sweet-sour, like him. Pam's girl Megan tasted like Pam. And Stan. We all suckled Anny's boobs goodbye. She liked that.

The limo's noise faded into twilight. Ursula looked at the remaining faces -- her daughter, her son, and three more of her son's women. All pregnant women, like herself. She shook her head. She hugged Pam. She walked to Stan and slapped him, hard.

"You goddam fucking son of a goddam fucking bitch!"

She hugged him, turned, slipped into black ankle boots, hoisted her satchel, and left. She drove too fast on the rough track.

I was always entertained by Ursula's mommy issues. Or terrified. Same thing.

Radiantly bulging Anny, out of her skimpy dark leather scraps now, lightly brushed Stan's face.

"Poor baby. Did that hurt?" She kissed his cheek.

He fingered her moist, exposed labia, slid a finger into her vagina, sniffed that finger like a fine cigar, smiled maturely, and said, "No more than usual." He looked around. "Anyone want to drink and puff, shower, and fuck all night?"

Pam waved him off. "I'm back to work. My next shift starts early. Kiss me goodnight and go have fun but let me sleep, okay?"

We coddled her. She closed her room door, across the hall from Stan. I looked at Lorna. We stripped and walked to the kitchen. "Drink and puff?" I asked.

Fruit drinks from our naked barkeep fumed with tequila. Anny drank just one before switching to iced ginseng tea. But she puffed pot along with us, and knelt to blow Stan. "I like huffing and puffing this, too," she cackled.

Attitude adjustment: we got stoned. We were obscene in Stan's big shower. We dried fairly thoroughly. We invaded Stan's big bed. Lorna and I are not gay or bi -- we don't go down on women, not even each other. But Anny does not mind going down on us, especially when her pussy and boobs are occupied.

I sat on Anny's face while he fucked her and kissed me. We did not crush her bulging belly. Anny's tongue is amazing! I know I pussy-drooled into her mouth. Lorna took my place; Stan feasted on her amazing boobs and kept fucking. Anny rode Stan's tongue while I, and then Lorna, rode his thick cock. Stan fucked into me while Anny and Lorna sucked my boobs. He came like a thundering herd between my thighs. Oh fuck, that felt good!

Night crawled on. We slept well.

===== [6 Jan 2003]

Pam's ambulance shift started early; she was gone when we laggards crawled from bed to pee, shower, and assemble a naked breakfast. Anny had those useless leather scraps back on her bulgy body; she was headed for the door and her barn when her landline phone in the kitchen rang. (Cell phone service did not yet penetrate Rancho Relaxo.)

"Good morning or whatever. Oh, hi Lazy." ('Lazy' was her fuck-cousin Lazlo.) "You what? They what? Well, sure. No, not yet. Don't bother, just come on. Right. See you in a few."

"Lazy's office shut down for a few days. He wants to know if he can stay with me. Sure. You guys won't mind. He can be fun, like at that mountain lake a few months ago." She held her prominent belly. "When I got this wonderful gift."

We had not seen Lazlo since then. Nobody objected.

"He called from Yucca Valley. He'll be here soon." Anny snapped her fingers. "Hey, I have an idea. Lazy hasn't seen Howie yet." ('Howie' was Anny's pricey 1930s steam limousine, named for Howard Hughes, who owned a few.) "We could all go for a ride. Anyone have plans for today?"

"I have some non-critical computer work," Stan said, "and our music business people need to talk to me, but they can wait. Sure, let's take a ride."

Lazlo stepped from his car a few minutes later in jeans and a light sweat top. Anathea met him outside the front door naked with a hug and led him to our dunking tank. Stan, Lorna, and I dripped in the warm, clean water. He saw my and Lorna's boobs. He quickly stripped and followed Anny in.

"We have a way to greet our guests and waders," Lorna said. She faced Anny. "Hello, Anathea." She sucked her swollen freckled boobs. "Hi, Lorna," Anathea replied, and sucked my roommate's architectural marvels. Lazlo caught on fast. He sucked nipples, Stan's too. Stan responded with a quick mouth peck.

"We just showered and now we're soaking," I said after awhile. "We should be pretty clean by now. What would you do with naked men and women, Lazy? Wait, don't tell me. I have an idea. Let's go inside and play."

I led the toweled-off bunch into the greatroom. I ran down the hall to Lorna and my room to fetch a toy. I had a plan.

That is how we found ourselves at the armless couch section with preggers Anny 69ing on top of her cousin, and me running my long double-ended dildo from my pussy into Lazlo's anus. Pegging made up for the anal last time. Stan stood at the other end, alternately face-fucking Lazlo and cunt-fucking Anny while Lorna fed him her bodacious boobs. Stan spurted down Lazlo's throat about the same time Lazlo came in Anny's mouth. Lazlo was Lucky Louie then.

Some of us, we females, were not yet satisfied. I cleaned my double-ender -- I call him Rudy -- and ran him from my pussy to supine Anny's puffy portal. Lorna sat on Anny's face. We girls took our time. The guys helped by suckling at Lorna's milk bar. Those beauties would bulge more and dispense soon.

Alas, the drained cocks left nothing for Anny to milk -- but she tried anyway, with gentle handjobs.

"That was excellent," Anny gushed. "Now let's get dressed and go for a ride. Meet me outside." She grabbed the leather scraps she called 'clothes'.

This desert day was not too warm so we donned long garb. Anny's barn door opened. Huge chunks of scrap metal dominated a space accented by welding gear and varied stuff. But all eyes went to her prize steam buggies: the ZEE-driven blue 1965 Mustang 'Otis' and the black gangster 1958 Doble tourer 'Howie'. Stan had girl cars -- Heidi, Tilly, Angela. Anny had guy cars. Go figure.

Lazlo's eyes bulged to match his now-dressed cousin's belly.

"You told me about this but I hadn't seen... I couldn't picture... that's a beauty!"

"Get in, sit down, shut up, and hold on to my boobs, Lazy. Sit in back so you can reach over and molest me. I need more handling."

Women in front, men in back. I scooted to the middle next to Anny. Like all steam cars, no gearshift lever intruded. Lorna sat shotgun. Stan was behind her. He fondled her boobs and laughed.

"Get busy, Lazy. Tits need tweaking." Stan handled me. I cooed.

Such fondling was a stretch. The backseat area was almost a parlor. Nobody leaned forward once Anny hit the paved byway north and accelerated with silent grace. Lazlo could not reach Anny's tits then -- but *I* could! Her thin sweater covered only flesh. I peeled the fabric and slurped her right boob while handling the left. She took a hand off the steering wheel and slapped at me -- not very hard. But she'd had enough when the road left its dip-and-twist zone and straightened out.

"Quit that, Mari, you'll murder us all," she sang. She let me stroke her thigh.

She turned north on Barstow Road and pumped-up Howie's steam for the speedway section. I had seen Stan take Heidi to almost 140 mph. Howie's new digital readout hit 145 mph before she slowed down, still smooth and silent.

"Nice," lazy Lazlo said. His usually pink face was sheer white in the mirror.

Jeri, Lorna, and I had needed to distract a sheriff the last time we went that fast. Then Stan judged and fucked us. Would today be exciting, too?

We reached the outskirts of Barstow, known to all as Barstool, California. Anny pulled into a fast-taco drive-thru. I loved the irony of munching junk food in a luxury car old enough for Medicare.

"We have no good alternatives so I'll drive back the way we came," Anny said. "We can look at the other sides of those big boulders." It was a rocky route.

We rounded a bend past the last mini-mall in town. A girl at a side road stuck her thumb in the air. Her walnut hair framed a pale face above a sweat-suited body. She carried a small pack.

"I'm a sucker for hitchhikers," Anny said.

She pulled over. The girl looked apprehensive.

"Umm, I'm trying to get to Joshua Tree..."

"Just the way we're going. Hop in," Stan said, already out the back door.

"Uhh, are you guys, like, anything like..."

"We're friends out for a ride. We don't bite much. Coming or staying?"

She took the middle in back between Lazlo and Stan. Her small pack must have gone to floor by her feet.

"Uhh, hi, I'm Yvonne, and thanks for giving me a ride. Wow, this old car is quiet! Anyway, I'm in a mess. I'm at the junior college and living at home, or I was, but my folks kicked me out last night. It was awful."

Lorna twisted to look at Yvonne. "Want to tell us about it?"

"Well, like every Sunday night, dad and his sister Carol, and mom and her sister Alice, went to evening services. I never go, I'm not religious, and my uncles Bob and Ted never go, we all just stay home and watch TV sports."

"That sounds innocent enough," Lorna said.

"But last night the services ended early and they came back sooner than we expected. So they came in and found us at the couch by the big TV. I was in my sweats and my uncles were naked and I was blowing them while they kissed. Everybody got real mad at me, not at them, even though I wasn't fucking them or anything. My folks gave me ten minutes to get out of the house and never come back. I had time to put on my moccasins and grab a few things."

"What did you do after that?" Lorna asked.

"Well, there was a church back there, the door was open and the priest let me stay and gave me breakfast and lunch after I blew him a couple times, but then he said I had to go. He let me use the phone so I called a friend in Joshua Tree, she's in school there, and she said I can stay over till I figure out something. And I can switch my classes to there."

"You like blowing guys, then?" Lorna smiled.

"Well, yeah, sure, if they're, you know, if they're big dicks. Like you guys."

I twisted to look over the seat. Yvonne had her hands on Stan's and Lazlo's crotches, on their zippers. She opened them up, reached inside, pulled their cocks out, and squeezed.

"Hey, you guys like tits? My uncles say I have nice tits. You want to suck?"

Her hands quit pumping long enough to pull her loose sweat top over her head. Yes, she had nice tits. She resumed her handjobs. Stan laughed; Lazlo hummed; each leaned in to mouth a nipple.