The Dalton Gang

By all accounts, Stanley Dalton was a world-class prick. I didn’t know him well, having been introduced to him just four months ago, and only seeing him a few times since. But even from those brief encounters I wholeheartedly concurred with the consensus.

There was something about him that rubbed you the wrong way from the start. A kind of greasy, sleazy aura swirled around Stanley that made you want to wash your face and hands even if you didn’t touch him.

A small crowd of family and business acquaintances milled about, hardly acknowledging his presence. He lived in a small town and regardless of his past indiscretions, there was some protocol to be observed, though at this stage of the game he had few, if any, friends. It appeared all in attendance felt obligated to be there, mostly in support his wife, Donna.

Well-wishers past by, clutching Mrs. Dalton’s hand, giving her a warm embrace or a peck on the cheek. Behind her, dead as the most recent Mid East peace plan, Stanley received no farewells. He was gone and there wasn’t a damp eye in the house.

Mrs. Dalton was attired in a sharp beige pantsuit. Only a shear black scarf hinted at mourning. Her three daughters, Mary, Sarah and Beth, sat in the front, there wasn’t a stitch of basic black amongst the younger Daltons.

Over a six-year period Stanley and Donna Dalton had a baby girl every twenty-four months. Now young ladies, they all bore a striking resemblance to their statuesque mother. They could best be described as cute. Not stunningly beautiful, but more than attractive enough to garner looks and admirers.

The Dalton women had sandy brown hair, each cut short expect for Mary, the baby of the bunch and current high school senior, who wore it braided to her waist. All were lean and athletic, not overly buxom, except for Sarah, who was still maturing and on her way to DD status, but the others all had curves in the right places. Beth and Sarah had earned volleyball scholarships to Vermont and I was told Mary was a shoe-in, but there was a chance their mother was in the best shape of them all, having recently completed her second marathon of the year last week.

I’d been dating Beth, the oldest at 22, for about half a year. I met her in one of my classes, one of those large, assembly deals where 200 people sat in an auditorium and struggled to stay awake. At the funeral home she had directed me to a seat in the back and said the service wouldn’t take long. I wasn’t misinformed.

The whole thing lasted maybe ten minutes. No one said anything on his behalf, and even though he was made out to be an asshole of intolerable measure, I felt sorry for him. I figured there’s got to be at least one good thing about every human being, but in Stanley’s case, I guess not.

People quickly funneled out after the final amen. Lagging behind with Beth I overheard Mrs. Dalton and the funeral director talking. She said, “Remember, I just rented the bronze coffin for the service. Make sure you dump him in a pine box for the cremation. I don’t want to spend one nickel more than I have to burn that bastard.”

Beth had filled me in on most of it. Her father, a small business lawyer, had been driving to Portsmouth, New Hampshire once a week for about ten years starting back when she was six. There, he had partnered with a law school buddy who specialized in family law. Stanley offered advice and guidance with business issues. Or at least that was the story.

What really went on was her dad had set himself up in a condo by the water, complete with a hot tub, entertainment center and, for good measure, a second wife. About six years ago Beth’s mom found out. Donna stopped short of killing her husband, but life around the Dalton residence had been frigid at best ever since.

A wake of sorts was held back at their house, an updated Cape Cod with newer furnishings and a neatly appointed, well-manicured yard. It was a warm, Indian summer day in Burlington, Vermont, right before the colors began to change. The doors and windows were open and a slight breeze cooled off the place.

Mrs. Dalton asked the three girls set out lunch while she took a moment to freshen up. A simple deli tray presentation with the usual salads and relishes was spread out in the kitchen. I pitched in, basically in charge of the booze.

The guests began to arrive, many more people than were at the service. The atmosphere was anything but somber. I’d been at campus-wide keggers that weren’t riddled with this much enthusiasm.

When Mrs. Dalton reappeared she had exchanged her business-like attire for charcoal slacks, black pumps and light blue silk blouse. The three top buttons on her shirt were left undone and a double strand pearl necklace draped over her sculpted collarbone, accenting the crests of her breasts, which were in full view. She easily could pass as a fourth Dalton sister, especially without her wedding ring, now conspicuous by its absence.

As I finished filling the ice buckets and setting out the mixers, Sarah gave me a poke in the ribs. She plucked a green olive off the tray, brought it to her mouth and swiftly sucked-out the pimento. She flashed me a shit-eating grin followed by a wink as her tongue did a 360 around her lips.

“Real cute, slut girl,” Beth said, eternally jealous that her younger sister was the winner in the gene pool for their grandmother’s bust line.

She led me out of the kitchen, through the dining and family rooms. Along the way Beth introduced me to a number of people whose names I instantaneously forgot. Thirty minutes of this was all could take. I told her my tie was crushing my Adams apple and I’d like to change. She excused us and grabbed me by the hand. “Come on,” was all she said and ushered me to the basement stairs.

“We put your stuff down in this room,” she said, opening the door to a makeshift bedroom. “We call it the dungeon. My mom had it built for Stanley after she found out he’d been fucking around on her. You can stay here for the rest of the weekend.”

“It’s a little dank, don’t you think?”

“The asshole was being punished. What’d you expect, the Ritz or something?”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s why I intend to make it as comfortable for you as possible.”

With that, Beth sunk to her knees, snagging my zipper on her way down. Beth loved to blow me and I, in turn, loved to be blown by her. In fact, the first thing she ever said to me was, “I want to suck you so hard your toes will shrink.”

I took that as a strong indication she liked me. My first Dalton blowjob was in a private cubicle at the university library.

My pants were around my ankles and her mouth around my cock in seconds. Like most women, she had a particular style she was partial to. She started by rapidly flicking the head of my dick with the tip of her tongue. After a half dozen or so of those, she licked down one side and up the other, leaving a coat of slippery spit from stem to stern.

Slowly gobbling-up my cock, almost as if she was chewing her way to its base, Beth deep throated me, making my entire eight inches disappear in her wanton mouth. She started a slow, smooth bob, and basted my long, shinny dick with her tongue, pausing only to slurp excess salvia and get in a little dirty talk.

“God, I love your cock. You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you baby?”

Bobbing back and forth, her hands pistoning over my slick dick, Beth playfully bit the head of my cock each time it popped out of her mouth.

“Ahhhh, that feels fantastic. Nobody sucks dick like you. It’s all I can do to keep from cumming right now.”

When we had sex Beth practically demanded for me to tell her how good she was. I’ve never had to lie.

She pulled back and let my dick slip from her lips. Looking into my eyes, she said, “You’re going to fill my mouth with your tasty cum, aren’t you Brad? I mean, it’s the least you can do to help me get over my father’s death.”

Clamping her hot mouth around my cock, she began the process all over again. As she increased the pace and pressure on my now pulsating dick, I rolled my head back and closed my eyes. Beth again took all of me in her mouth and down her throat, massaging my entire shaft by flexing the muscles in her neck. She grabbed hold of my nuts and gently squeezed. Small jolts of spastic energy shot through my legs and I could feel the pressure beginning to build.

“God, you’re the best. Just keep up what you’re doing. I’m about there, baby, just about ready to give you what you want. Uh, uh, oh, this is going to be a massive load.”

“Ahem.”

I snapped out of my trance. First I looked down, Beth was still hard at work. Then I looked over toward the door. Shit, there stood Mrs. Dalton. I tapped Beth on the head. She pulled me from her mouth, but didn’t let go. We both stared at her mother, wondering whether she should be scared, embarrassed or both.

“Having a hard time getting over your father’s passing, I see,” Mrs. Dalton said with a stern glare. “When you’re finished, I’d like to talk to you upstairs, Bradley.” She turned and left the basement.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I said to Beth, moving, but failing, to get away from her. “I can’t believe this happened. On the day of you father’s funeral no less.”

“Where you going,” Beth asked, still clinging onto my rapidly deflating penis.

“She said she wants to see me. Given the circumstances, don’t you think I should go see her right away?”

“She said for you to see her when we’re finished. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure as hell not finished. Now, you can either fill my mouth with your hot jism or go back to campus. Your choice.”

Beth shoved my dick into her mouth and went at it fast and furious. I was rigid again in no time, ready to cum in a matter of minutes. I grabbed the back of her head and really started to face fuck her, thrusting my hips forward and letting my dick volley back and forth on top of her tongue and teeth. How I loved to watch her make my cock disappear. She took the whole thing, nuzzling her nose among my pubes.

“Oh, God. Uhh, you want it, you got it.”

Seconds later, as my heart thumped and knees locked, I shot three ropes of cum deep down her throat. She let my shaft wiggle out of her mouth until she clamped down on the head with her lips and proceeded to suck every last seed from its chamber until the sensation became too much and I had to pull away.

“Oh shit, that was great.”

“Of course it was.”

“But what about your mom?”

“What about her? We’re adults, she could’ve at least knocked.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“But to be on the safe side, maybe we should go for a walk,’ Beth suggested as I helped her up off the floor.

I agreed and nervously hiked up my pants. They had a walkout basement and we headed into the back yard.

“You remember that guy, James, I introduced you to?”

“Vaguely.”

“Five years ago he clerked for my father. I’m not sure if he’s a jerk because of it or if it just comes natural.”

“What about him.”

“He took my virginity underneath those trees on my 17th birthday.”

“Thanks for bringing me up to speed.”

“He’s been trying to get back in my pants ever since.”

“Sounds like a real romance.”

“I only let him because he sorta looked like George Clooney. That and I was a little drunk.”

I let that hang. Given my preoccupation with the pending confrontation with Beth’s mother, this wasn’t a conversation I had any real interest in. I’d never been picked off by a girl’s parents before and this wasn’t a great day to start.

The Dalton’s house backed-up to a park-like common area. As we walked around it, Beth pointed out another few spots of interest. The gazebo, where she gave a blow-job to the guy who’s now the starting quarterback for Boston College; the volleyball court, where she fucked a cop to get out of a underage drinking charge and sand got in her pussy that took a week to get out; under the monkey bars, where she taught her sister Sarah how to deep throat, first using a banana, then the neighbor kid. I was informed he was chosen because he only had a five-inch penis and she didn’t want Sarah’s first time to be discouraging. Then it was time to face the music.

“I think it’s about time we went back,” Beth said. “I’d fuck you on the swings like I did this guy who was a student teacher in my 11th grade algebra class, but it’s a little too light out.”

“Maybe later.”

I knew Beth had a sexual history, but I didn’t realize she had her own home field. As we headed around to the front of the house I noticed the number of cars had increased and people were flowing out into the front yard. What began as a simple wake appeared to be turning into a full-scale celebration. Stanley Dalton must have really been an asshole for this many people to be happy to see him gone.

Mrs. Dalton caught my eye as soon as we walked through the door. She let her conversation linger on for a moment or two, then excused herself. She caught up to me in the kitchen.

“I see you’ve been shown your accommodations. I trust they meet your needs,” she said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes, mam,” I said, nervously and without making eye contact.

“Have you had enough to eat, Bradley? “I thought the pasta salad was particularly tasty. Have you tried it?”

“No mam, I haven’t.”

“Why don’t you get yourself a plate and grab another beer.”

“I’m not that…”

“No, I insist. Get your food and beer and follow me, Bradley,” she said, with a heavy accent on the Bradley. Christ, the pampering mother treatment on my way to death row. She was really working this.

We walked through the dining room, stopping briefly for Mrs. Dalton to greet a couple of newcomers, the Hayes’ from across the street, before we moved on.

“Jackie Hayes, the die job you just met with the fake tits, I bet she’s fucked half the people in this house, men and women. Her husband, the poor bastard, had his dick shot off ten years ago in a hunting accident. She would’ve left him, but my understanding is the guy eats pussy like a starving castaway.”

I was taken back by the whole conversation, dialogue actually. I couldn’t say a word.

“But woman can’t live on tongue service alone, now can they Bradley. So they came to an agreement. She could do whomever she pleased, as long as he could film it. They forward the digital video to some outfit in Portugal and it runs on a dozen or so European porn sites. Jackie tells me they’ve made close to a million. I’d be surprised if you haven’t seen her. You do surf porn, don’t you Bradley?”

Jesus, what’d gotten into Mrs. Dalton? I was witnessing a sea change in her personality. When I first met her, about four months ago, she was shy and vulnerable, even timid. Today, assertive and controlling; the complete opposite of her former self. Maybe it was the shock of her husband’s death—he had a massive heart attack. Or maybe it was the booze; she’d been carrying around a cocktail glass since she got back from the funeral.

She stopped to get a spoon that had fallen on the floor. Bending at the knees and tilting forward to pick it up, she availed her plunging neckline to my wandering eyes. A cup-less bra was the driving force behind her sensuous cleavage and her round, full breasts were now the home to swelling nipples. Christ, was she hot.

Mrs. Dalton quickly glanced up, catching me in mid-leer. She merely smiled, got to her feet, turned the corner and moved up the stairs. “You are coming, aren’t you, Bradley? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten we’ve got an issue to discuss”

Hard on the Bradley again. I was beginning to dread hearing my own name. I followed her up the stairs. Her ass was tight, maybe even more so than Beth’s. Marathon running will do that, I guess.

She showed me into her room and suggested I sit and eat at the Queen Anne desk and chair set. With her husband banished to the basement she had transformed the place into her own private, Victorian sanctuary. The four-post, queen-sized bed was covered with an ornate gold comforter and adorned with bronze, burgundy and royal blue pillows. There was a massive armoire against one of the gold-gilded painted walls, a dresser with a full-length mirror on the opposite. In a corner was a love seat and ottoman that matched the bedspread.

I sat down where directed and a Mrs. Dalton excused herself and went into the bathroom.

“So, Bradley, are you interested in marrying my daughter, or are you just another in a long line of fuck buddies?”

I choked on a piece of pasta and had to spit it out in my hand.

“It’s not like I don’t know, quite the contrary. She’s fairly forthcoming about her dalliances. In fact, she had mentioned that you were quite well endowed. Given the circumstances, I thought I’d see for myself. I wasn’t disappointed.”

I slugged back a couple gulps of beer. This was getting way too strange.

“It’s not that I care, mind you, if your intentions are purely carnal. It’s just that this family has gone through a lot over the past few years and I don’t think I need to make matters worse by fucking someone who may become my son-in-law. That’d be a little too weird, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Dalton emerged from the bathroom clothed only in the white lace--cup-less bra, garter belt and stockings. She accessorized the overtly sexy outfit with the pearl necklace, the omnipresent cocktail glass and a patch of neatly trimmed, blondish curls. I loved women who sport neckwear, especially naked.

“Do you like what you see, Bradley?”

Perhaps the most obvious question I’ve ever been asked in my life. For a moment, all I could do was just stare and soak her in. She was stunning, more desirable than her daughter could ever dream of. Even in its blatancy, her seductive approach was more appealing than Beth’s straightforward, fuck me now style. A surge ran through my cock and I was getting stiff again.

“Yes, mam.”

“Come Bradley, let’s put that huge cock of yours to some good use.” She nodded her head toward the love seat, placed her drink on small table and got on all fours. Let’s do it this way first. If I remember correctly, I used to be able to cum quite easily when fucked from behind, though Stanley never seemed to like it much. More reason than not to start the rest of my life getting ridden hard by a young stud. Well come on, I haven’t got all day. There’s a houseful of guests for me to entertain.”

Jesus, Hitler’s death wasn’t as liberating on Europe as Stanley’s was on Mrs. Dalton. What the hell, it’s not like I had any intentions of becoming Beth’s husband. For the second time in less than an hour my pants were around my ankles while my cock was headed inside a Dalton girl.

Her pussy glistened as I moved in behind her. She spread her legs and lowered herself, reaching her hand between her thighs to guide me in.

“Now that’s what I call a cock. Now let’s see if you know how to do something with it other than satisfy college age sluts.”

I told myself to quit being surprised at what came out of her mouth and focus on enjoying the moment. Mrs. Dalton’s hot, fluid twat felt absolutely wonderful around my dick and I slowly began to ease myself in.

“Ooohhhhhhh, god, is that great,” she moaned and moved back into me. “It even feels bigger than it looks. Uhh, uhh, oh oh, how the hell does my daughter get all of you in her mouth?”

I took that as a rhetorical question and gripped her hips with my thumbs pressing on her ass. I was right, much firmer than Beth’s. Maybe her daughter was skipping some workouts. I slowly moved back and forth, remembering all the stories and jokes I’ve heard about how older women like a gentler pace.

All of a sudden she pulled away me and I plopped out. She turned her head and said, “If all you’re interested in is softly massaging my vagina, forget about it. I’ve got a drawer full of mechanisms to do that.