The Daughter-in-Law

Her hand.

I came up for air.

Her face was tight against her father-in-law's in the throws of a hungry bout of French-kissing. One of her hands was hard around his neck, tangled in his hair, dragging his mouth against hers as her other was trying to get inside my shirt.

I put my mouth back between her eager legs, and married it hard to her privates, as her fingers ran into my shirt, seeking my nipples. I adjusted myself so she could have what she sought ... and soon was thrilling to the feel of a pretty young wife's ardent fingertips arousing and toying with my nipples. How long was it since one so pretty and young had done that?

Too damn long!

I slid a fingers inside her, far into her dock, and felt the shudder from her hull. A deep growl, as if from some siren or horn in the fog, blasted its way down my co-conspirator's throat. Her father-in-law was practiced at this, it appeared, I surmised, as my nipples were tweaked then roughly pulled. This sweet little cutie was also aflame. Then her fingers were burrowing belt-wise, so I adjusted myself a tad more. I stood by the bed. The daughter-in-law and father-in-law were heavily involved with each other's open mouths and hungrily-working tongues. Each (now) seemed as intent on clutching the other's face to their own as each was (again, it seemed) to see how far they could push their eager tongue down the other's throat. (They were doing very well!)

I glanced across the bed. The drunken husband was dead to the world. So I unzipped my slacks, kicked them off my ankles, pushed my y-fronts down with one hand and took the other, with hers in it, and closed it over my prick. Her slender fingers clutched me. And started to pump up and down. Her thighs were nicely open, pelvis thrusting gently, labia glistening, clitoris erect, everything moist and engorged with a readiness I couldn't ...

I lowered myself carefully onto the bed, then over her. Honeyed labia lips seemed to pout in a kiss. Hungrily opened then closed round the tip. And sucked me in. I gingerly went where she egged me to go, my eyes on her young husband's eyes. They stayed as resolutely closed as her private parts opened, to let me go in ... gently, firmly held, but moistly encouraged. I felt her vagina walls throb and ripple around me as I journeyed further in. Then further still. So hot. Tightly, confidently caressed while moving hotly forward.

Embedded to the hip. Her knees and lower legs coiled around me, held me firm. Neither moved. I glanced at her husband again. So close. Lightly snoring. Then her father-and-law let her face free, and she glanced down her glistening body: Me held captive in the circle of lithesome legs. Her eyes on mine. Looked glazed. Then the irises rolled upwards, got lost in the lids, now closing, as her mouth opened up, and we started to move.

My prick eased out, pushed left! Eased in, thrust right! Eased out, eased back. Thrust hard -- right, then out -- then in, then left -- then up. Her pelvis retreated, with me impaled, so deeply inside her I felt I must be probing her stomach. Then eased out ... and further out, until her labia lips were clutching the head of my prick, the vagina a tight little mouth, and then, the hot honeyed journey began yet again, and in, and further in! Her eyes had opened, closed on mine, then lost focus. Then her father-in-law had lowered his mouth back on hers, and she had weakly welcomed it.

I moved into a rhythm that fitted hers. And in fits and further fits, we fitted well. As she and her father-in-law played another game. Her mouth and tongue joining breathlessly with his ... as her private parts locked, in an even wilder embrace, with mine. I started to come.

And so did Bill Dunkerly's daughter-in-law.

And so -- but this was merely a feeling I had -- did Bill Dunkerly.

As I came, the lovely Tracy began to gasp and moan and cry, a gentle but frenzied careening, into Bill's open mouth. The tryst went on for some minutes as all three of us rose to a pitch, each in our own way trying our best to keep quiet, as the husband slept peacefully on.

After I was done I had to watch Dicky Boy for signs of life, as his Dad took a turn with his wife. Dicky never moved.

Tracy was the last to settle down. I was already re-clothed. Dunkerly already on his feet. Dicky-boy (now) snoring loudly as Tracy, eyes heavy-lidded, glared daggers at us both. But what could she say? We left her lying there, moist and hot and heaving, next to her husband, drunk and smelling and snoring, both of us sated, enlivened, and feeling like a drink. Thirsty work being attentive to those who deserve it, when those who should have, fail.