The High School Reunion Pt. 02

"That doesn't mean we have to do it."

"I wouldn't mind trying." Then, with worry in her voice: "Will it hurt?"

"It might. But lube helps."

"What lube?"

"There's some hand lotion in the bathroom."

When she said nothing, I took that as an indication of consent. I slipped out of bed, got the tiny tube of hand lotion, and made her lie flat on her stomach. Her eyes got big at the prospect of my sticking my fingers into that sensitive spot, but she bravely endured the application of the stuff in and around her anus. I think she expected I'd want to have her in doggie-style position, but I made her remain flat on her stomach as I climbed gently on top of her.

I could tell she was feeling nervous as my cock approached that nether orifice; and when I went in an inch or two she actually whimpered a little--not really out of pain but out of a nebulous fear that this "unnatural" procedure meant she was descending into some kind of perversion. But as I slipped more and more into her, she seemed to take it well enough, although every so often she winced in pain; most of the time she endured my penetration with soft sighs.

I wrapped my hands around her chest and seized her breasts. But I had no desire to be selfish: after a while I slid a hand down her front to her sex, which I began stimulating even as I thrust my cock almost entirely into her tight cavity. Her pussy was sopping wet, and she started letting out heavy grunts every time I pumped her. She seemed totally helpless, and yet we both sensed that my own ravenous desire to possess her made her somehow in charge of the whole situation. This wouldn't be happening if I didn't want her so badly.

Once again, my emission was smooth and copious, as I sent an incredible amount of my semen deep into her bottom. At the same time, she experienced her second climax, almost squealing in pleasure as her legs flailed uncontrollably and her tongue fluttered in her mouth. Even after our spasms were over, we lay fused and connected, in perfect sympathy with each other.

But at last I had to pull out, and I heaved myself off the bed and went to the bathroom to wash.

When I came back, I wrapped her in my arms and said, "Did that hurt?"

"A little," she said. "But not nearly as much as I thought it would."

"Glad to hear it."

We lay comfortably in each other's arms. There was no need for words. But once again she began unconsciously toying with my cock, sometimes just using a single finger to stroke the top or the bottom of it. And when it got hard yet again, she gave me look of utter disbelief.

"You don't want still more, do you?" she exclaimed.

"With you I don't think I can ever reach my limit," I said.

She blushed, but was inwardly pleased that she'd stimulated me in this way.

"What do you want to do now?"

"Do you know what sixty-nine is?"

"Yes, I know."

"Would you like to try that?"

"Yes... but I'm kind of messy down there. Should I clean up?"

"There's no need for that."

She nodded briefly, and we got into position. Somehow she sensed that it would be better if she were on top. As she swung around and all but thrust her pussy into my face, I could see it oozing with my discharge--and some of it was leaking out of her anus also. I licked it all up, tasting some of her own juices as well while grabbing that gorgeous bottom of hers with both hands. Meanwhile, Sandra grasped my cock with one hand, holding it straight up, and plunged it into her mouth; with her other hand she alternately tickled my balls and grasped my butt, whose firm musculature seemed to please her.

I couldn't recall the last time I'd come three times--perhaps I never had (certainly not with Miriam). I wasn't even certain I could manage it, and I didn't worry about whether it happened or not. I was mostly intent on pleasing her, and I could tell that my ministrations were having a decided impact: I think she came twice, perhaps three times, over the next thirty or forty minutes--unless it was just one long climax interrupted by several peaks. It was a long, leisurely session that totally bonded us physically and emotionally--and when, somewhat unexpectedly, I did have a third climax, sending my seed thickly down her throat, our union seemed complete.

By unspoken agreement we decided this was the end of our session, and after some further snuggling we curled up for a welcome sleep.

The next morning we ordered room service and--after the delivery person had left a big tray of eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and other things on a small round table in a corner of the room--we ate breakfast naked. It was just the natural thing to do, because we felt so totally comfortable with each other.

Afterwards, Sandra said, "You know, my mom would really like to see you."

"I have a plane to catch in a few hours," I said.

"Well, if you could drop by just briefly, I'm sure she'd appreciate that." With a twinkle in her eye she said, "You'd better not tell her about what we've just done."

"Um, no, I won't do that. And you won't either, I hope?"

"Not on your life!"

Sandra asked for my phone number, then texted me her mother's phone number. As she was taking a shower, I called up Christy and made an appointment to see her for just a few minutes before I had to head to the airport.

It would be an interesting meeting, that's for sure.

*

I showed up at Christy's house about half an hour later and was greeted by a guy who was obviously her husband. Peter Lampton was a fine-looking man; but, even though he was probably almost exactly my age, he looked a bit older, and seemed already to be getting a little gray around the temples. But otherwise he was a genial fellow who greeted me with surprising enthusiasm.

"Hey, it's good to see ya, man!" he said, taking my hand and shaking it vigorously.

"Glad to be here," I said in a more subdued tone of voice.

"I bet Christy'll be thrilled that you're here!"

He led me to a room toward the back of the house. It turned out to be a kind of den, and through the open door I saw Christy lying on a long couch, her left ankle heavily bandaged and two crutches nearby. She had a kind of sour look on her face--and who wouldn't? Nobody likes to be laid up like that.

Peter ushered me into the room. "Here he is, Christy-love!" I could have done without that "Christy-love" bit, but didn't say anything. Who was I to come between a husband and a wife?

Turning to me, he said, "I'm sure you guys have a lot of old times to talk about, so I'll leave you be." And he closed the door behind me and left me alone with Christy.

I brought a straight chair near the couch and sat down on it, facing the woman whom I'd taken to bed two decades before.

She still looked fabulous--not quite as lovely as her daughter, but if Sandra looked this good at her age, she'd be lucky. But although her face and figure were hypnotic, she didn't at all have that look of wide-eyed innocence that made Sandra so appealing.

"Hi, Christy," I said.

"Hi," she said--not very cordially.

"I'm sorry you hurt yourself."

"Yeah, so am I."

"I'm sure lots of people would have wanted to talk to you at the reunion."

"Yes, well, there's only one person I wanted to talk to."

"Who?"

"Who do you think, you ninny? You."

I was taken aback at her hostility. She didn't at all sound that way on the phone. "I thought you wanted to see me, so here I am."

She didn't say anything to that--just kept on giving me a look that verged between annoyance and actual hatred.

I quickly tried to change the subject. "I had a wonderful time meeting your daughter." A really, really wonderful time. "She's a fine young woman."

And that's when Christy dropped the bombshell. Glaring at me with those blazing eyes of hers, she said in a tense whisper, "She's your daughter too."

Once again--just like when I saw Sandra naked for the first time--I came close to fainting.

"Wh-what did you say?" I gasped.

"She's your daughter too," she repeated with venom. "You knocked me up that time when you deflowered me."

"But--but--I thought you hooked up with Peter almost as soon as you got to college."

"That was at least a month later--and I could tell that I was already pregnant by then. Anyway, Sandra came along eight months after that. I had a helluva time convincing Peter that Sandra wasn't a premature baby."

"Are you telling me...?" I couldn't finish the sentence, because the one thing I came close to blurting out was exactly the thing I couldn't possibly say to her: Are you telling me I spent the night having wild sex with my daughter?

"I had to drop out of school after freshman year," Christy went on, still glaring at me. "She popped out of me just after final exams. And there was no way I could take care of her while attending classes, so I had to leave. Peter did too, but he didn't mind. He never really wanted to go to college--he did it only to please his parents. He got apprenticed to an electrician, and pretty soon he was making good money. I got a job too when Sandra was old enough to go to school. But I'll never forgive you for robbing me of college."

"But... didn't you know your own cycle?"

"I thought I did. I guess I didn't." Now her recriminations were directed at herself. "So, yes, that was my bad. But you didn't help by pouring your stuff into me without bothering to check if I was protected."

"Christy, I'm really sorry..."

"Oh, forget it. We've done pretty well for ourselves."

"Then why are you telling me now?"

"I thought you should know. Don't you want to know that a child of yours is out there? Do you have children with your wife?"

"No. We decided at the outset that we didn't want children."

"Well, then, Sandra is all you've got. And don't you dare tell Peter or Sandra! He loves that girl with all his heart, and it would crush him to know that his genes aren't in her. And she'd flip out too. So you keep mum, and I will too."

As I struggled to take in this incredible revelation, a no less incredible thought coursed through my mind: If I played my cards right, I could end up legally marrying my own daughter.

It was pretty obvious that Sandra and I were already in love: what we'd done had gone way beyond just a roll in the hay. It probably wouldn't take a lot of effort to get rid my wife (I was going to do that anyway) and then persuade Sandra to marry me. Of course, I'd make sure she finished college. True, there was a big difference in our ages; but over the centuries, couples had been able to work through that.

As for her parents: well, that would be a tougher obstacle--or would it? Peter seemed to be a man totally wrapped around his daughter's little finger, and so he wouldn't put up much of a fuss if she decided to marry me. And Christy? Well, she'd just admitted that she'd never spill the beans about Sandra's parentage to either her husband or to her daughter, so she'd just have to lump it. It did tickle me to think that the young woman I'd deflowered way back when might someday become my mother-in-law.

Whether she was my daughter or my wife, I knew that I loved Sandra as I'd never loved anyone in my life. It was just a matter of spending the next several years courting her as a young woman of her beauty and grace deserved to be courted.

On the drive to the airport, I picked up my phone and gave her a call.

THE END