The Locker Room Pt. 06

The Locker Room (Part 6)

Kathryn M. Burke

When Jim woke up the next morning, he found himself lying on his back with his daughters draped against him on either side. In the light of morning he felt some embarrassment at what he'd done, and he pried himself out of their sleepy grasp and, covering himself with a dressing gown, headed downstairs to the kitchen.

To his surprise, he saw his wife sitting in the breakfast nook, broodingly drinking some coffee.

"Hi, Natalie," he said nervously.

"Hello," she said, staring daggers at him.

He got some coffee from the coffeemaker and sat down on the other side of the small table. There was an awkward silence, which Jim finally broke by saying: "You seem to have had a good time last night."

"So did you!" she spat back.

"Now listen, Natalie—"

"How'd you like fucking your daughters? Both of them!"

"It was just—"

"Front and back, I assume? You always like that."

"Well, yes, but—"

"Jesus Christ, Jim, have you no shame!"

He bridled at that. "Hey, what about what you did with Matt and DeAndre?"

"They're not my sons!" she thundered.

"Okay, okay, I get that. But really, it was Camilla who made me—"

"She made you?" Natalie said incredulously. "Here you are, a big strong man—and her father to boot! And here she is, a little slip of a girl whom you could probably pick up with one hand. And you say she made you do it?"

"Look," Jim said desperately, "it wasn't what you think. Okay, sure, I've had the hots for them for a long time—what guy wouldn't? They're beautiful girls. But what we did, we did out of love."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Yes, I do. Anyway, as Camilla said, we're—"

"We're all adults, Mom," Camilla interjected, having wandered into the kitchen, a frightened Naomi in tow. "And it was a way of expressing our love for each other. Daddy's a real sweetheart."

Natalie looked at each member of her family in turn, then just shook her head. "Oh, who cares? If that's what you say it is, then I guess you're entitled to your opinions. And I don't suppose this will be the last time."

"I hope not!" Camilla said naughtily. "Maybe next time we could get you into the mix too."

"Camilla!" Naomi said, inexpressibly shocked. (And yet, the idea of tasting her mother's pussy did appeal to her.)

Natalie rolled her eyes. "We'll see about that, young lady. Right now, you'd better get cracking on a big breakfast. Everyone's hungry."

"I'm sure they are," Camilla said with a smirk. "Our guys worked pretty hard last night, didn't they? They'll definitely need some refueling."

6

The rest of the semester was busy with studying and preparing for graduation. All four of the young people—Camilla, Naomi, Matt, and DeAndre—were finishing up their senior years and looking forward to getting out into the world and starting their careers. In between hitting the books, they all had to make time to head over to the Stevens house for occasional nights or weekends of fun, and they made sure not to neglect Clyde Wilkins, whom everyone liked more and more for his mix of tenderness and strength.

After graduation, it was decided that Camilla and DeAndre would stay with Clyde, at least in the short term, while they looked for jobs. Naomi and Matt found a small house of their own that they would rent for a longer or shorter time. DeAndre did not get drafted for the NFL, and in fact he had no particular desire to become a professional athlete. He was now eyeing the prospect of being a coach at his own alma mater.

It was only a few weeks after these arrangements had been made that a curious incident occurred.

One Saturday afternoon, Clyde and DeAndre had gone off to find some plants for the front yard (Clyde was an avid gardener), leaving Camilla to hold the fort by herself. When she heard the doorbell ring, she wondered who it could be. Not a solicitor, she hoped!

The person she saw when she opened the door was a strikingly attractive blonde, probably in her mid-forties. She was of medium height, with an oval face that somehow reminded Camilla of the perpetual melancholy of some of the models that the Pre-Raphaelites had used for their paintings. But she was well built, with nice curves in all the right places.

Before Camilla could speak, the woman frowned at her and said sharply, "Who are you?"

Well, that's kind of rude, Camilla thought. "I'm Camilla. Who are you?"

But the woman seemed disinclined to answer the question. Moving her head back and forth as if to try to look at the interior of the house, she said, "Does Clyde Wilkins live here?"

"He does. I'd still like to know who you are."

All of a sudden, a look of alarm—even of terror—spread over the woman's face. "Does—does DeAndre live here too?" She seemed to place a huge weight on whatever answer she was about to receive.

"Yes, he does," Camilla said calmly.

"And you're his girl?"

"I am." No need to mention: I sleep with Clyde too.

"Omigod," the woman said, falling to her knees on the steps leading to the front door.

"What is the matter with you?" Camilla said, now quite annoyed. But as she saw the poor woman start weeping softly, she said more gently, "Please, ma'am, tell me who you are. Maybe I can help."

"I'm Scarlett Wilkins!" the woman shrieked. "Clyde's ex-wife—and DeAndre's mother!"

This pale-skinned blonde was DeAndre's mom? Camilla couldn't believe it.

"You'd better come in," she said, leading Scarlett into the house.

Scarlett gazed around the place as if she were a long-lost mariner who had finally returned home after years spent on the open seas. She touched little objects here and there with both affection and regret, then locked eyes with Camilla, who had been watching her every move.

"I gather DeAndre didn't tell you I was white," Scarlett said bluntly.

"Well," Camilla said diplomatically, "he really hasn't told me much about you at all, and Clyde hasn't either. Both of them seem a little, um, confused as to why you left."

Scarlett, who was now sitting disconsolately on the sofa in the living room, wrung her hands. "Yeah, well, that's pretty hard to explain."

"Can't you tell me?" Camilla urged. "Sometimes it's easier to talk with a stranger than with a family member."

Scarlett looked the younger woman up and down. "How long have you known DeAndre?"

"A little less than a year. But we've gotten really close. He's an incredible guy—in his heart and mind as well as in his body. And Clyde's pretty amazing too."

Scarlett's face crumpled in a grimace of pain, and she swallowed several times before she could speak.

"Look, I may as well lay my cards on the table, even though you may end up hating me."

"I can't imagine I could do that."

"You haven't heard what I have to say." Getting up abruptly, Scarlett began pacing the room. "You know how some men get an unhealthy attraction to their daughters? Well"—her voice descended to a whisper—"it happens to women and their sons too."

Camilla's jaw dropped. This woman has the hots for her own son—my boyfriend, DeAndre? She might have been a bit more shocked if she hadn't repeatedly had carnal relations with her father.

"It—it's not entirely surprising," she said quietly. "Especially with a guy like DeAndre. And that's really the reason you left?"

"Of course it is!" Scarlett shot back. "I love Clyde—and I love DeAndre! Can you imagine how painful it was to separate myself from these two men, who mean more to me than all other men in the whole world? These feelings had been building in me for years. I'd hoped that DeAndre would go somewhere far away for college, so that he wouldn't be around to tempt me; but he went to school right here at Farquhar! And he would come by the house a lot, usually once a week. And when he became such a star on the football field, things got even worse! He actually told me about all the girls he was taking to bed. God, I couldn't stop thinking of all those lovely coeds spreading their legs for him—and I couldn't help fantasizing about being in that position myself! But even as I thought those things, I felt such a sense of shame and self-disgust that I could hardly function. I was becoming a basket case, and poor Clyde just couldn't understand what was the matter with me. So—so I just left."

And Scarlett dumped herself back on the sofa, covering her face with her hands and bursting into tears.

Camilla wrapped her arm around the grieving woman, doing her best to comfort her. But nothing seemed to work. So she decided to lay her cards on the table.

"You know, Scarlett," she said slowly, "it's always struck me as kind of silly that society says we're not allowed to be intimate with the people we most love—the members of our family. Oh, I understand the reasons for that taboo: you don't want to have children from the union of father and daughter, mother and son, brother and sister. But with birth control, that's not an issue anymore.

"And that's why"—she paused momentarily—"I'm happy to slip into Clyde's bed every so often. And also into my dad's."

Scarlett lowered her hands from her tear-stained face. "You do that?"

"I do. It's really a lot of fun—and so much more than fun. I feel a lot closer to Clyde and Dad, now that they've probed my body. So maybe—"

But before she could finish the thought, the door opened. Clyde and DeAndre walked in, holding a number of packages they'd purchased.

Both men stood stock-still as they immediately recognized who their unexpected visitor was.

"Scarlett," Clyde said quietly. "What are you doing here?" The question was not at all hostile; he was just puzzled and curious.

DeAndre said nothing, but just fixed his gaze on his mother.

"Oh, Clyde," Scarlett said miserably, "please forgive me!"

And she flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and crying uncontrollably like some little girl seeking solace from her strong, sympathetic father. At first, Clyde just stood there, arms hanging at his sides; but gradually he embraced her, stroking the back of her head to soothe her.

After several minutes, Clyde pulled her away from him and said, "You should greet your son, dear."

Scarlett seemed to cower in front of DeAndre, who was giving her a look that mingled alarm, amazement, and even a bit of fear. Then, in a sudden gesture, he wrapped her mother in a bear-hug that might have broken some bones in an ordinary person; but she didn't seem to mind, hugging him with passion and kissing him all over his face and neck.

While this was going on, Camilla sensed an opportunity. She took Clyde by the hand and led him into the kitchen for a private chat. Without wasting words, she related to him what Scarlett had told her, especially about her feelings toward her son.

Clyde took in the words with pensive understanding, nodding every so often.

"It doesn't surprise me," he said in his habitually soft voice. "DeAndre's certainly a man who can make any woman's heart flutter—even his own mother."

His response heartened Camilla. "So—do you think we can make some accommodation? I mean, she loves both of you and wants to come back. Would it really be so bad—?"

Clyde knew of Camilla and Naomi's occasional visits to the parental home and their intimacy with their father. And his own intimacy with Camilla would also have been regarded by most people as pretty irregular, even immoral. So he was primed to be forgiving.

"We're all adults," he said, repeating the argument that Camilla herself had made to her mom. "If DeAndre's willing, I don't see why . . ."

The pair in the kitchen were intrigued by some curious sounds coming from the living room. As they made their way back there, they saw DeAndre and Scarlett still locked in an embrace; Scarlett was kissing her son with both hands fastened to his face, and DeAndre's hand had slid down to her bottom and was massaging that area over her clothes.

"I think," Clyde said with a smile, "we can assume DeAndre would be willing."

Scarlett stayed for dinner—one cooked mostly by Camilla and Clyde—and then Clyde took his son to the study to explain the situation. DeAndre nodded in much the same way his father had done when Camilla had told him the story of Scarlett's feelings.

When the two men returned to the living room, Clyde bent down to Scarlett—now sitting demurely in an easy chair—and whispered in her ear, "If you want him tonight, you can have him."

She gasped and looked her ex-husband in the face. "You—you mean that?"

"Yes, I do."

"But what about him? Does he want me?"

"You don't have to worry about that."

The four of them talked a little more on general subjects, and then DeAndre got up from the sofa and, extending a hand to Scarlett, said, "Let's go, Mom."

He led her slowly up the stairs to the master bedroom, which by silent consensus was the place where the union between mother and son would happen. He quietly closed the door, gave his mom a meaningful look, and then proceeded to undress. Scarlett just watched him, mouth slightly open, as he revealed his impressive form to her sight. Shoes, socks, shirt, and pants all came off; and then, after an aching pause, he slipped off his underwear and exposed his naked body to her.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to take in the vision of this gorgeous young man's figure. As he strode deliberately over to her and wrapped her in his arms, she gloried in the feel of his form pressing up against hers, fully clothed as she was; his rapidly hardening cock was poking her in the abdomen, and she couldn't resist giving it a few tugs with her hand as she anticipated what was to come.

Then DeAndre released her from his arms, turned her around, and undid the long zipper of her dress. Then he took the dress by the neck and pulled it down from her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap at her feet. She was now wearing only a bra and panties, and he unclasped the one and peeled off the other so that she revealed her nudity to him. At first he took in her backside—the long, curving back, strong thighs, tapered calves, and especially the fleshy, curvy bottom. Then, turning her around, he feasted on her front—the full, ripe breasts, the slightly rounded stomach, and the thick patch of fur covering her delta.

"Oh, Mom," he sighed, "you're so beautiful."

She fell to her feet, taking his cock in her hands and pulling it down to the level of her mouth. After only a moment's pause, she plunged as much of it into her mouth as she could. She got at least half of it in, then started licking and sucking it with both gusto and reverence. This was the man who had come out of her womb twenty-two years ago, and she felt humbled that she could have produced such an extraordinary specimen of masculinity. She made sure to stimulate the large sac of testicles, and even craned her head to put those balls into her mouth, rolling them around with her tongue.

DeAndre now raised his mother to her feet and led her to the bed. He made her lie down flat on her back, and her legs naturally opened so that he could feast his eyes on her sex. It was he who now felt humility and reverence as he placed his face close to the moist, fragrant opening—that opening out of which he had emerged into the world. His first few licks of her labia were tentative, but he soon took more vigorous action, squeezing her bottom as he nuzzled the whole area, paying particular attention to her swelling clitoris—much larger than either Camilla's or Naomi's, and even a bit larger than Natalie's.

Scarlett kept one hand on the top of DeAndre's head while with the other she grabbed a tuft of the bedsheet. It was becoming clear that her son was intent on bringing her to climax right away, and she sensed that the moment was not far off. She continued to stare in amazement at her son as he stimulated her—and then began to become dimly aware of the telltale signs of her impending paroxysm. Without releasing her eyes from her son's bobbing head, she sensed a titanic flood of pleasure radiating from her sex and spreading out all over her body and mind, creating an explosion that made her groan in a choked voice as the waves of ecstasy kept on crashing over her.

DeAndre felt a surge of pride and satisfaction as he watched his mother relishing her orgasm to the full. But he now realized that it was his turn to achieve that same state, and he slid up her body, situating herself between her legs as he gazed down benevolently at her.

"May I go in you, Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, you may, son," she said.

He didn't need a hand to guide his cock into that long-sought orifice—for he too had admired his mother's beauty and desirability for many years and had longed for this moment just as much as she had. Their eyes remained locked together as his member slipped effortlessly into her vagina. Both of them were aware of the magnitude of the moment as they effected a union that most people would regard with abhorrence, but which was to them the pinnacle of their mutual love and devotion.

He lowered himself onto her, feeling her heavy breasts press against his chest. At first he kissed her face—mouth, nose, cheeks, even ears—lightly and delicately; but soon he was pasting his kisses all over her face and neck and shoulders with uncontrolled passion while also clutching at her breasts and back and bottom with questing hands. Even more intensely than when he had coupled with Camilla or Naomi or Natalie, he regarded his mother as embodying the quintessential female—the inexhaustible focus of man's desire.

His cock entered her more and more deeply, and she received it gratefully, although at times she seemed to wince at the depth of his penetration. He suspected she'd gone through a bit of a drought. But he couldn't ease up, pounding her forcefully until he sensed the tingling in his balls that signaled the onset of his climax.

With an anguished moan he shot his emission into her, and his cry was matched by her own: both of them were overwhelmed by the immense significance of this deposit of his seed into her—it was a kind of glue that cemented the renewal of a bond that had come dangerously close to being broken.

But, as he remained buried in her, with the final remnants of his discharge pouring out of his cock, he knew this was only the first of several unions of their bodies and souls that would take place this evening. Later he entered her bottom slowly and tenderly: she had welcomed this procedure with Clyde, but was quite out of practice. Still later, a long session of sixty-nine resulted in multiple climaxes for Scarlett as she made dutiful obeisance to her son's enormous member, regarding it as a towering obelisk to which she was giving all her love and devotion. When he at last exploded for the third time, she gratefully drank in his essence, letting it slide thickly down her throat.

The next night was her ecstatic reunion with Clyde, and all her orifices were opened to him. The many years they had spent together, in and out of bed, caused their copulation to take the form of a kind of muscle memory; they effortlessly entwined their bodies in a multitude of ways, each of them more intense than the last.

But the next night, by an unspoken agreement, would be the true culmination of Scarlett's return to the household.

After a glorious meal and some intimate conversation, she took both her son and her ex-husband by the hand and led them upstairs to the bedroom. Camilla followed with a humility she rarely exhibited, but she sensed that this moment was one where she might be largely a spectator. As they all undressed, Scarlett fell to her knees and placed both men's cocks in her mouth at the same time, while Camilla rubbed herself up against each man in turn, pressing her breasts and delta against their hard, muscular bodies.