Winter Mix Ch. 11: Bad

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

New Year's Day, 1961

The winter sun sent warming bright rays through the dormer window nearest Becky Barnes' bed's headboard. They lit her closed eyelids and rallied her back to the world. Deeply fucked for the first time, the twenty-year-old NYU junior remained emotionally awash in a transcendent state even though her post-coital flush had died away. Rolling to her right, she draped her left arm across the chest of her thirty-six-year-old next-door-neighbor, Phil Maxon and smiled.

As she toyed her fingers in the curly brown thatch on Phil's sternum, she thought, "You're mine, Bad Man. You may not know it yet, and Mrs. Maxon may never know it, but it's true all the same."

Suddenly, Becky's fingertips, like seismographic needles, felt a rumble as Phil, still with his eyes closed, complained with a chuckle, "Hey, that tickles... what do you think you're doing, anyway?"

Becky kissed the small hard pebble on Phil's left breast and lowered her hand past his navel to his flaccid dick. As she gently massaged it to life, she answered, "I'm dreamwalking. Don't wake me. TAKE me! Again!" Completing her roll, she held his hardening handle, straddled his naked hips, then rubbed his velvet mushroom over her budding clit and between her moistening folds. After three circuits along her oiled slit, he was stiff enough to stretch her iris and enter her nest without further help.

As Phil's plump glans pressed through, Becky's tight tunnel necessarily yielded to it and its following fat steely shaft's mass. She bowed her back, thrust out her chest, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Tipping her head back, she drew in a great breath and held while her contracting cunny snugly seized its slippery visitor. She felt completely full in a straight line through her tummy to her throat.

Phil, meanwhile, opened his eyes, gripped Becky's bare bottom with strong flexing fingers and held her in place as he curled his glutes and drove his dick nuts-deep. She mewled and reflexively rotated her pelvis around the stake impaling her pussy. Her breaths became ragged and her belly rippled. He watched her firm full breasts lift and lower erratically beneath her sheer yellow rayon baby doll top.

Phil bent his knees and used his lower body to rock repeatedly, deeply, slowly in Becky's virtually virgin vagina at a torturous pace. Agonizing delicious pressure built in them both. Just when she thought she would burst, he would stop and then, as if he read her mind, as soon as the explosive threat dissipated, he would start again. Over and over, he brought her to the edge of a great cliff where she both feared and desired to fall.

Phil was not impervious to either his effect upon Becky or hers upon him. He consciously struggled to stay in control as his balls boiled and his heart raced. At critical junctures he froze in place until his urge to surge subsided. But always, when he began stroking again, his aggravated testes re-kicked with a vengeance.

Finally, Becky could no longer hold back her scream. Phil jammed his joint to her cervix and roared himself. She felt faint as lights flashed in her head and her stomach flipped. He growled and groaned as he ground his groin into her pubes.

For the second time in ninety minutes, Becky fell to the bed, emotionally, spiritually and physically filled to the brim. Her heart thrilled and her pussy leaked. Phil tenderly wiped perspiration beads from her hairline with his thumb and said huskily, "You said you like to sleep in until about ten and then have some cereal. Did you get enough oats from me, or are you still hungry?"

Becky smiled wanly, then stuck out her tongue and made a face. "You are such a bad man, Phil. First you spoil my satin opera gloves, then you tear my pajama bottoms to shreds, and now you're making fun of me." She laughed her unique tinkling small laugh, then said straight-faced in a low serious voice, "I will always be hungry for your oats. Anywhere, anytime, anyway." Putting a fine point on her statement, she rubbed her soft palm over his left cheek and added, flatly, "I love you, Bad Man."

Unsure how he wanted to respond to Becky's unequivocal declaration, Phil merely replied, "Thank you, Lemon Drop. Want to take a shower with me?" Rising from the bed, he was glad that she used his outstretched left hand for support as she followed him up from the soaked bottom sheet, but he stared at her confused when she stood beside him, snorted and then derisively laughed out loud.

"Okay, okay," Phil said, good naturedly. "What's the joke? Do I have a tuft of your pubic hair stuck in my teeth or something?"

Becky laughed even harder at the ridiculous suggestion, then pointed to the floor and said, "You never took off your socks!"

Phil lifted first one foot to the mattress, then the other, as he peeled his brown poly-wool blend socks with their gold-and-white woven triangles to his toes and left them laying on the old rose Bigelow carpet. "There!" He exclaimed. "No more socks. But, what about you? You're still wearing your baby doll top. Lose it, Lemon Drop!"

Resigned to his command, Becky shed her pastel cover and tossed it onto the far side of the bed onto its matching ripped panty. "Alright, Bad Man Phil," she said softly, as she pushed her right hand into his lats. "The bathroom is the next door down on the left as we go into the hall. I'm going to use the one in Mom's room." Patting his ass, she squeezed herself between him and the window seat as she giggled, "If we showered together, it might be, uhm, dangerous."

Phil stood transfixed as he watched Becky walked nude through her door and turned right to head to Judith Barnes' master bedroom. Every part of her perfect 35-25-33 inverted triangle figure was in enticing motion. His soft dick and empty nuts were too far gone to notice, but his chest ached as his mind appreciated her exit. With a small sigh, he followed her out then turned left to the pink-and-olive bath between her and Barney's bedrooms.

Dressed again, Phil peeked in Becky's bedroom and found it empty. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked downstairs to the kitchen. On the daffodil-print white plastic tablecloth on Judith's expandable round Danish Modern table were two bowls of steaming mush. Between them, beside the salt and pepper shakers and sugar bowl, was a waxed quart carton of milk.

As Phil entered, Becky pulled out a matching teak chair for him to sit, saying, "Breakfast is served. Hope you like Cream of Wheat." Her high-necked floor-length quilted polyester yellow robe, with its large Gerber Daisy printed pattern, did surprisingly little to conceal her nubile curves. Again, he felt his cock wiggle while his eggs rolled in his scrotum, as if to collectively say, "We're ready when you are, Boss!"

Phil sat on the woven paper cord chair seat and scooted up to his place setting as he answered, "Thank you, I do."

Sitting opposite Phil, Becky spooned a bite to her mouth, then said, "The Fine Arts Theater downtown is playing that new movie, 'Where The Boys Are'. I checked the times and the first show starts in forty minutes." She watched his face carefully for reaction as she ate another scoop of cereal, then asked, "Do you want to go with me to see it? We might miss the previews, but I can get dressed quickly and we'd be sure to see the whole show. Please, Phil? I've heard it's really funny, but I'm going back to school tomorrow and know I won't have time to go then." Beneath the table she rubbed a white plush ankle-booty slipper against his stockinged left foot up to, and under, the cuff of his slacks.

Phil coughed in the back of his throat as he swallowed his own first spoonful of mush, then replied, "Westport's a pretty small town in lots of ways, Becky. It may not be the smartest thing to go to the movies together. I mean, I am married, and you are not my daughter, or niece, or anything like that. People would be bound to talk."

Becky was not unprepared for this argument. "I know that, Bad Man! But, I still want to see the movie and want your company. I thought we could go separately, maybe meet inside, like up in the balcony... It's New Year's Day and early yet. I don't think a lot of people are going to be there. We can be discreet." Half-pouting, she added petulantly, "I'm not a child, you know!"

Phil did know that Becky was no child. He loved that she was not a child. Her slippered foot sensuously reminded him, just in case he was a forgetful idiot, that she was definitely not a child. Groaning deep in his chest, he surrendered and agreed, "Alright. Listen, get dressed and then start walking toward Main Street. When I see you on the sidewalk, I'll pull up in my Chevy and offer you a lift to town. The neighbors, if they're looking, won't have anything to say about that."

Phil took another mouthful of Cream of Wheat and continued, "I can drop you near the Fine Arts and then come back after I've parked. Your idea to meet inside, up in the balcony is a good one... So, if you want to do all that, then okay; I'll go to the show with you."

Becky rejoiced inside as Phil unfolded his game plan. This was as good as she had dared to hope, even as she had expected he could not be persuaded to go on a public date with her. Dropping her utensil, she rushed around the table from her chair and hugged him about his shoulders as she bubbled over, "Thank you! Thank you, Bad Man Phil! I love you!" Then with a lightning quick kiss to his crown, she ran for the stairs, shouting, "Watch for me!"

Phil shook his head as reality set in and he wondered, "What have you done, now? You're no Boy Scout, Buddy, but you damn well better 'be prepared'." Moving to the coat rack, he laced on his chukka boots, donned his winter jacket and left the Barnes' home for his own. In his double garage, he turned over the ignition on his turquoise 1958 Impala, set the heater and defroster controls, then rolled down the driveway to where he could watch for Becky. Five minutes later she appeared on the Barnes' front porch and stepped off toward the street.

Giving Becky enough time to get started for town, but not so much that she would become uncomfortably cold in the crisp sub-freezing weather, Phil pulled up beside her at the curb and powered down the passenger's window. He called, "Hey! Miss! It's cold out there! Do you want a ride?"

Becky stopped and turned toward the car. She did not have to fake the gratitude in her voice as she answered, "Oh! Yes please!" She immediately crossed the frozen grass parking strip to the coupe, opened its door and slid in onto the complimenting turquoise cloth-and-vinyl bench seat. Carefully circumspect, she sat as close to the door's armrest as possible while Phil put the car in gear and drove away.

Following his mapped out strategy, Phil parked a block away from the theater and walked back to get his ticket. From the lobby, he made his way upstairs while he assiduously ignored Becky, who was buying Jujubes at the concession counter. He was very pleased to see the movie crowd on the main floor was light, and there was, in fact, no one but him in the balcony seating area. He moved to the furthest, darkest back row corner seat to maximize his invisibility, and therefore minimize the guilt creeping into his head.

While Roberta and Patricia Maxon were just leaving the local ice rink and heading for New Haven to buy tickets to the upcoming Ice Capades show there, Becky was just parting the velvet balcony curtains and peering into the darkness for her lover's location. Spotting him, barely, in the deep shadows, she smiled and slipped from the aisle into the walkway between rows. As she approached, she unbuttoned her scarlet wool pea jacket style bridge coat. At the seat beside Phil, she dumped her coat on the next seat over and sat down.

Well into the movie, after many laugh-out loud antics by the Mid-West college girls on Easter Break in Fort Lauderdale, Phil and Becky sat holding hands on the armrest dividing their seats. With no other patrons sharing the balcony, they were wholly at ease in their own private world. Having long since finished her candy, she rested her left cheek contentedly against his right upper arm and watched the screen through half-lidded eyes. He enjoyed the pleasant warm weight pressed on his biceps and could not recall the last time he and Bobbie had sat this close for this long.

In Metrocolor and four-track stereo, Frank Gorshin's character, a severely myopic bass player being stalked by Connie Francis, pushed his instrument's fiddlestick at her and said, pompously, "You may rub rosin on my bow." While Phil chuckled at the line, Becky raised her head and whispered, "Would you like me to 'rub rosin' on your bow, Phil?" Quicker than quick, she released his hand and dropped hers into his lap, on his right inside thigh, where she knew his dick would be.

Before Phil could protest, Becky swiveled ninety degrees in her seat onto her left hip, let go his cock and hooked her left arm behind his head. In nearly the same fluid motion, she undid his belt and trousers with her right hand while she turned his face toward hers. Then, she shimmied her chest against his over the armrest as she kissed him warmly and wrestled his stiffening staff free from its jail. Holding his hard-on while it firmed up ever more in her firm grip, she hummed against his lips, "Hmmm? Do you?"

Phil groaned, "Uhnn, not here." He struggled with himself as he struggled to free himself. Her soft fuzzy pink angora sweater slid over his gold Ban-Lon cardigan and clearly revealed she had no bra supporting her compressing globes. "Please, Beck- kee," he protested soto voce, but with as much conviction as his libido allowed. "Don't be bad here."

Becky puffed her pursed lips and purred, "Pooh! There's no one here but us, Bad Man. Why can't we both be bad?" She gave his now petrified prick an extra strong squeeze then exchanged it for his left wrist. Pulling his arm over the seat divider, she pushed his left hand up under her charcoal wool circle skirt to her crotch and sibilated evilly, "Seeee? I'm not wearing underwear!" She pushed her hips forward against his digits and kissed them with her moistening cunny.

"How do you like it here, Phil?" Becky asked as she assisted his thumb to her clit while he reflexively worked his middle and ring fingers into her vaginal opening. "Mmmm, I like it here. Lots. You're such a bad man, I can't help being a bad girl." Letting go, she left him to explore her pussy in his own way and returned to his neglected standing erection. As she expected, pre-cum dabs had already surfaced.

Becky coated his mushroom with his viscous essential oil and kissed Phil again. He moaned through her teeth as she pushed her tongue past his and squirmed her cunt against his pincered hand. Abruptly, she broke the kiss as if she had been shot and exclaimed, "Oh! I have a great idea!" Immediately, to his dismayed disappointment, she stood up left him hanging on three fronts.

Becky grabbed her thigh-length coat from the next seat over, stepped between Phil's knees, hiked her purple-pink-blue-and-yellow window-pane plaid skirt to her waist, then pivoted a hundred-and-eighty-degrees. Wiggling her pale bare bottom, she ordered, "Hold my waist, Bad Man!" Then, when she felt his hands on her mid-riff, she hopped backward onto his lap and surrounded his boner with her thighs while she pushed her arms through her coat sleeves and wore it like a red wool bib.

"Oh, yes, Phil," Becky cooed, as she leaned her back against his chest and brought her hands under her jacket's spread plackets. "This'll work just great!" Clutching his cock while she spread her knees, she guided him to her slit's winking wet entrance and inserted his head. "Mmhhhmmm," she murmured. "Right there... do me like you like to do me... uhnnn-hunh."

At last, both understanding the plan and giving in to it, Phil hitched his hips and shoved his shaft half-way through her hole. Sliding his left hand over her tummy and below her sweater's tight ribbed midsection, he verified his earlier inference but discovered that she was not naked underneath. His hand was sweetly trapped between the soft angora wool and an equally soft thin satin camisole. It glided frictionless over her firm full boobs.

Becky mewled and lolled her head back onto Phil's right trapezius as he plucked her puffy discs and prompted their plump pips to harden like the Jujubes she had eaten during the first reel. Meanwhile, he stirred his partially buried bone in her clinging cunt as he extended his right thumb and pinky across her abdomen. She rotated and rocked herself on his rod, drawing him in deeper until she had consumed all but his last inch-and-a-half. He augured his thumb into her perfectly round navel and tickled his little finger through her unruly brunette thicket.

Filled to satisfaction, Becky closed her eyes and enjoyed the glowing tension rising through her tummy as her Kegels massaged the heartwarming mass in her vagina. Phil alternately tweaked and tugged first her left, then her right tit while he tapped his thumb against her umbilical knot in time with her pussy's pulsing flexion. As their seated dance continued, their senses drove them on, leaving reason by the wayside. Softly, in the balcony's dark confines, they voiced their delights with admixed whimpers, gnars, grunts and moans.

Becky's inner turmoil advanced beyond her physical stability. She braced herself on both chair arms while her rambunctious nerves ran riot from her chest to her cramping toes. Her calves quivered in her pink wool knee socks as she autonomically lifted and lowered her heels in her patent leather black Mary Janes. Flexing her elbows, she bounced her bottom on Phil's lap and pounded his pole hard onto her cervix.

As Becky rose and dropped, Phil, too, bounced up and down on the theater seat's springy leather cushion. He stabbed his stiff steel up to its hilt, then withdrew it by half its length then slid it fully into its muscled scabbard again. His chest heaved as he chuffed short breaths. Vacating her belly button, he pushed his palm past her mons and worried her swollen clit.

Becky bit her lip to keep from shrieking as her orgasm crashed through her entire body. "Hhhnn! Hhhnn! Hhhnn! Hhhnn! Hhhnn!" She gasped sharply, repeatedly, while she clung white-knuckled to the arm rests and thrust her hips down onto the stake through her womb. Her ears rang and her heart sang rhapsodic chords that no one but she could hear or appreciate.

Becky's naturally tight, semi-virginal snatch, holding Phil's engorged penis in a collapsing death-grip, triggered his huddled balls. He punched a further quarter-inch, flattened his shooting nuts against her ass and held there. Crushing her right tit, while he fanned her clit, he powerfully pumped his well dry as she came time and again with increasing strength. When he knew he had nothing left to spend, he growled into her left ear, "Now you know what can happen to a bad girl in a theater balcony. If she's not careful."

Becky sighed and swallowed as she tried to catch her breath. She could not speak. Bobbing her chin to her chest and then weakly lifting it again, she nodded her agreement while thinking, "I don't want to ever be careful around you, Bad Man." Closing her eyes, she stayed motionless until the film credits ran and Phil pushed her from his lap to a standing position.

Before the house lights came up, Phil tucked himself away and closed up his trousers while Becky removed her backward bridge coat, then put it on properly. With a directing hand in the small of her back, he propelled her to the aisle and said, "We can leave together, but only if you do exactly as I say. Have you got a Kleenex in your purse?"

"Okay," Becky replied, in a thin voice. She was still feeling the languorous effect of her rigorous fuck, and hoped Phil's instructions would not include a lot of walking. Reaching into her small black patent leather shoulder purse, she handed him a tissue from a travel pack she kept there.