0 comments/  12656 views/  0 favorites

The Culmination

By: Munky of the North



Jeremy strode out the door into the beautiful afternoon and saw the emerald sky making love with the tall oaks that lined the green hills surrounding his small town, smiled at the sweet summer smells of barbeques and grass layered within the distant shouts of children playing and the hum of insects in the hot, still air. Ten feet from the open door of his squat brick office building he turned, sucked in a sweet breath of clean summer air, and shouted, “No! Fuck YOU! I QUIT!”

Smiling still, he pointed his boots toward the edge of town and began to walk.

Without much of a destination, Jeremy walked past the cute shops that catered to the summer tourist trade, their aisles and windows crammed with customers escaping the summer heat, past wilted sidewalk vendors that tried in vain to keep cool in the shade of their canvas umbrellas, past the edge of downtown and the baking down-home sign welcoming one and all to the fabulous shopping mecca of Myer, Massachusetts, past the sweet little suburban homes (though there wasn’t any urban to be sub to) that sprouted with roomy regularity from the softly rolling earth, earth preparing to leap excitedly into the hills from which Boston could not be seen, regardless of the weather.

He hadn’t a thought in his head. 

Jeremy looked in through plate-glass windows to see televisions on, cool blue attempting to defeat the hot orange invading from outside, exhausted housewives having succumbed to gravity and the heat in the overstuffed comfort of their couches. He chuckled at the small band of children having a water balloon fight at half-speed, their energy sapped by the sun, the game of escape almost pointless because they all looked like they wanted to get hit. Several panting dogs watched him from shady porches as he passed, the interesting smells of sweat and leather he left in his wake not tantalizing enough (and what could be?) to inspire the energy cost of investigating. 

Jeremy sweated through his shirt under the arms and between his shoulders, walking briskly, enjoying the day. At one point he deposited his open-topped briefcase on a sidewalk corner to stretch, reaching into the sky and grunting with pleasure as his spine crackled, and then he simply walked away from his bag without so much as a backward glance. The scattered clouds looked lonely and out of place. One was a lion, he decided, but the other looked like a speeding car grafted onto a beetle somehow, and he left it to its own devices. 

He walked happily, his problems over and yet just beginning, his slender back straight and his head held high, green eyes sparkling in the afternoon light as only the eyes of a young man without cares and a whole summer afternoon ahead of him can, swinging his arms through the fragrant air as he put one foot in front of the other, smiling softly, as if at some private joke.

He didn’t know it, but he had a very specific destination.

Jessica.

Sweet Jessica.

After they’d settled into their routine, Jeremy’s visits to Jessica’s home became as enjoyable as excruciating frustration can be. 

In other words, they had the time of their lives.

Their mutual attraction had begun immediately, and after a few awkward moments when Jessica’s mother left the room, they had found to their ever increasing pleasure that they clicked like neither had ever clicked before. They were an erector set, Jeremy would think ruefully (he liked naughty but juvenile comparisons, as do we all) when he was walking home, his erection painful and demanding. They fit together so well he was afraid of the possibilities: they were an erector set that could be used to construct a Mars lander, an internal combustion engine, a ticking time bomb. 

They found they shared a passion for John Coltrane and ballroom dancing; each was well-versed in environmental politics and the philosophy of the mind; their enjoyment of hiking ran parallel to their love of long afternoon naps; each enjoyed cooking with olive oil, the novels of Neal Stephenson, swimming pools without chlorine, mowing the lawn, and waking up early on weekends. They were both right-handed and their favorite color was teal (teal like a Carolla, not like the Caribbean). Their names began with the same letter. They were both slender and well-kept, good-looking because they didn’t care how they looked. 

Jeremy looked like a painter, a young artist, who had gotten lost and ended up subbing as a doctor. He had the quiet confidence of a natural talent, and part of what Jessica found so appealing was wondering how many things, exactly, he was talented at. His hair was dark and straight, cut mostly short, a tad wild around the edges but mostly well-behaved. He had an edge about him that spoke of a bewildering combination of deep wisdom and a childlike, manic intensity, a mad willingness to try, well, just about anything. He was lean, not in a hungry way, but in a ready way, like a musketeer or a minuteman, and he wore his clothes like a man who feels perfectly at home no matter where he was. His height was just right.

Jessica looked like a farmer’s daughter who’d been hijacked by the volleyball team: broad, open features and a ready smile combined with a capable physicality that hinted she was ready for anything. Her hair was long, straight, and blonde with darker roots, and it caught the sunlight with a hint of amber, a secret coaxed out by heat. She had an ability to focus that Jeremy found frankly terrifying, should she ever use it for ill, and a calm way of talking about serious things that made her seem much older, much wiser. She was actively curvy, her breasts as large as her waist slim and her hips wide, and she carried herself with an ease and grace that made her the envy of women twice her age. She had many freckles.  

The first time they saw each other they had known exactly where they belonged together, and it was sweet knowledge, but painful. The most wonderful thing of all was they way they made each other laugh. They did it to each other with an ease that continually surprised them both. The laughter they shared was not the “isn’t that funny, what you just said” laugh of an encouraging friend or lover, or the “I’m laughing ‘cause I don’t know what else to do” laugh of a smitten admirer, or even the “yes I’ve seen that too” laugh of an inside joke or a cultural reference. This laughter was open, loud, and directly from the belly. Jessica would point out that Vivaldi was very short and his music made her hair kink up and the simplicity of her tone, as if this were not at all surprising, as if this was something everyone experienced, would cause Jeremy to barrel from a chuckle to an outright guffaw. Jeremy liked to imitate political leaders in the Green and Libertarian parties, and something about his earnest, strutting walk and the wildly inappropriate statements that would fall out of his mouth (“I want to strengthen the family unit and harmonize with foreigners, but continue with my program of inserting things into my butt, and the butts of those I love”) once made Jessica laugh so hard she spat crackers and cheese onto the ceiling. 

Everything was pretty much perfect.

Except for one little thing: Jessica wasn’t very good at calculus. Jeremy was. He had graduated college the year before. Jessica was about to graduate High School. 

Jeremy was her tutor.

Oh, sure, she was eighteen and all; heck, she passed that milestone back in December. And Jeremy wasn’t exactly sizing coffins, either. The problem was that pesky old community “morality” that tended to assert itself around the newly adult: sure she could smoke (she didn’t) and vote (she would) and enter into military service (you kidding?), and while it wasn’t exactly against the law for there to be anything between them, the understanding of the powers that be is that they wouldn’t exactly be on equal footing. That whole student/teacher thing. 

So, phooey, right? Darn it and too bad, try again next time, don’t forget to write.

Well, not quite. The thing is that usually the teacher is quite a bit older than the student, and the student is usually in college, impressionable, open to the perverse stamp of someone hoping to manipulate a forming mind. There was nothing impressionable about Jessica at all; she didn’t idolize him or lionize him or canonize him or anything like that, she simply knew exactly how—and how often—she wanted Jeremy, and it didn’t have anything to do with what he knew about fucking Calculus. 

They made as many excuses as they could for not working. Jeremy was often thirsty, and quick trips to the kitchen (which for some reason required both of them) became long, drawn out conversations of the type only a change in scenery can inspire. Jessica’s mother had an elaborate garden behind the house, and Jessica often found it necessary to show Jeremy just how much the apple buds had opened, that the irises were doing fine and the crocuses were on the mend. Jessica doodled while thinking, and they occasionally found themselves just buckling down and drawing together in silence, each working on something they would tentatively show each other later, knowing it would be warmly praised but nervous all the same. Sometimes they would sing. 

The thing was that they were perfect for each other, and they knew it. They just couldn’t talk about it, or even mention it. They were only allowed to steal glances when the other was concentrating on the work, Jessica taking in the line of his jaw and his capable hands, Jeremy sweeping his eyes down the curve of her waist, the sweet darkness of the hollow between her breasts.

Sometimes he would imagine what it would be like to kiss her freckles, to feel his hand nestle against the small of her back, do dance with her. Other times her clothes were shredded in their haste to remove them, and she sweated and cried out under him, staring into his eyes, and he would climax, breathless and alone, confused by her absence.

Jessica liked to think of how it would happen, knowing he wouldn’t try to sneak up on her like the other boys she knew did; a hand on the knee, then slightly higher, then between her legs…no, he would come to stand behind her in the garden and take her in his arms and pull her close, and she would turn her head and he would kiss her. Or she would return to the den where they worked with a glass of water and he would be standing in the middle of the room, looking lost and confused, and she would go to him and she would kiss him on the cheek and look at him, and then he would lean in to kiss her, his eyes never leaving hers, a thousand years of distance slowly unspooling as they came together. And other times she would be in the kitchen when he arrived and their clothes would make a trail to the hallway, where they would succumb to gravity and she would mount him against the wall, holding his head to her breasts as she rocked atop him.

So many times in those two short months had she imagined asking him to meet her in the grove behind the garden, so many times he had written imaginary notes she would miss and would be found by her parents. He had once debated the relative merits of kidnapping her, and had rejected the idea, mainly because they wouldn’t get very far before they would have to pull over and get it over with. They fretted and toyed with outlandish ideas, but prudence and propriety always won out and they would part frustrated, dying with unspoken need, their eyes hungry but shy, afraid if they looked too long they would be unable to deny any longer what they both had known forever. 

So they parted warmly three nights a week. Warmly, but quickly. 

And now it was June, and it was so hot you couldn’t breathe, and school was almost over and so was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

Almost.

Jessica shrugged the sundress over her head, ignoring the multitude of buttons that ran down its front, as she shouted down the stairs. “Don’t forget the flowers, mom! Petal Power is the one right across from the post office!” Her mother’s voice floated up to Jessica as she grabbed her brush and ran it quickly through her hair. 

“I know honey! It’s the one with the green awning! I’ll be back to pick you up at, what, eight?” 

Jessica sagged with momentary defeat, then mustered her forces and marched into the hall and descended to the first landing, looking out over the airy living room and her mother, who was fumbling her keys from her capacious coat pockets. “Mom. The awning is red. And if you’re not here at six I can’t get the presents before the dinner.” She spoke with the air of someone taking great pains to be reasonable when murder was not far away. “Now go. I’ve got to work on my speech.”

Her mother looked at her with a mixture of love and exasperation. “Okay, honey. And I’m sure it’ll be great. Dad and I are so proud—“

“Mom.” Jessica’s mother paused, swallowed, nodded distractedly, then smiled brightly and walked out the door, sticking out her tongue as she disappeared from view. 

Jessica sagged against the banister, a smile on her face in spite of herself. She let her arms dangle over it toward the hardwood floor and made a zombie sound, her hair hanging in front of her face. I bet the undead would have no problem with an Honors Society Dinner, she thought, maybe if I just died, I wouldn’t have to do this. No, her parents would still make her go, they’d just prop her up in front of the lectern and read her speech for her. She grinned at the image of her father crouching behind her, sweating and trying to keep her rigid body from toppling forward as her mother raised her voice and quaveringly thanked everyone for their support. 

She straightened and smoothed her dress down over her hips. She absently tapped her brush against the banister, thinking of how wonderful it would be not to go, how she could just go down to the office block instead, to number 72, where Jeremy worked, get his address from the nice girl behind the counter, and go to his house. He’d said he had a little apartment on the other side of town, and Jessica imagined it was clean but untidy, with thin, interestingly patterned rugs hanging on the walls, and books everywhere. He would come to the door and he would see her and the life would leap into his face. He would grin then, and bow his head to her in that old-fashioned way of his and ask her in without missing a beat, and then they’d—

She had a sudden flash of standing in front of her peers at the Dinner and saying, “Sorry, but I was lollygagging and have no speech. Here is a sexual fantasy instead, one involving myself and my calculus tutor, wherein we attempt to make love against a wall. Enjoy.” A little moan of frustration escaped her lips as her hand tightened on the brush. No. She had to go through with this. There was one week left in her high school experience, and if she’d learned anything there, it was that your responsibilities very quickly became a prison, and if you try to get out the guards in the towers will shoot you. 

Or something like that. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched determinedly back upstairs. She had a speech to write.

She’d gotten almost all the way up the seven stairs between her and the rest of her life when Jessica quailed again, sensing the unending progression of dinners, ceremonies, meetings, and conferences that lay ahead of her. A probable major in Business Communications (what her father called, “essential for any young person who wants a future”) or, less likely, Biological Systems Management (“high-falutin’ forestry”) meant she would be in college for at least six years (!), and after that it was either the workaday world in Boston or New York or the research arm of yet another university. 

Suddenly her plan seemed like a huge system for incurring countless responsibilities, rather than one that would provide her with the opportunities she hoped for. She reeled atop the stairs, her long hair swinging in the still air, a little groan escaping her mouth. Why couldn’t she imagine anything else? Why did it all seem a prison? Couldn’t she follow Jeremy’s path? Take college courses at a small university with no definite plan, just follow the “inscrutable exhortations of the soul” like some excellent dead guy had said. Yes, that was more like it. She wandered down the hall to her room, lost in her reverie. She could ask Jeremy what he had done, get the details, and then come to a decision about the rest of her life!

The urgent details of her preparations for the Dinner began to fade in the face of the vision which now sprang into Jessica’s head. 

She would smile up into his face and cross the threshold into his little apartment (she was smiling, in her room, her eyes far away, hands clasped in front of her stomach) and see his simple dinner laid out on a low table, a glass of wine untouched, book tented above his plate. He would close the door softly behind her and just stand there, not filling the air with idle chatter, while she looked around his room and then turned to face him (she brought one hand up to her flushed cheek while the other traced up her stomach and rose over the swell of her breast) and he would be looking at her, hungrily, but with that lovely patience he brought to all things, and then they would come together—

Jessica came back as she realized where this was heading, considered for a moment, and gave herself permission. She lay back on her bed, idly undoing the top buttons of her dress, already slipping back into the fantasy. This will help, really, she thought, a bit of a de-stresser is just what I could use. It wasn’t as if it took much time, anyway…

But she was already far away. Her eyes closed and her face relaxed, the pinched concentration slipping away like a ghost melting into the air, and she slipped one of the thin dress straps down her shoulder, pulling the dress down to expose the top of her pale breast, savoring the feel of her skin under her hand as it slid away from the strap and down her arm. Her other hand moved down over her body, imagining it was his hand, revelling in the smoothness of the fabric and the tautness of the skin beneath, finding the crevice between her legs and kneading softly against the mound there. Her lips parted and she released a deep breath in a long, contented sigh, moving one hand across the fabric that stretched over her full breast, finding her nipple hard, waiting. She began to knead it softly, her other hand pressing at the heat between her legs.

Jeremy was kissing her now, his lips soft but strong, expressive in their desire. Her arms were clasped behind his head and she pulled him into her, pressing her soft body against him. He bit her lower lip and lowered his hands to her waist, where he began to run them up and down, over her hips, around her stomach, back and over her ass. Jessica lifted one leg and leaned further into him, resting her knee against the wall and grinding her pelvis into the hard mass that pressed against his slacks. His hands encircled her ass as she began to unbutton his shirt, kissing his cheeks and down his neck to his chest, lowering her leg and crouching before him, running her tongue over the smooth skin of his chest, finding his nipple, licking it, biting it. He was groaning now, his head thrown back and his hands running through her hair. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it open, exposing his flat stomach as she rose to kiss him again, her hand trailing up his thigh to the thick bulge in his pants, kneading and pulling, their tongues intertwining in their mouths.

Jessica was breathing heavily now, her cheeks flushed, wet lips parted, and she slowly gathered the fabric of her dress in her hand and luxuriously slid the short hem up and over her thighs, exposing her simple underwear, the crotch damp and dark. Her hand slid between her underwear and her warm skin, finding the first tangles of hair and sliding through them to the twin mounds that rose there. She slid her middle finger between those lips and began to explore the wetness she found, her pussy hot and dark. 


The Culmination



Author's note: the following story is strictly fiction and any semblance to persons real or imaginary is coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copper Butterfly for her editing suggestions in making this a better story.

I was laying behind her with my throbbing penis worked as deeply into Samantha's anus as it would reach, my right arm around her side with my hand buried between her legs. Two fingers were gently probing the top of her slit.

Jonathon was sitting in front of her, watching her bobbing head moving forward and back on his erection while her right hand fondled his balls. His left hand kneaded her huge right breast. A steady but broken string of muffled sounds came from her full mouth, indicating her contentment with everything that was happening to her.

I concentrated on sliding my cock in and out of her lush booty, not traveling far with each stroke but enough to feel the pull of her ring of muscle around my shaft, enough to know that the thousands of nerve endings in her opening were all getting a little well-deserved attention. My fingers found the going easy in her crease --- there was a steady flow of juices from her pussy that were slick and stringy and I knew that they would have tasted better than the finest honey if I'd been able to replace my fingers with my mouth. Too bad that wasn't anatomically possible.

Jon groaned and his eyes rolled back as his head tilted back. He must have started shooting his load into Sammie's concave mouth because I heard her murmur, "Uh, huh!" and her slurping became more liquid-sounding. Either that or my ministrations got her over the mountaintop as her body quivered and her muscles tightened on my fingers and my penis. Seconds later my balls boiled over and spewed my hot cum deep into her bowels. I pulled her bottom into my crotch hard and stayed pressed against her, savoring the delicious feelings of real sex with a very real woman.

I was amazed to find myself in such a setting. Never before had I been part of an MFM threesome, although it had been a recurring dream for many years. I had been married for many years and the sex was okay although certainly not spectacular but there had been none ... zero ... zip ... zilch ... nada ... for going on twelve years. And there had never been any involvement with another person.

Then I ran into a user called luvs2suck on an internet erotic literature site and it was lust at first sight. She partially displayed a magnificent pair of breasts, the kind that simply hold a magnetism that is impossible to explain. Even the pictures she posted where she was completely covered screamed, "Sexy Woman!" She never posted completely nude pictures, always leaving a bit to the imagination.

She had also posted some erotic stories and when I read them, I found them to be captivating. It wasn't difficult to imagine that the author was the woman in her stories and they usually included two guys, so I simply imagined that I was one of them. Thus I was vicariously having the most erotic sex with her that I could imagine.

I began to exchange emails with her and found her to be fascinating, intelligent and very gracious. Our emails were mostly short but sweet. At first I was concerned that she would be put off by any sort of endearments or sexual innuendo but not so. She seemed to enjoy compliments, both about herself and her writing ... which shouldn't be too hard to believe, I suppose, but these days there are just too many stories about women being offended by any sort of advance from a stranger.

Over the days and weeks, the "stranger" persona faded as we became friends ... even lovers of a sort ... from long distance. I learned that her real name was Samantha, that she was a number of years younger than me, that we both had lived in several different parts of the country but never in the same area at the same time. She had been married for quite a few years but they had finally split and the sex had seldom been good between them. She was and still remains somewhat inhibited but was beginning to come out of her shell.

>>>

After she had split with her husband, Sammie had moved again and very seldom took a lover for several more years. Finally she met someone online, a man by the name of Jonathan who began to develop a relationship with her. At first it was just a series of electronic exchanges but eventually they set up a real meeting and they found that they clicked. They even had sex although it was not great ... some of the parts "had forgotten how to act." But there was a subsequent meeting that went better and a third, which was great.

Jon was working on a way that he could move closer to Samantha, hopefully via a transfer within his employer's organization to an office closer to where Sammie lived. In the meantime, they exchanged email frequently, used a lot of telephone time, and met occasionally when one was able to travel to the other's location.

It sounded like a nearly perfect situation for two people who were 'going around again' in the relationship circuit. But there was a little fly in the ointment. Before Sammie & Jon met, she had posted pictures of herself, using the id of luv2suck, and received so many glowing compliments from men all over the world that now she was not willing to give up that adulation. It boosted her self-esteem and she felt she needed it to continue with her life. As a result of those postings, I had entered the picture, we had become good friends and she was unwilling to break off our relationship, even if it was not quite the same as what she and Jon had.

When the opportunity had arisen for me to visit Sammie, Jon was very set against it. However Sammie pointed out that they did not have an exclusive relationship, at least not yet even though she had not been with another man since they had been together, and besides they were not even talking about marriage. Sammie said that he could either join us or forget about any future meetings between them and he agreed, albeit reluctantly. 

Jon had arrived on Friday afternoon and I arrived about four hours later. We went to dinner together, had a nice long talk together, and then somewhat tentatively went to Sammie's bed together. It had started out rather awkwardly, with both Jon and I afraid to touch the other, although we both wanted to touch Sammie. It was her lust for the both of us that eventually melted the ice and let us just enjoy each other.

That first night I often found myself simply licking or sucking on various of her body parts while Jon got a little more involved in using his cock. However there didn't seem to be anything Sammie wasn't willing to do if it didn't involve pain and by the time we were too spent to continue, I couldn't have been happier. I'd had my hand and mouth all over her sweet body, had deposited one load of cum in her wonderful pussy and another in her mouth. I think Jon had been equally successful and between us she had cum several times.

Saturday morning Sammie took us out to see some of the sights around town. It was unusually high, with mountain peaks all around, something that was a rarity in my experience so I found it fascinating. She took us to a little natural park where we spread a blanket and had a great picnic.

However by mid-afternoon, Sammie was ready to return home. She had gotten horny again and by the time we arrived it had proven to be a contagious condition. She said she had been thinking about having a cock in her pussy and one in her ass at the same time and it had turned her on so much, she wanted us to try it.

By silent consent, I lay on my back and Sammie straddled me, letting her wet pussy engulf my pre-cum-coated cock. As she was settling down, I rubbed along her smooth sides around to her back, hugging the sweet woman to me as Jonathan slathered his cock with lubricant. Sammie and I kissed, a deep, tender exchange that made my already-racing heart flutter with anticipation.

I moved my legs as wide apart as I could, sweeping Sammie's knees further to the sides, making room for Jon to get close to her ass. I felt his fingers working the lube into her back door and she murmured into my mouth. He took his time, working his fingers gently, and I felt her body relaxing bit by bit.

It seemed strange when I held her cheeks apart so he could guide his cock to her anus. Never before had I felt another man's genitals touching me and I wasn't particularly thrilled by it even then but I saw the look of anticipation on Sammie's face and knew I could easily put aside those feelings just to give this wonderful woman any pleasure she wanted.

I felt every movement Jon made. When his mushroom head popped inside her tight hole, I felt it against my cock, separated by just a thin layer of flesh. The further he pushed into her the more I became aware of his presence. I have to admit that it was not an objectionable feeling either.

If either of us moved too fast, Sammie yelped in pain but every time it passed quickly. We took our time, trying to insure that we didn't stretch her too far. I let Jon handle all the movement and as he slowly pushed into her ass, she slipped up my shaft, making me feel indescribably fantastic. As Jon slowly pulled back out, he pulled her down onto my shaft until she bottomed out and every time, my cock flexed inside of her, loving the feelings of being inside her.

My hands roved all over her body, although I tried to stay away from her bottom since Jon was using her hips for leverage. Although she was laying on my chest, I played with the sides of her bulbous tits, loving the feel of that particularly soft flesh. Jon was very loving, maintaining his leisurely pace even though I knew the urge to ram into her faster and faster was very strong.

Sammie moaned and whispered, "Oh, yes, that is sooo good. Fuck me, baby, fuck me." I felt her body stiffen and her pussy tightened around my shaft. Jonathan stopped moving and Sammie shivered like a leaf in the wind before she collapsed on me, her muscles again relaxing. Jon resumed his motion ... iiiinnnnnn ..... ooouuuuttttt ..... pause ........ iiiinnnnnn ..... ooouuuuttttt ..... pause ........ iiiinnnnnn.....ooouuuuttttt.....pause ..... Sammie started moaning and rolling her head from side to side until she again stiffened up and the waves of pleasure rolled through her body.

The sensations emanating from my cock and my fingertips kept my lust-engorged brain on overload. The longer I went, the more I wanted, the greater the need to pour my seed into this sweet woman's hot body. Sammie stiffened, clamping her respective muscles around our cocks, and again quivered with waves of sensation.

As she relaxed again, I felt Jonathan resume his pumping movements but a little faster, the engorged vein on the bottom of his cock sliding along the same feature of my own member. I sucked on Sammie's bottom lip while she moaned in continuous ecstasy. I felt her pussy walls clamp around my cock and then release it over and over and suspected that she was also flexing her sphincter around Jon's probe.

Jon gripped Sammie's hips tightly and slammed himself into her ass one final time. I was amazed to feel the pulsing of his cum as it shot out of his organ into Samantha's bowels. That was all it took for me, as my balls seemed to draw into my body cavity before spitting hot sticky cum into her pussy, string after hot string. I was elated with the blissful feelings that surged through my body.

After we had rested a while, we decided to jump in the shower to cool off. It was so tight it was almost comical for three of us to get into the same shower but nobody wanted to be left out and once again, Jon and I sandwiched Sammie between us. With four hands wandering all over her body and a light warm spray of water reaching her, she got hot and horny quickly. Both our cocks were stiff again and kept poking different parts of her anatomy.

With Sammie facing Jon, I worked my dong between her cheeks. For lubricant, I poured a little shampoo on my member and watched as it slid smoothly into her offered anus. My hands filled with her generous boobs and I kneaded her wonderful flesh while Jon lifted her legs to his waist and steered his cock into the opening of her wet pussy.

Again I savored the lustful feelings of sharing this delightful woman's treasures with another man. Somehow it seemed to heighten the pleasure we both derived from coupling with her. This time it was a team effort to raise and lower her onto our twin probes at the same time.

I never would have believed it would have been so rewarding to share a woman with another man but having any part of Sammie was worth whatever effort it took to repress my jealousness. In just a few minutes, Sammie climaxed again just a little before Jon shot his load into her pussy and I followed by pumping my cum into her ass. She seemed spent but grateful for all the attention.

Sammie took us to an intriguing part of town, a sort of tourist trap where the street was lined with unique restaurants and bars, almost like the French Quarter. We must have looked a little funny, two big guys with this precious little lady between us, one arm entwined with one of ours. But it didn't matter. I didn't care what people thought ... we had found happiness together as a threesome and life was too short to worry about it.

We had fun, first at a restaurant with an old west atmosphere, and later at a couple of clubs that put on some nice live comedy skits or had live music. We took turns dancing with Sammie and I have to admit that it felt funny to sit and watch Jon dance with her. Yet surprisingly it wasn't really jealousy for sharing her as much as it was that I just missed her company.

It was early in the morning when we returned to her house and retired for the night. Surprisingly the three of us just snuggled into a sandwich with Sammie in the middle and after kissing for a while, we all drifted off into a very peaceful sleep.

But when I awoke Sunday morning, Sammie's bottom was pressed into my crotch and it must have taken all of five seconds for me to get hard. We lay spooned together for some time, she letting me wrap my arms around her and knead her tits, while Jon slept on. However when his eyes finally opened, she greeted him lovingly and asked for one more go-around.

Jon had to run to the bathroom to take a leak and while he was gone, she slathered my cock with lubricant and helped me guide it into her anus. When Jon came back, she beckoned him to sit near her head, where she took his cock into her mouth and licked him lovingly.

We all kept the action on the slow side to make it last. Samantha reacted to my fingers teasing her clit by cumming ... and then cumming again ... and finally cumming a third time just before my cock began shooting cum into her ass. Just a couple of minutes later, she sucked most of his load down her throat, although a little bit dribble from the side of her mouth.

Once again we hit the shower together, although this time the only playing was some inevitable touching and kissing. Reluctantly I cut it short to dry off and dress for the trip back home. Although Jon and Sammie had offered to take me to the airport, I refused and let her call a cab for me so they could have a little more time together before he had to head home himself.

When the taxi arrived, I was amazed at how hard it was to leave my new friend and our lover. Jon and I parted as if we were long time friends. Sammie and I parted with a few tears and lots of deep kisses.

On the trip home, I was lost in thought, unable to read the novel I had brought to pass the time. I thought how much this weekend was like a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, a sort of elongated one-night stand. And yet I had high hopes that it would be even more than that. While we had waited for the taxi to arrive, the three of us talked about getting together again and we had set a tentative date. Even though it was months down the road, I was sure that it would be the "light at the end of the tunnel" in my solitary existence, at least for the foreseeable future.

If my plane crashed on the way home (and the odds were greatly against that), my online encounter with luvs2suck would have culminated in the greatest sexual experience of my rather long life. And I had high hopes that this was not the culmination of that friendship but only the culmination of our first encounter.

The End



The Culmination



Prelude: Even though I use 'Mom' instead of 'Mum', this story is set in the UK. Also, everyone in this story is over 18. Enjoy! 

It begins with me sitting outside of school, waiting for my mom to come get me. Odd, seeing as my mom can't drive. But that's what she said to me: wait at the gate and I'll come pick you up. I didn't think much about that statement, schoolwork and other school related stuff taking up my headspace. But during Geometry I remembered my mom's face. She was smiling – and not smiling like she always does. A glowing smile, one which made her face muscles contort into a shape which expressed her innermost happiness. It really struck me, her smile and how radiant it was. Now, I got no qualms in admitting my mother is an attractive lady. She's an Indian from India (we have to make that distinction for our American friends), has dusky brown skin, beautiful hazel eyes, long jet-black hair, and a figure which makes me blush when I think about it. 

Oh yes: I have a genuine hot mom. Nothing really to brag about. 'My mom's hotter than yours' is not something a kid shouts in the playground. I could though, if I wanted to. She was 43 and, shockingly, getting better with the years: still-pert breasts, slim waist, lean legs and an ever-growing bubble butt. Not a large butt, more like the ass Maria Menounos has: a nice round peach. Want more descriptions? My mom's ass is one of those butts that looks good in tight dresses and snug tracksuit pants. Is it creepy that I just put that out there? Yes, very creepy. 

Now, before you go thinking what you're thinking, I want to set the record straight: I do not want to have sex with my mother. I admire her beauty, I know she's attractive – but never has the thought of me defiling her ever come into my mind. Why? Because I'm her son. I don't want to stick anything in her vagina! Besides, even IF I wasn't her son, why on earth would she want me? My mother is a highly desirable woman, while I'm a 5'6 110lbs hairless (legal teen) boy. 

So I look but I do not want to touch – and I've never sniffed her Ann Summers lace thongs. Not the red one, not the white one, nor the black one which has the bows in the middle. Okay I'm just muddying the waters now. How about I get to my story? 

I was outside the gates, in my uniform, waving bye to my people. "Bye, bye," I said in my over-layered Indian/British accent. Having come here when I was 7, my accents have merged into this odd blend. Half of me sounds chavy British while the other half sounds like a bad Indian DJ: booming and way off-pitch. 

I did okay in school. I floated in the region which all kids should aspire to be in: the middle. Not being noticed, just having a few buddies and focusing on the school work. Girls can keep ignoring me and growing their boobs; I will play no part in their games because doing my homework and securing my future success is far more important. Yes, in 10 years time, the prettiest girl in school, Laila, will work as my secretary and beg me to drive her home every night. Yeah! Well anyway, I said bye to a few passing friends, waited for around five minutes, and then, from the left I saw this big Mercedes just slide down the road.

"Whoa, look at that motor!" said some guy. 

"Fuck, that's a hundred-grand car, man," said another guy. 

The car slowed its way down the road. It was coming my way and snaking along to the empty spot which was across from where I was sitting. 

I looked at it and thought, "Huh, rich guy."

The car gently hummed while it stayed parked. I'm not really into cars, so I looked past it. Then I heard a mechanical 'ah-hummm', which was the car window rolling down. Just out of curiosity, I took a quick look at the now-exposed person in the passenger seat... and almost fell over when I saw who it was.

"Mom!?" 

She had a bright, gentle smile; her hair was tied back and she was wearing this pretty pink dress shirt and these dark trousers. My mom was looking at me from a bazillion-dollar car. I had one question: Why!?

I jumped down and dashed over. "Mom?"

"Get in," she said with a little wave. 

No 'hello' or 'how you doing', just a little-too-eager 'get in', as in 'get in and shut the fucked up.' Yes, 'shut the fucked up', which is what she'd say with her thick-yet-somehow-elegant Indian accent.

"Mom?"

She pointed at the backseat of the car. "Go on." It was said with love, but what she was really telling me to do was shut the fuck up and get in the German-made supercar.

Being a good boy, I did what my mother said. I opened the back door and entered inside.

Pause. Big oversight on my part: I failed to notice that this car had someone driving it. I looked forward and got quite the shock when I saw him. Yes, him. A man. 

He was a big man. Huge. Big as in tall and wide. Not fat, no way fat, though I'm sure he was triple my bodyweight. His car seat was pushed all the way back, and yet even while seated he still made my mom look so small in comparison.

He turned his head, his short grey hair swishing with the movement of his thick neck. He looked at me with a happy smile, just like Mom's. This 50-something man had dark blue eyes, day-old stubble and a debonair, handsome face. 

I was in shocked awe, looking at this big white goliath, seeing his large hands wrapped around half the steering wheel. 

My Indian mom was in a car with a big strong white man.

Wait, my Indian mom rides around with big white guys? Big white business guys drive my Indian mom around? Since when? Why did no one tell me my Indian mom is around big white men? Wait, whoa, why am I labelling him as a 'white' man? And I am making it very clear my mom is an Indian woman. Why am I labelling them as 'White' and 'Indian'?

And why do I like this image so much?

"Hello, Son," he said in an upper-crust English accent. "How's school?"

"Fine, sir."

"Oh, 'sir'." He looked at my mom. "You done well with this one, Priya."

She blushed. "Thank you, Trevor."

The way he said her name with his White British accent: "Pre-yah."

The way she said his name with her Indian accent: "Cha-rev-er."

Whoa, I was so into the differences and the way their cultures and them meshed. I loved it, seeing them come together, as friends, riding in a car, man and woman. White Man and Indian Woman.

What the fuck is going on and why is my dick so hard?

Those are the questions I had when I saw my mom blush and giggle while this white man named Trevor (very English name indeed) was smiling at her with a look which suggested more than friendship.

"Shall we go now, dear?" He said to my – hold on, did he just call her 'dear'?

She nodded. "Yes, thank you."

We stayed silent while Trevor navigated around the gawping kids. Yeah, a car, cool; I just got a hard-on from seeing my Indian mom flirt with a white guy. We all got things going on. The car went down at a moderate pace, turning a corner and then going at a faster speed. 

"Bellissimo's is very good," he said in an almost-whispery voice.

"I hear it very good," my mum replied with the same tone.

"Got a good reservation."

"Hmm. Was it hard?"

"No, not really: five-pm a good enough time as any. The chef is an old uni' mate."

"Rick?"

"Yes. He's the head chef."

"Ah okay."

They paused their riveting conversation at a roundabout. I tried to wrap my head around this: Okay, my mom might have a boyfriend; a large white man might be her boyfriend. Should I be shocked? Well, she had been single for three years at that point, so how shocking could it be? Well, I didn't know she dated, nor wanted to know because, heck, I'm her son – why would I want to know? But there she was, dating... maybe. I wasn't 100% sure they were a couple. Though I did know one thing: their conversations were very middle-class and very English. 

"This car is actually good about the petrol," he said.

"Hmm," she agreed with this astute observation. "It really nice; this leather is soft."

"German manufacturing, always very efficient. Hey, I read they do the parts in different countries." He paused before his next sentence. "That's just globalisation, isn't it?"

"Hmm, you don't know where anything really comes from anymore."

"Yes, absolutely... worrying when it comes to goods, food, drinks."

"Hmm-hmm. Can't trust the labels anymore."

"That is so true." He made another turn. "Bellissimo's is all fresh. I know the chef makes sure of that."

"Quality Standard."

"Right. Yes... he's got the credentials. He's fully certified."

Mom flicked her hand over at Trevor and giggled. "Why didn't you become a cook?"

"Me?" He chuckled. "You know I have butter fingers."

My head was spinning. A blasé conversation followed by my mom flirting – flirting! –, and then Trevor goes and makes a sexually ambiguous statement. What the fuck is going on? I'd gone from thinking my life was normal to seeing my Indian mom make schoolgirl-like arm slaps to this big white guy. What is going on? I looked into the rear-view mirror with this 'what the fuck' look. Trevor saw it.

He talked while driving. "Oh, Son, I'm sorry to not have told you who I am: I'm Trevor and I work with your mum."

"You're my boss," she said with a big grin. 

He nodded. "Technically, yes, but I don't like being thought of as 'The Boss': you all work with me, not for me."

"So humble." She rubbed his bicep and smiled again.

He glanced over at her while at the lights. It was just a glance, only lasting a second, but what it said sent shivers down every part of my body: 'I am going to fuck you. Hard'

The eyes, the smile, the gentleness in his face a mask for the fact that he wanted to fuck my mom. This white man wanted to fuck my Indian mom. Whoa. The whole polite English way he talked, that was him, for sure, he looked to be a genuinely nice guy – but this guy was also planning to stick his big white cock inside my Indian mom's... oh my god. Settle down, settle down, and I did. I wiped the sweat from my face, crossed my legs and sat quietly as Mom and Trevor discussed copper piping. 

*

We got to the restaurant. We exited the car and I got a full look at Trevor. He was 6'4, 260lbs, and wore a white dress shirt with black trousers. He was a really big white man, for sure; my 5'9 mother just about reached his chest. Yes, she was 5-foot-9, tall for an Indian woman, and both of them were wearing flat shoes, which meant I was seeing an accurate impression of the size difference. Yes, I admit it: I enjoyed seeing my demure, feminine Indian mom walk next to this large white man; I liked the image, the impression and the hints that it gave. 

While Trevor was walking alongside my mother, he put his hand on her lower back. I chalked that up to him just being an English gentleman, thinking that's how he was with women... women like my Indian mom. Though I was a few steps behind them, I could swear she was blushing. 

Trevor opened the door for her, led her in and kept it open for me. We went in the restaurant and whoa was it a cut above Chicken Cottage. It was one of those restaurants you only see on TV, the ones in which the check-in guy asks for your reservation, signs it in, brings a waiter over and sends you to a table. We sat around the shiny brown dining table, surrounded by men in designer suits, who despite all being of different races still managed to look exactly the same. The women though, they ranged from stunning blonde to super exotic oriental. I looked to be the only teen, and because I was in my school uniform, I looked even goofier in comparison. 

Trevor sat in the middle, Mom to the left of him, me to the right. The waiter gave us our menus and we quietly looked through them.

"May I take your order?" asked the waiter. 

"Priya?" said Trevor.

"Oh, the salad, please."

"The steak," said Trevor. "And... Ravi, was it?"

Yes: I forgot to tell him (and you) my name. "Yes sir, I'll take this chicken, please."

We got our food and ate it. I got a honey-glazed chicken. It was all right. I tried to focus on the food because, quite frankly, I was very disturbed with how much I enjoyed watching Trevor and my mom. They had the same little chatter about mundane things like insurance, bonds, healthy eating – but they were so into it all. Not the topics per se, but each other. They couldn't stop talking to each other; they just loved listening to one another.

What I found most uncomfortable was seeing what my mom slipped into every sentence: a lick of the lip here, a little treble in her voice there, and occasionally, gently, biting down on her lip. My mom was being a seductress... eww! Gross, seeing my own mother like that, yuck. I mean, what's wrong with her? Does she not know I'm here? Does she not... hold on. She didn't talk to me much in the car, didn't say a word to me in the restaurant. It was here I knew what I was to my own mother: immaterial. I was not even noticed, not at all acknowledged while she pumped her chest up, turned on her savoury glands and gave the 'fuck me' look to her white man boyfriend. My lord, what has happened to my demure Indian mother? And why am I touching myself underneath this table?

Then during dessert...

"I minimise the heating bill by," Trevor was thrilling everyone with his heating system layout, "configuring the setup to – oh!"

He put his two forefingers on my mom's smooth brown cheek, moved his fingers up, held her silky black locks, and tucked them behind her ear.

Oh it just got real.

Mom was blushing a million shades of red. She couldn't muster a response, just a look which showed utter devotion to her white knight. 

He smiled and lifted a finger in the air. "Check, please."

The waiter rushed over and Trevor placed his card on the table. The waiter went to make the transaction.

Trevor looked at his watch. "Almost seven. Do we go to my place now?" he said while looking at my mom.

"Yes, please."

Did I get a say in this at all? Of course not. I said, "Okay" and the two of them didn't respond. We're going to his house now? Why and what for? The twinkle in my mom's eye gave me a clue – but no way THAT was going to happen, not with me tagging along. No, we're just going to his house for some tea and biscuits. Tea and biscuits. 

We all stood up, and again with his hand on my mom's lower back, we walked out and went into the car.

*

Most of the car ride consisted of more banal discussion between Mom and Trevor, talking about the restaurant, the food, the ambience. How did people talk about such things? It was a restaurant with food and they managed to spin it into a 20-minute conversation.

When we got to a residential neighbourhood, Trevor acknowledged my presence.

"You doing okay back there?" he asked. 

"Fine, sir."

"Good, good... Your mother has told me about you, that you do well in school, that you're a good boy who causes no problems."

"I try, sir."

He turned to my mom. "Have a good one there, Priya. Takes after you."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. "Thank you." She smiled at him and then looked at me and smiled. 

"He's nothing like his father," said Mom, somewhat surprisingly.

"Hmm," replied Trevor. "So he really did avoid paying child support by moving back to India?"

"Yes, afraid he did."

Trevor tisked-tisked and shook his head. "That's... that's just not right." I could actually see his knuckles redden as he gripped the steering wheel.

"The raise really helped," she said.

"It was long overdue," he replied. "You earned it."

Mom worked as a solicitor's assistant, meaning Trevor is a lawyer. A well-paid one, judging by the homes we drove past.

Mom reached her hand over and gripped his bicep. "Thank you." She then looked at me and gave me an expectant look. 

"Oh, um, thank you, sir," I said. 

"Please, it's my pleasure." He turned the car and nosed into a curb. "Plus, I don't think I'd be able to go into work if I didn't have my spicy Priya."

Mom giggled like a schoolgirl. "Oh, you."

'My spicy Priya'? I'm assuming the 'spicy' refers to her being Indian. Still, the fact that he had a loving nickname for my mom made me feel a little uneasy. Just how close were they? I didn't want to think about it.

I had this tightness in my chest when the car parked outside his house. They exited and I followed. It was a large home for a single man, a two-story old Victorian house.

Trevor opened the door and led Mom in, his hand on her back. He left the door open for me and I followed. He patted me on the head and said, "Welcome home, Son."

The immediate area had two rooms on the left, a kitchen right across and a staircase on the right. The carpet was furry and the decor was modern yet classy. The windows had these circular decals on them – and whoa did he just say 'Welcome home, Son'? He did, and I have reason to believe that it was not a slip of the tongue. 

He took his shoes off, and me and Mom also took our shoes off. I took a glance at my mom's feet and immediately popped another boner. No, it was not because I had a foot fetish. It was because she was bare footed in this strong white man's home. Wow, when I put it like that, foot fetish sounds better. 

Trevor smiled, put his hand on Mom's upper back and pointed to the room on the left.

"Come on." He waved me in.

The two rooms had been converted into one large room. The dining area was on the left and the lounge area was on the right. My eyes went right to the beige couch and the massive plasma TV that was facing it.

"Sit, please," he said to me. 

I took my blazer off and put it on the cushion. I unbuttoned my top button, sat on the couch and just melted into the soft leather. Trevor chuckled. I then looked to my right and saw my mom look up at him with smoky seduction eyes and a wet mouth. She placed her delicate hand on his chest, her red nails sparkling under the lights. 

"May I go freshen up?" she said with a purr.

"Please." 

His eyes said it all: they'd gone from 'I got a good deal on my car insurance' to 'I want to rip your clothes off.'

Mom turned and went up the stairs. My hard-on got even worse. I crossed my legs and coughed, thinking that would do the trick. 

Trevor looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.

"Ravi." He pointed and sat next to me. "We need to talk."

Pause. Here's the part where the subject known as Mom's New Boyfriend (?) would say 'man-to-man.' You know, 'I want to talk to you, man-to-man.' That line makes hard things easier to say and gives off the illusion of respect. Trevor was having none of that. No 'man-to-man' here. I wasn't a man in his eyes.

I nodded when he sat down.

"Now, Son, I know you're a pretty smart kid, and you know what's going on."

"I do." I didn't. 

He smiled. "I knew you would."

Now I was seeing the real Trevor. The man that cares about health care and road works, that's him, to an extent. But that's his exterior side. I was seeing the true side, the real him, the interior side. His core.

He suddenly seemed much larger. "I want you to respect our boundaries and understand that while she may be your mother, she's also a woman." 

"Yes, sir." I said with a blank face.

"Good." I felt his powerful hand clasp my shoulder. "Now I want you to know that your mother is a very important part of my life, meaning you are also a very important part of my life. I care about how you're doing at home and in school. Okay? I want to know how you're doing because you being on the right path makes your mother happy and I want her to be happy."

"Yes, sir." 

"I mean it, I do. Now, I know you're a good kid, but you're a little cheeky, too, right? Your mother tells me you've stayed out late a few times. Am I right?"

I actually felt a little hesitation when answering him. "Umm, just a few."

"No more," he said with a clear firmness. "None of that. Your mother knows she can come to me if you're too much to handle. So if you misbehave, you answer to me."




The Culmination



Hold on: was I being told off by my mom's boss? Was he actually telling me how to behave? This guy who was, technically, nothing to me? Was a strange white man telling me how I should live my life? Yes, oh yes he was.

And I agreed with him. "Yes, sir."

He patted me on the shoulder. "Good, you're a good kid."

I didn't feel weak for allowing him to speak to me like that... Okay I felt a little weak, but I didn't think he did anything wrong: he was just looking out for my mom. 

I was never much of an egotist, so I really didn't mind him talking down to me, not at all. I saw that his intentions were pure and that he was doing what he felt was right, which was to take the father figure role. Oh, that felt weird, thinking of this guy as my new dad. Weirder still is that I actually kinda felt... good. Not in a sexual way, but, like, that this felt right. That he was in the right and him telling me to settle down and be a good boy was... right.

"I'm here for you as well, Son. Any problems, issues, anything, you can come to me."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Wow, did he just become my dad?

"Good." He stood up. "Kitchen is all yours, take any snacks you want, watch TV and relax in here. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Good."

Trevor turned and left the room... going up the stairs.

My mind was spinning. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I needed something to centre me, to put me in the right state of mind. Corrie. I turned the TV on and watched Coronation Street.

It was only midway during the show that an almighty thud hit me across the face: Mom was upstairs with Trevor... and I'd not heard a peep from them in 15 minutes. 

Oh, I was letting my thoughts get the better of me. I figured she was chatting with him, and I'd be home before one of those Channel 4 comedy shows started. I like those. Always funny. 

I looked at my watch after Corrie had ended: 9:00pm. Okay, 30 minutes, must be a long conversation, possibly about how nice his bathroom is and how she'd like to remodel. Must be giving her the name of a good builder. Now they must be talking about how much it cost him to put in that nice floor. 

All right, 9:15pm, okay, long conversation they must be having. Gosh, how big a house is this? I don't even hear footsteps. They must be going into deeper topics. Okay, I'll give them an extra 45 minutes. She's a chatter. She likes to chat.

10:00pm and I'm seeing one of the Carrs on the screen. Okay, didn't think I'd be here for this long. All righty. Think I'll wait till commercial for a snack break, yeah. Seeing how he's an upper middle-class English guy, I assume he has gourmet snacks. Ridged Walkers, here we go!

I got up during the commercial break, feet bare, dress shirt unbuttoned, vest showing, pants hanging loose. I went into his kitchen area and was amazed at the size of it. It was like a regular person's living room. Why did he need so many cooking appliances? A giant oven? For who? Him. Dude, buy a condo. I liked his tiles though. Black and white. Meshing. Like my brown mom and her white boss. It's nice that they're so close and able to have such long and deep conversations. How nice is it that they come from different parts of the world and yet they've become such good friends? It's inspirational, truly. 

I looked in Trevor's cupboards. Sadly, no Ridged Walkers. Instead lots of Smoky BBQ crisps. I opened one, tried one, liked it, and kept it. I then looked in his giant fridge for a drink. I expected beer. Many beer cans, stacks of them. Surprisingly, I didn't find any beer. Just water in glass bottles and expensive orange juice. I picked up a small round glass bottle of water and took it back to the living room. As I sat, I enjoyed the quietness of the neighbourhood. All I could hear was passing cars and the TV. I then opened the water bottle. It sparkled. 

10:30pm and people on TV are starting to swear more frequently. What was the holdup? I came in at 8:20pm and had been sitting there for over 2 hours. How long can two people chat? It must be one of those conversations that looks to be winding down and then somehow starts back up again. I saw that happen, yeah, Mom does that all the time. I can't. My conversations last around 5 minutes. I'm a little too weird, too un-mainstream, to have regular-people convos. 'Oh, did you watch Chelsea last night?' No, I didn't, I was too busy jerking myself off to the latest Brooke Burke bikini candids. Want to discuss that? Didn't think so. I also like cats and all the boys at school like Rottweilers. Dicks.

So 10:44pm and I got a problem. I drank too much of that sparkly drink. I got on a binge and went through four of those bad boys. Damn, rich people cornered the market on sparkly water. All we get is flat water. Well, anyway, I needed to go. I went out the room and thought Trevor was swanky enough for a downstairs bathroom. He wasn't. That only left me with one option: upstairs. Groan, I didn't want to listen in on their conversation. What if Mom was getting 'emotional'? What if she was talking about her 'real' feelings? I did not want to hear my mom's human problems! But nature was calling and I really didn't want to go in this guy's backyard. Not in this neighbourhood. I can just picture it, an old lady telling him the details: 'Oh, Trevor, did you hear? Some A-rab kid was urinating in your garden. Oh it's getting worse isn't it?' No thanks. I wasn't going to give Trevor any bad press.

I looked up the staircase and felt the oddest sensation in my chest: this weird tightness. Not suffocating, more like a gentle palm on the inside of my chest. I wondered what this was. I got my answer, a little voice in my head whispering it to me.

I scoffed. "Yeah, right," I said to myself.

It whispered it again.

"No, don't be stupid."

And again.

"Okay, seriously, we joke, yeah, but that's my mom. Enough, serious."

It went silent. I got my hand on the barrister and for some reason my body was a little shaky. Seriously, this guy, this voice, it'd been pestering me the whole night. What it was saying, sheesh, I ignored it and carried on with my business. The things the mind creates, my lord, you can't listen to everything it tells you.

I got up to the middle of the staircase and paused when I heard something.

"Uhh!"

Female, soft, like someone in some sort of physical activity. Hmm. Oh right, the TV. I must've left the TV on –

No. I always turn the TV off whenever I leave a room.

I listened in again. I heard nothing. It must've been a cat. Stupid me. I shook my head and went up the stairs. Silly me, making things up in my head. 

When I got closer I saw the looming second floor of the house. The upstairs was nice, bathroom on the left, followed by a row of bedrooms and, oh, look at that, right at the end of the hall was another set of stairs. He must have a loft. What a rich guy. How did he buy this place? Looks to be way too large for a single man. The upkeep must be expensive. Perhaps he brought it early and now he's sitting on it. In this market? Oh, he's making a risk – 

I had no idea what I was talking about. I was just trying to block that disturbing 'Uhh' from my mind. Nevertheless, I went on up the stairs, getting to the top and – 

"Uhh!"

This time harder, still feminine, but with more umph behind it. Huh... someone must've been pulling some heavy boxes around. Must be his neighbours.

It was at this point that I noticed my mom was not around. I looked at the doors, looked in the nearby bathroom, looked ahead and saw that I was pretty much alone. I shrugged. I went into the lavatory, cleaned my hands and thought about which cat I liked best (striped). 

I went out and looked in the hallway again. Where were my mom and Trevor? Oh, silly question. The answer was obvious: a lounge room. Trevor must have a lounge room. You know, a lounge room: a room in which people sit and chat. I couldn't hear them; then again what was my hearing? I had human hearing. I can't hear everything. So now what had it been? Over 2 hours of chat? Not too long to wait now. I guess I need to sit downstairs and wait it out till they're done. Guess Trevor will drop us home after this, drop us off like the nice man that he is. Yes, sir, I call him 'sir' because he's such a nice guy –

"Oh god."

And my mom calls him 'God' because he's just so holy... fuck. 

That was her. I couldn't deny it anymore. That was Mom saying 'Oh god' – and not in an 'Oh, that god, he's such a so-and-so' way but in an 'Oh god you're fucking me so good' way.

Oh look at me jumping to conclusions. Look, to settle it with me and my mind, I'll go over to where the bedrooms are and I'll kneel down and listen. So I walked a few steps, got on my knees...

And this is the way my world changed forever.

"Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!" said Mom. All ambiguity was gone when I heard bedsprings squeak, a bed frame hit the wall, and my mom's ragged breath. 

My mom was having sex. My Indian mom was having sex. Like real, real sex. She was moaning like the girls in the porno movies. My mom was in a porno movie. My mom is in a porno movie. My mom is having actual sex. Penis in her vagina – or maybe somewhere else. 

I was on my knees, shaking, trembling. Mom was having sex – but with whom? Well, unless a secret lover lived in this house, my money was on the big strapping white man my mom was drooling all over. Oh, that just tightened me up, the thought that my Indian mom was having sex with that large white man. That big white man. Him putting his big white... thing inside my Indian mother! Oh my, oh my god!

I could hear it clear as day – and if I needed more vividness, I heard something I'd heard just the week before, when I was watching a porno: I heard his hand smack my mother's butt. My mother's butt. My Indian mother's butt. I never thought about her Indian butt being smacked by big white hands – and whoa, I got an erection and I'm tickling it already. Force of habit, it's how I am most of the time, rubbing myself when I got something brewing. But this was different. This was my mom we're talking about. What the fuck am I doing? My Indian mother was having sex, sex, my mother was doing what women in porno movies do, my mom I've known all my life as a honourable and proud woman was doing the prime act of female submission and doing it with gusto as evidenced by her moans to the lord. God: someone she prays to every day – maybe also for this!? Did she want it? Did she want the big white cock? Why was I assuming it was big? Oh it was big: she was married to my 5'3 Indian dad and I'm hung like a hamster. Get real: he was big even if he was average by his white man standards. But look at him: large, in charge, oh and I saw his bulge: he's big. No doubt about it, my Indian mom was getting big white cock. Willingly.

Why? Was it because she just wanted his big white cock? No, come on, she wasn't an animal. My Indian mother would have a reason for doing such a thing. Think, think – got it: her raise. Of course! This was her thank you to him! She was thanking him with – oh that got me unzipping my trousers and jerking myself full-on.

Yes, I admit it: the idea of my Indian mother 'thanking' her strong white male boss with sex was an immense turn-on. An immense turn-on. To think she'd do that made me so very hard – not for her per se, but her actions, her doings, oh it's all so –

"Ugh!" That was Trevor. He groaned a manly groan. Shuffling was heard and then the bed springs went faster and the ramming got harder. Trevor must've been stuffing his white cock even deeper into my mom. Awesome. Hold on: why was I so happy? Aren't sons supposed to be weirded out or even angry when their mom is having sex with a guy? Pssh, I ain't no Oedipus: I loved that my hot mom was fucking a nice guy (which, granted doesn't make me perfectly normal). I jerked on. 

Okay: so I was jerking off to my mom. But so what? I wasn't sniffing her panties or trying to do some retarded secret peeks of her. I didn't want to bang my mom. Not in the least. I was jerking off to my Indian mom getting it good and proper from her large white boss. I could think of no one better to fuck and own my sexy mom. He deserved her.

Three minutes into my tactful jerking off, I looked up at the door. Wooden, glossy white sheen, golden handle. Nice. Nice. Old Victorian build I'd say. Modernized, of course. Nice. Hmm. What's this I see? On the right side of the door, I see some light coming out of it. I straightened up and looked to see what it was.

A keyhole.

No, it couldn't be. No one had classic keyholes anymore. Actual holes in which keys fit. Oh, wait, I did, all over my house, actually. But this was one of those big-ass keyholes, the ones people peeked through. 

And that's what I did without even thinking about it. I got on my knees, dick in hand, one eye closed and the other open.

I had my breath ripped out of my throat.

Naked giant white man on top of my naked Indian mother. I saw it and it felt like I was watching a dream, yet I also knew it was real. Real and unreal both at once. 

I saw the south of the bed. Him on top, me looking at his big hairy white ass, his massive white cock inside my mother's Indian vagina, my mom's feet in the air as he thrust into her.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Mom moaned.

My mother was naked. How big this was cannot be put into words. Naked as in no clothes. No clothes at all. Naked as in physically and metaphorically. Naked as in bare, free, real, alive. This was her, and this was not my mom. This was Priyanka Arora: Trevor's Indian Bitch. 

Bitch is right. Hey, I love my mom; I'm not saying it in a resentful way. I'm stating it as a fact. She was his bitch, pure and simple. Taking his cock, having it put in her and moaning like a bitch. Another way to put it is to say that my mom was not being a 'mom'. She was being used as a woman, a submissive woman, a woman under the control of a man. A dirty woman. A moaning woman. A bitch. My Indian mom was being a strong white man's bitch.

Did I mention I loved it? 

And better was to come. Trevor turned around, allowed Mom to get on top (stress the word 'allowed') and got her riding his big, massive, throbbing 8-inch white cock. 

I felt my balls tighten when I saw my mom's bare smooth brown naked back and ass. I was looking at my mother's wonderful bum. I, her son, was looking at her bare butt. So wrong... yet so very hot. Then I saw Trevor's big white hands float over my mom's juicy bare brown butt. He clasped his hands down hard, and I saw him feel, grope and slap my Indian mom's ass. 

The big white man groping my Indian mom's buttocks. It was an action which took only a second, yet one which will stay with me for a lifetime.

What I see when I look back on that scene is all the amazing details: Trevor's large white body, naked, straightened out, his large feet reaching the end of the bed, his hands on her butt and his big white cock inside her, his big white balls ever present and full. I remember Mom: her bare naked body exposed to me, as gorgeous as I'd imagined, her skin flawless, gorgeous, she more beautiful without clothing. I remember her grinding on that big white cock, moaning over the superior size. And Trevor was just as enthralled as she was. I remember how he gripped her juicy brown butt, how he held and slapped it with due force; gentle yet powerful, like he was sending her a message: he was reminding her that she was his woman and this was his power. 

Mom was sweaty. I could see how shiny her back had gotten. Her bare, long, sweaty back. Oh she loved it, loved riding her strong white boss. I could tell she loved it: I could feel her emotion, could feel her passion. It was hot, so hot it was making me sweat. She was loving it, I could tell – I could hear it. Though it was timid, I swore I heard a playful giggle come from her. I couldn't confirm it, but I could tell how happy she was. Mom was not the same woman when she was with him. I barely recognized this woman. Occasionally, I had to remind myself that this woman was my mother. Yet how could she have been my mother? She was nothing like her. My mother was good-natured, kind, generous and elegant. This woman too was elegant, yet had traits my mother lacked: style, rhythm, poise, confidence. This woman was not at all motherly, that all-important trait having been replaced by one of womanhood's more appealing characteristics: sex appeal. This woman was one with her inner self, flowing and gliding with effortless ease.

I saw Trevor smile at my mom; that smile they both shared. It was wonderful. The defining image for me was when I looked at my mother and noticed her beautiful, flowing, jet-black signature Indian hair. Her hair was bouncing in tune to her rhythmic movements. And as I watched her beautiful hair, I saw her head go down, towards Trevor's face. 

And then she kissed him. 

I cummed.

I looked away after I'd finished. I took a second to let the orgasm take effect, and then, without question, I knew what I had to do next.

Get away from the bedroom.

Not because I was disgusted, oh no, not at all. What I saw was stunningly beautiful. I saw my Indian mother being her true self, being a proud and happy woman. And I saw Trevor being a real man: good, strong, proud, on top and in charge of his house. The dynamic was perfect: she was a sublimely feminine woman that wanted a strong man to protect her; He was a strong man that wanted to protect and care for this woman. The sex was his reward for being himself and something they both enjoyed and felt supremely connected by. I didn't see a porno: I saw a real human moment. A real human moment shared by two people who love each other very much. 

The reason I had to look away was because it was wrong of me to watch. What I saw was a deeply intimate moment between two people and something no third party should ever watch. Being her son made it worse, as I should not have seen her like that. It was wrong of me to peek. Still, I'm glad I did it.

I wouldn't do it again though. I'm a good boy. Good boys don't break the rules... often. Well, anyway, I snuck downstairs, got back on the couch... and jerked it eight times to just the memories alone. 

Eventually it got dark, 3am, and Women's Beach Volleyball was on. I got out another three rounds and then nature took its course and sent me to sleep.

*

Next morning, I woke up groggy and confused. I wondered if everything I'd just heard and seen was a dream. My answer came pretty quickly when I found myself on Trevor's couch. Yep, it happened – my pants confirmed it. 

I sat up and rewound everything that had happened. I wondered why I liked this whole setup. The truth: it was because my Indian mom was having sex with her strong white boss. White man, Indian woman. Yes, yes, yes, I liked it, I liked it a lot. He had a big white cock and my Indian mother took it and loved it. Furthermore, because they were now having sex, everything about what made him White English and her Indian proved to be a turn-on: she spoke with an Indian accent, he spoke with an English one; she wore sari dresses, he wore suits; she eats curry... and so does he. Okay, I might have gone a little overboard – but it was so frigging hot! My Indian mom had gone white, big and white. And so had I! I was the son of an Indian woman who had a white boyfriend. I'm so metro! This is so hot, yeah, his white hands on her brown butt, yeah, yeah.

But that's not all. What really tied it all together was that they really liked each other. Really liked each other. I might have slipped and said the 'L' word. Well, I felt it between them and I couldn't deny what I saw. She 'L' him and he 'L' her. That made me feel good, good for both of them.

"Son." A shirtless and boxers-clad Trevor came into the living room. "What's going on? Just woke up?"




The Culmination



"Yes, sir." He was even more massive with his exposed hairy white torso and clearly visible bulge. I then quickly remembered that this massive white man had sex with my Indian mom. I was getting a little erect from the playback. 

"Well, shower, then come get breakfast."

"Yes, sir."

He walked into his kitchen.

I tried fixing myself up. I stood up and zipped up my pants. I'm glad I did, as the next image made me go 'Uhh.'

My mom in Trevor's large white dress shirt. Nothing else. Legs bare, feet bare, hair wet, body clean, and she smelt like lavender. Oh god indeed.

The shirt was buttoned up halfway, meaning I was looking at a snippet of my mom's brown boobies. And the boner rises. 

"Mom?"

"Ravi," she said with that all-is-great smile. I smiled too.

"How, umm, how." 

She smiled and nodded. "Oh, did you hear? Did you hear us do that? That?"

I shook my head. All the moisture left my mouth when I replied, "No."

She looked at me with a pout. "No? Well, what we did, Son, that?" She walked out the room and then poked her head back in. With a big smile, she said, "That was just me thanking him for dinner."

The End



The Culmination



With her other hand she pulled her dress the rest of the way off her breast, exposing its pale fullness to the hot air, and slowly cupped it in her palm, her thumb running back and forth across her nipple as she kneaded her breast gently, gentleness dissolving into vigor as she squeezed faster and harder, pinching her nipple, her breath quickening.

She wet her fingers in her mouth and ran them over the taut firmness of her nipple, moaning, her other hand moving against her clitoris, pressing several fingers against her sex as her hips rolled against her hand. A light sweat had appeared on her brow, and her breaths were coming still faster, almost panting.

He had unbuttoned her dress and was kissing her breast, strong hands kneading them as she held his head and cried out. He pulled back and pushed her dress off her shoulders, watching it fall from her body, leaving her nude. She stepped into him again and undid his buckle with one hand, using the other to knead his thick cock through his pants. Staring into his eyes, she undid his button and unzipped him, then reached into his pants and pulled his hot cock into the open. His eyes closed as she stroked the length of him, gripping one hand behind his head and kissing his neck. They rotated slowly, she stroking his cock as he held her close, until her back was to the wall. He pulled her hand from his cock and pushed both her arms above her head, trapping them against the wall as he pushed his cock against the dark mound of her pubic hair. He crouched slightly and circled her waist with his arms, lifting her easily. They looked into each other’s eyes as he adjusted her, his eyes widening as his head pushed between her wet lips. They paused like that for a moment and kissed, long and deep and hard, and then he lowered her onto him the rest of the way, filling her up with a thick heat that made her moan with pleasure.

She pushed two fingers into her waiting cunt, lowering the other hand from her breast to rub her clitoris while her fingers plunged into her wetness, pushing against the walls of her cunt and sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her clit was swollen and sensitive, and she brushed it lightly with her fingertips, sending a shudder through her, then began to rub it between two fingers, pinching and pulling at it, circling it, pressing it down toward the fingers she buried repeatedly in her cunt. Jessica was gasping now, and could feel the orgasm steadily approaching. 

Jeremy pressed her against the wall with his chest, his arm still circling her waist as he plunged into her again and again, kissing her lips, her eyes, and her neck as his other hand kneaded her full breast, pulling at the nipple, squeezing it hard and fast. His cock wasn’t long but its thickness pressed against the walls of her wet cunt like they were made for each other, a perfect fit, over and over and over. He was sweating, staring into her eyes, and she could see the tenseness coming over his face that signaled his coming orgasm. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she pulled him close, kissing him deeply as his cock swelled even further within her in anticipation. His body tensed and he began to moan into her mouth as she opened her heart to accept him. He jumped and pushed as far into her as he could go, every muscle in his body straining, and then he began to moan in waves as his cock jetted thick come deep into her waiting cunt, pushing ever deeper within her as she cried out in happiness at his climax, holding his face to her chest as he pumped his seed into her.

Jessica’s fingers worked furiously in her pussy while she circled her clit faster and faster, her young body tensing as the first wave shot from her pelvis through her body, and she cried out softly, never slowing as her orgasm grew, consuming her in its flame until she was no more, there was only the bright, almost painful pleasure of total release, and then she fell back into her body, sweating and happy, her muscles relaxing into the bed, her fingers wet and her underwear soaked. 

She panted in the stifling air, looking through the ceiling, far away in the heat of her pleasure, and slipped into a happy doze, her legs hanging over the side of her bed, hands clasped over her belly, warm afternoon sunlight covering her skin with kisses.

Jeremy was a good tutor. In fact, he was pretty good at everything he did: his natural ability and an absolute unwillingness to do a half-ass job made him quite a powerhouse on the boss-satisfaction-meter. So it was no surprise when Jessica’s father had called the tutoring agency and requested Jessica have extra time with Jeremy the week before finals. The problem was that several other students’ parents had likewise requested more of Jeremy, and the agency felt that Jessica’s progress was promising enough that Jeremy needn’t see her again.

This, of course, was totally unacceptable. 

Jeremy had stormed in that afternoon after the phone call from the director had informed him of the agency’s position, refrained (but only just) from slamming his hand down on the receptionist’s desk, and had calmly asked to speak with the director. 

What had followed was really quite an ugly scene, and Jeremy’s current absentmindedness was helping protect him from remembering how abjectly he had scrabbled for a solution, lowering his demands from three to two visits, then from two to one, as it became apparent the director wouldn’t budge. She had gotten where she was by making hard choices, and you didn’t earn money by allowing your hires’ whims to direct your policies, she had informed him coolly, and besides, your feelings for her have put me in an awkward position; I will not allow the integrity—

He had cut her off, slamming his fist down on her desk (finally!) and staring at her in fury, his eyes blazing, causing her to lean back in fear. He was speaking, telling her that the presence or absence of any feelings of his did not change the fact that every student of his would get the tutoring they requested, or he wouldn’t be a part of her “integrity-laden” company.

That was when she had stood, staring him down, and had said, “Fuck you, you little know-everything prick. If you think—“ But by then he was already marching out of the building, and we know the rest.

So now life was pretty good. His responsibilities to the company were over, and as long as he could scrape through the next week without starving he was in the clear. Of course, he would still be seeing his students through Finals, he just wouldn’t be getting paid for it.

And now he was going to do something that, had he known he was going to do it, he would have run away before he had the chance. That was the other reason he was lost in the moment that beautiful June afternoon: he knew he had to do this, but if he thought about it he wouldn’t let himself.

Jeremy turned a corner and was facing down the long lane that led to Jessica’s home, a sprawling house of three stories with the dubious architectural distinction of being the only home in Myer with a huge greenhouse half-dome embedded in the back of the house, turning a large living room into a positively giant one with an amazing view of the garden and grounds behind the house. Like all wealthy people who don’t spend much time at home, Jessica’s parents had made the space a formal one by placing a giant mahogany dining table under the dome, instead of turning it into a place of comfort and warmth with the numerous couches and settees Jeremy thought the space warranted. It was a beautiful home nonetheless, but Jeremy looked at it without seeing it, his mind continuing to occupy him with just how pretty the poplar trees were when you really looked at them. 

He began to walk toward the small mansion at the end of street, humming a nameless tune under his breath. 

Jessica stirred languidly in the warm room, her consciousness coming back to her slowly and easily, the sweet warmth between her legs bringing a smile to her face as she remembered loving Jeremy. The sheer passion she felt during masturbation always made her feel a little silly; it was so much more involving than the few times she had had sex with her first (and only) boyfriend, an intelligent but dour boy who was too insecure to really let loose and enjoy it. She'd tried, several times, to loosen him up, make him relax into it and have fun, but he was too nervous (and she was, she felt, too confident) for them to find a common ground, and their enjoyment of each other had drained away like dirty water in a bath that had lost its warmth. 

No great loss. 

She sat up on the edge of her bed, a little dazed, and turned her head back and forth slowly, loosening up the kinks in her neck as she wondered what to do with herself. She stood, letting her damp underwear fall down her legs to the floor, and checked the clock on her cluttered desk. It was nearly five

Oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit. She had to write her speech. If nothing else got done, that had to, and now she had less than an hour before her mother returned and the rest of the evening would sweep her away in its implacable grip, carrying her from one responsibility to the next until she was as worn and tired as her parents had become, holding on grimly to the good life they'd fought so hard to earn. 

But she could do this. She could make it work. She smoothed her heat-wrinkled dress down over her thighs, yanked her underwear back on and wiped the sweat from her brow. You're a mess, Jessica, she thought, looking around her room for the notebook that held the ideas she collected to use in her speech, you should just give up now and go and find Jeremy, settle down in the Andes or wherever we'll end up and have a couple babies, teach them to climb and hunt goats for food. We can eat moss, too, and 

Oh, god, her notebook was still in her bag, in the car. 

She was at the bottom of the stairs and running for the door when she remembered her mother had taken the car. 

Her eyes glazed over as her future crashed down around her, college plans and applications bursting into flames, the Dinner speeches' witticisms and inside jokes devolving into a cacophony of wild sound, the calm, measured, and predictable progression of her life fracturing into a nightmarish maze of missed deadlines and broken promises. Her feet slowed as her mind buckled under the pressure, and suddenly, as she came to rest against the closed front door, a burst of clarity washed through her, cleansing her insecurities and washing away her doubt. In that moment she decided not to work on the speech. Not to pick up the gifts. Not, indeed, to go to the dinner at all. She was going to graduate High School and then, well, we'll see, won't we? Planning was shit, and so was defining your life by someone else's expectations, not to mention EVERYONE else's expectations. 

Enough. 

Jessica smiled, finally at ease, staring off into space, her mind clear and sure. Hey, you! Crazy girl! Whatta you want to do with your new life? I dunno, she thought, how about go for a walk? She could get back in enough time to meet her mother, and THAT wouldn't be fun, but she knew that eventually her parents would understand (I hope they do) because after all, they really loved her (right?). 

Reassured, she stepped back and opened the door to find Jeremy raising his hand to knock.

The day got very silent then.

As the surprise turned into astonishment and then moved quickly through elation into terror, the two of them stared at each other with vacant expressions. The corners of Jessica's mouth began to quirk upwards as she realized what they must look like, standing there stock-still, gawking at each other, and her smile caused Jeremy to frown in perplexity. Jessica only smiled wider until she was almost laughing, and then they were in each other's arms, pulling each other close, smashing their bodies together and then they were kissing.

At first the kisses were sweet, soft and tentative, and Jessica's lips were soft and actually-no really!-actually sweet and Jeremy couldn't remember ever actually kissing lips that were sweet, and the dearness of the soft kisses made him woozy and he wanted to savor them but Jeremy found himself unable to refrain from nipping at Jessica's lips. She began nipping back, and he found himself smiling, smiling into her kisses, and then she was smiling too, but they couldn't stop kissing, or smiling, and then their teeth bonked together with a crack and Jessica yelped and Jeremy swept her up into his arms, swirling her around in the foyer, laughing and crying and shouting all together, Jessica holding on tightly, pressed against his chest.

He swirled to a stop and set her down and took a shaky step back, bewildered, his head spinning with excitement and unreality, staring at her with wide eyes, trying to drink in the actual FACT of her, trying to verify that this was actually happening. Jessica's face was flushed, her long blond hair unkempt, her chest rising quickly with her breath, and she stared at his chest blankly, smiling with the same confusion and ecstasy that he felt on his face. She looked up at his face, still smiling, and turned slowly, looking around the huge room, seeming to take in the high ceiling, the glass dome, and the sunken dining area for the first time. She swayed as she stopped, and giggled un-self-consciously, staring into the middle distance with wonder. 

Jeremy just watched her, stunned by the finality and reality of finally. He felt the need to speak, to say something, something appropriate to memorialize this moment, to concretize it, to establish it as real, but there was nothing that could do that. As always between them, words were unnecessary. So he said that.

"I want to say something, but I don't know what." 

Jessica came back from the middle distance and smiled wider. "How about we don't talk?" She looked at him and Jesus she was beautiful and then he was wrapping his arms around her and they were kissing again, hungry, desperate. Something was building there, around them, within them, and they could both feel it and they started to channel it uncontrollably, becoming focusing agents, crystals, loci for some enormous, dangerous force they were building together, but it felt like it was imposed on them, that it was too much to bear, and Jessica began to whimper and shake and Jeremy sucked harder on her mouth, trying to focus on her, to channel it into her but it kept building and they felt helpless and they pulled their mouths apart, gasping, staring wildly at each other, looking for the answer. And then as one they turned their heads and saw the giant table under the dome, and then they knew. 

As one they started for the table, its deep mahogany brown rich and sensual in the afternoon sunlight. Jessica said distractedly, "We should- ...out here? We should go up to my room...we should..." But their course was set, their momentum unstoppable, and her voice trailed off as they dragged each other to the table in their haste. As one, again, they arrived at the table and were on each other again, kissing furiously, almost violently. Jeremy's hands explored her back roughly, pulling her closer, bunching the fabric of her dress in tight wads, pulling the front tight across her breasts and stomach as Jessica pulled his head into hers as if to devour it, sucking at his lower lip, bruising it, biting it, and they stumbled against the table. 

As if skipping the record, there was a pause then, a momentary abatement of the overwhelming force, and they pulled their mouths from each other, panting, and stared into one another's eyes. And grinned. 

Jessica laughed, and Jeremy shouted, and then they were devouring one another again, kissing like it was their job. Jessica's fingers fumbled with the buttons on Jeremy's shirt, pulling them roughly from their holes as Jeremy tried to get at her buttons through the tangle of arms, but then she was pulling his shirt from his bare chest and her arms were wide and he reached forward and, gripping two solid handfuls of her dress between her breasts, tore it open down the front, and little buttons pattered down to the floor. 

He pushed her up onto the table and kissed her sweaty neck, tasting the salt, moving his mouth down her chest between her breasts, and her eyes were closed and she was moaning, gripping the back of his head, handfuls of hair, and he was kissing her breasts, their firmness resisting his lips, her nipples rising inside his mouth as he sucked them, his hands holding the small of her back. She cried out as he flicked her nipple with his tongue, and he began moving down her flat stomach, kissing the smooth skin, and she was on her back on the table, her hands twisted into her own hair, body writhing under his lips and tongue, and he grabbed the rest of her dress and ripped it the rest of the way open, fabric rasping in the warm air, exposing her firm white thighs and simple, cream-colored underwear. He kissed her thighs and slid his hands up and under the sides of her underwear, feeling the muscles of her pelvis contract and spasm under his palms, the smell of her sex rising up to him, feeling the curls of her pubic hair with his thumbs, stroking the skin, teasing out moans and further thrashing. 

Then she was sitting up again and pulling him close to her, their bare chests pressed together, his slightly darker skin against hers, and they kissed deeply, tongues dancing together, tasting each other. She lowered her hands to his belt and, still kissing him passionately, began trying to tear it out of his pants. He grinned into her mouth again and pulled his hands from her face to help, practiced motions quickly pulling tongue from loops and buckle. He began to pull it off but she shook her head and murmured "no time", already undoing the button on his slacks and pulling the zipper down over the bulge of his erection, her hands quick and sure. She stopped kissing him for a moment and simply looked into his eyes from mere inches away as she stroked his erection through his underwear, smiling as his eyelids lowered and he grimaced with pleasure, moaning, his hips twitching, grinding his erection into her hand with every stroke. She glanced down his smooth, hairless chest, taking in his lean, muscled arms and taut stomach, a jet of excitement thrilling through her at the sight of her favorite part of the male anatomy, those sweet crevices where the abdominal muscles taper down into the groin. And it was his. Not just any. His. 

Jeremy's eyes opened, widening with pleasure as she pressed her fingers against his stomach and slid them down into his boxers, trailing through his pubic hair and down the length of his swollen cock, and he saw her pleasure with what she found writ large across her face. They gasped together as she wrapped her fingers delicately around it, her eyes closing lazily as she squeezed it gently, and then harder, then loosening her grip to run her fingers up and down its length, learning its contours and eliciting more groans from Jeremy as he struggled to remain standing. Eyes still closed, Jessica licked her lips dreamily and then delicately negotiated his cock out into the air past the elastic waistband of his boxers. 

A deep, swollen heaviness descended upon them then, a pause in the frenzy of desire, and she slowly stroked his cock, her eyes opening slowly to take him in, seeing him gazing at her with a simple love, the hunger momentarily on hold. The stillness of the house and the heaviness of the warm air around them took on an almost physical presence, locking them into a sweet stasis, their eyes drinking in the reality of the moment, and each other. Jeremy had never been with a woman as firm and as lush as Jessica, and his moment stretched out into a year as he attempted to take in her glorious skin and large, firm breasts, as well as the open love he saw in her beautiful eyes, her flushed cheeks, her long hair wild and free. 




The Culmination



She was still sitting on the edge of the table, and he pulled her to him, lifting her from it, and she wrapped her legs around him and they clung to one another there, his arms wrapped around the small of her back, her breasts pressed into his chest, his cock nestled against her pussy, straining against the thin fabric of her underwear, their heads resting on each other's shoulders, eyes closed in peace and happiness. 

It was the sensation of their groins pressed together that broke the stillness as they began to rock against each other, moving their pelvises together, the hunger building again. Within seconds they were grinding into each other and moaning, the desperation returning with a vengeance. Jeremy let Jessica down and they were kissing again, Jessica shucking off her ruined dress and pulling her underwear down over her hips as Jeremy shuffled awkwardly, using his feet to remove his shoes, shaking his hips to drop his pants and then stepping out of them and the boxers nestled within. They remained joined at the mouth, their tongues twining together as Jeremy lifted his feet behind him to strip off his socks and Jessica's underwear slid off her legs onto the floor and then they were mashed together, their bodies straining against one another, clutching at each other's backs like they were drowning.

The need between Jessica's legs was becoming insistent, and just as she began to pull him toward the table Jeremy began pushing her against it, wrapping his hands under her firm behind and lifting her onto the table, resting her right on its edge. She pulled her lips from his and stared into his eyes and began to say something but he silenced her with a look and leaned in to kiss her with an astonishing tenderness, his soft lips grazing the surface of hers, and she knew she didn't need to say anything. 

He pulled away again and they looked at each other and began to smile. Jessica lifted her legs into the air and turned her pelvis up to him. Jeremy reached down and stroked her clitoris with his thumb, soft wet sounds coming from her soaking pussy, and then he maneuvered the head of his cock between her lips and pressed slightly forward as he leaned in to kiss her again, more gently than before, his cock sliding into her slowly and easily. They tensed as one and then each let out a low moan as he slowly filled her, Jessica's legs wrapping around his back and urging him further, further, the head of his cock sliding between the slick walls of her cunt, pushing past the minute ridges and folds within her, the feeling of rightness growing as he went deeper and deeper until he was buried as far as he could go, his legs shaking with pleasure, knees threatening to buckle, his pelvis pressed against hers as they softly kissed and moaned. 

Jessica's legs loosened slightly, telling him to withdraw, and he did so as slowly as he entered her, drawing out the sensation into a languorous tease that she responded to with gasps and quick tightenings around his cock, trying to hold him in as he withdrew until his head was almost clear of her and her body shook with pleasure, shuddering with the intensity of his absence and the sweet anticipation of his return. Their lips parted and they gazed into each other's eyes as he pushed back into her slightly faster than before, his eyes widening as hers closed, her legs pulling him back into her. He buried his cock into her again as far as it would go and she gasped as she felt him brush her cervix and it was perfect, his cock was the perfect length and perfectly thick, feeling like she would split apart but also like it was just right. 

Jeremy pulled out again and began rocking into her slowly, each time filling her as much as he could before withdrawing, and their rhythm came to them easily, her legs pulling him into her and loosening in time with his thrusts, his cock wet with her juices, and they began to sweat in the still air, their rhythm increasing in speed and intensity and Jessica was moaning, Jeremy panting, his eyes wide with wonder, his ass pushing in and out as he stood, fucking her on the table. 

Jessica shuddered again and lay back on the table, lifting her legs from his back and spreading them in the air behind him, her stomach muscles tensing with the effort. Jeremy's rhythm increased until he was slamming his cock deep into her pussy at a furious, exhausting pace and she was shrieking, her heavy breasts bouncing forward and back with his thrusts and then her throat opened into one big, long vowel of a shout, voice deepening as she came for the second time that day, a rocketing, pounding orgasm that tensed every muscle in her body as she rode the wave, her hands twisted into her hair and then her voice began to rise and fall with the rhythm of the orgasm as it simultaneously intensified and began to taper off, Jeremy pounding into her, lost to his own pleasure, trapped deep inside her own, intuitively adjusting his speed and depth to keep the wave high and powerful and then suddenly his own pleasure leaped out at him and crushed him and his knees began to buckle as he began to moan in such a deep and resonant way that Jessica knew he was close and she gasped, "Come here!" and he pulled out of her as she scooted back on the table and he climbed atop it and rolled onto his back and Jessica mounted him, leaning close into his face and kissing him, nimbly guiding his cock back inside her pussy and proceeding to slam down onto his cock, driving it so deep within her she thought she would burst, the pleasure consuming her again, everything—the house, the afternoon, the garden, the dome, even the table—disappearing. 

And then it was just their rocking bodies, Jeremy's grimace, his eyes screwed shut, arms holding her hips corded with muscle as he thrust up into her, her breasts bouncing in the air above his face, her back arched, tight ass slamming down into his thighs, and then Jeremy felt it building again and he lifted himself up on one arm and wrapped the other around her waist and kissed her breast, wrapping his lips around her nipple and sucking hard and she was moaning again and then he raised his face to hers and kissed her lips and then his moan turned into a scream as the building pleasure gave way to a cataclysm of sensation that left him blind and drunk with her smell and her skin and the taste of her mouth on his lips as he came inside her soaking cunt, jetting his come deep inside her to mingle with her juices, his cock swelling with each contraction and the feel of his hot seed filling her brought on another, lesser orgasm that shuddered up from where they joined and her long hair was hanging onto his chest and then they were just holding each other as the waves receded, sweat running down their bodies as they clung to each other in desperation, knowing nothing but the simple fact of one another, everything else burned away. 

Jessica shuddered as she began to cry, and Jeremy whispered sweet nothings as he kissed the tears from her sweaty face, his arms wrapped around her, holding her against him. She sobbed into his shoulder, still rocking slightly atop him, unable to stop enjoying the feeling of his presence within her. He kissed her shoulder, tasting her sweat as her tears ran down his back, the sobs lessening until she was silent and they merely held one another, breathing together deeply. 

After a minute of this, Jeremy put his arm back to steady himself (sitting up like this was hard of the abs) and pulled his head from her shoulder to look at her, unsure as to the exact reason for her tears. Jessica's eyes were red and puffy, but sparkling with happiness, and she wiped them sheepishly and looked away. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't apologize," Jeremy murmured, stroking her face, "You're beautiful. Don't worry."

Jessica looked back at him and relaxed. "Wow."

Jeremy grinned. "No shit. Wow!"

A mischievous gleam came into her eye and she said, "Thank God."

Jeremy feigned horror. "What, like it could have been BAD?!"

"Well, you never know..." but Jessica was grinning, too.

"Shut up," Jeremy said, "I knew, and so did you."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess I did." 

They paused as they looked at each other, smiling, and then at the same moment they spoke together: "I love you." A moment of shock at just how freaking PERFECT it all was! and then they were laughing and crying again, kissing and hugging each other close, and that's when Jessica's father walked through the front door and started shouting and everything after that was confusion and scrambling for clothes and Jeremy was chased naked from the house with his clothes in his arms and Jessica cried and screamed at her father and then later, after her mother came home, cried and screamed at her mother, and the next day Jeremy left Myer on a Greyhound bus, disgraced and unable to finish tutoring his remaining students, and all told it was nearly a week before they saw each other again, when Jessica walked through the door of Jeremy's friend's apartment in Boston and they fell into each other's arms, kissed each other deeply, and lived happily ever after.

The End

thanks for reading!