0 comments/ 65031 views/ 17 favorites Ultimate Power By: eksynapse "Irene...?" Mr. Olson prompted a second time with an edgy smile. "Hmm...?" Mrs. Olson responded distractedly. "I asked, would you please pass the canapés to our guests?" "Oh, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Olson apologized, passing the plate of hors d'œuvres while stealing a look at the mantel clock for the twentieth time. Both she and Mr. Olson were trying as best they could to conceal their anxiety from their dearest and oldest friends, the Chattertons, while awaiting the arrival of their daughter and her newest boyfriend. When Sula had first excitedly let it be known that she'd begun dating this "absolutely fabulous black man," the Olsons were naturally taken aback, but trusted that it wouldn't amount to anything, certainly no more than had any of their daughter's other short-lived, loopy infatuations. Surely, Sula would soon come to her senses and find herself a more fitting companion – i.e. someone white -- preferably a nice Episcopalian boy, or maybe a Lutheran or Presbyterian. By all accounts, this new boyfriend appeared to have plenty of money, but Sula had admitted she hadn't any idea what he actually did for a living. For all the Olsons knew, he might be a pimp or a drug dealer -- or, worse yet, a subversive community organizer. But as the relationship dragged on, month after month, it became disturbingly apparent to the Olsons that their daughter wasn't simply infatuated; she had deluded herself into thinking she was actually in love with this Damon person. And now, perhaps, their worst fear was on the cusp of being horrifyingly realized: Sula had orchestrated this first face-to-face meeting at Damon's behest, giddily hinting he might even use the occasion to ask for her hand in marriage. Now, at the eleventh hour, as it were, the Olsons agreed they would've gladly settled for a Catholic or Southern Baptist -- or even, as inconceivable as it once might have seemed, a Jew. Just then, a sleek black Maserati Quattroporte pulled into their circular driveway. Moments later, the doorbell rang and there they were: Sula and Damon. Well, no question they made a very striking couple as they entered the living room arm in arm. And an even more striking study in contrasts. Twenty-eight year old Sula Olson was a stunning, blue-eyed, Nordic-looking beauty with flawless skin and natural tow-blond hair in a pageboy cut. At 5-feet 10-inches, she was blessed with an athletic yet sumptuous body: natural 36C breasts, 22-inch waist, and 36-inch hips. She was dressed in a flesh-colored silk camisole edged in black ribbon with spaghetti-thin shoulder straps, and a form-fitting, mid-thigh length black cashmere skirt. Her long, tapering legs were perfect pedestals, set off by 4-inch black leather pumps. Damon Ogumbu was equally striking in his way: a 32-year old dark-skinned African-American, 6-feet 3-inches tall, with a lean yet muscular physique draped in an exquisitely tailored dark gray Armani suit and black silk shirt. His facial features, while pleasant enough, were far too Negroid for the Olson's liking. His dark brown eyes, however, were strangely compelling... and eerily penetrating. Of course, she would never have divulged such a thing to her parents, but from the outset of their amorous relationship, Sula had been bowled over not just by Damon's prodigiously oversized genitalia but also by his absolutely extraordinary sexual stamina. His mighty organ was fueled, it seemed, by a supercharged reproductive system that enabled him to outlast, out-recuperate, and outperform any man she'd ever been with. Up to that point in her life, Sula had been intimate with numerous alpha male celebs – movie stars and other assorted Hollywood types, politicians (from both sides of the aisle), top-tier athletes, rock stars, and business tycoons. But none of them – none – held half a candle to Damon's Olympian performances. And they'd met in the most interesting way. Sula and her closest supermodel friend at the time, Victoria, had been waved through the ropes of a very exclusive club when she'd noticed a parking valet pull away in a simply gorgeous black Maserati Quattroporte. On a naughty lark, Sula had turned to her friend and boldly declared, "Whoever owns that car, that's the lucky bastard I'm going to fuck tonight." Sula had been about to slip a ten-dollar bill to the valet captain to learn the identity of the Maserati's owner, but Victoria informed her she could put her money away; she already knew who it was: a fellow named Damon Ogumbu. Victoria had been hearing the most gushing reviews about him from several of her swimsuit model friends. Sula was immediately intrigued. "Well, tell me all about him. His name sounds African. Is he black?" "As the ace of spades," Victoria said, adding lewdly, "Every inch of him." "What is he, then, an actor? An athlete? What does he do?" "I've no idea," Victoria shrugged, "but they say he fucks like a god." That was sufficient recommendation for Sula. Afterall, she had no racial biases, none whatsoever. She'd sucked and fucked plenty of black dicks in limos before. And then there'd been that night in that hotel suite when she and Victoria, and three other models whose names she couldn't recall, had had a tad too much coke and wound up getting gangbanged by nearly all the starters from two competing basketball teams and half their benches. Sula had gotten Victoria to point Damon out for her at the bar, then walked over, wedged herself in between Damon and a couple of wannabe fuckstresses, and boldly introduced herself. As he had taken her hand in his, she thought she'd heard him say, "Pleased to eat you." At that same instant, she'd felt a poignant tingling in her clit and a twat throb filled with such tender yearning that she grew briefly dizzy. She then felt his lips press lightly against her ear as he murmured these memorable words: "Panties should never come between friends." Sula had promptly excused herself and literally raced into the ladies room to remove the offending undergarment. By the time she'd returned, the other two women had mysteriously vanished, leaving the bar stool beside Damon conveniently available. For the next hour, they'd carried on the most scintillating conversation regarding ... regarding ... Well, Sula couldn't recall what the subject matter was, or what either of them had actually said. Not a word. But what she did vividly recall were those incredible, aphrodisiacal eyes of his. And the way he'd seductively caressed the nape of her neck and tenderly kissed her on the lips. And how he'd finger fucked her to a screaming, gut-wrenching orgasm right there at the bar while everyone else around them appeared to take no notice ... absolutely no notice at all. How perfectly extraordinary it all had been! Moments after she'd publicly climaxed, when Damon invited her home with him, she had virtually leapt off the stool. Damon's offer to settle the tab had, interestingly enough, been magnanimously declined by the barman. That night, in his luxurious penthouse apartment, with its spectacular views of the city lights, Damon had taken Sula to heights of lust and ecstasy she'd never before known. By dawn, he'd made love to her an astonishing nine times – or, maybe it was ten -- she couldn't remember. It had all been such a wildly rapturous haze of sucking and fucking. But what Sula, even to this day, wasn't aware of – hadn't even guessed at -- was that Damon's greatest gift lay unseen within his cranium: A preternatural prefrontal cortex that gave him the power to alter the consciousness of others, and bend their hearts, minds, and bodies to his will. While portions of his brain may have been unusually large, his pineal body, by contrast, was not merely underdeveloped but missing entirely – a quirk of nature that had brought about a precocious puberty at age five, and an equally precocious and near-insatiable sexual appetite. From earliest childhood, Damon had learned that the world -- and all those in it – existed largely for the simple purpose of making him happy. He had only to desire something and it would be granted. To wit, his mother had breastfed him until he was ten by which time he'd felt sufficiently sated to move on to other menu items. And by the time he'd graduated from high school, he'd already sired twelve children by as many of his schoolteachers. White, Black, Hispanic and Asian, he had had them all. He'd even bedded and inseminated a number of his friends' mothers. More than a few of all these impregnations, had, unfortunately, culminated in rather tumultuous divorces, though none of the women, understandably, had been willing to divulge the identity of their young lover. Throughout Damon's life, he found people unfailingly and exceedingly kind, instantly obedient to his every wish and whim. They lavished upon him the finest of educations, their places in line, the best clothing, wristwatches, haute cuisine meals, housing, the choicest of automobiles – and the most enchanting sexual partners. Everything and anyone his heart desired he received openhandedly and without any repercussion or cost to him whatsoever. Now, as everyone gathered round, Sula introduced Damon first to her father, Charles Olson, a stocky gentleman in his late sixties, dressed in a tan leisure suit, and possessed of a thick head of expensively barbered white hair, a ruddy tan complexion, and a gold Rolex Presidential wristwatch studded with diamonds. He'd made his fortune in commercial real estate and manure. He was normally a steady and sober-minded individual, but the buzzing in Mr. Olson's head that had coincidentally begun the moment Damon entered the house was making him a bit giddy and euphoric. "Damon!" Mr. Olson bellowed, shaking hands with Rotarian gusto. "Welcome, welcome, welcome!" "Thank you, sir," Damon said with a hint of some form of an African accent. His words were well articulated, measured, and had a steady cadence. "You are too kind." Sula introduced him next to her mother, Mrs. Olson, a very comely, gray haired lady – in her mid-sixties, Damon imagined – pleasingly plump, with a grand, jutting bust, full hips, and a delightfully rounded plush derriere. She wore a simple white blouse with collar spread wide enough to afford a glimpse of her deep cleavage, and a green tartan skirt cut a few inches above her lovely knees. She bypassed Damon's extended hand and pulled him tightly against her cushiony bosom for a welcoming hug and a buss on the cheek. "Oh now, Damon," she gushed, "you know a simple handshake won't do. You'll be calling me 'Mother' soon." Sula's face flushed red with embarrassment at her mother's presumptuousness. But Damon was genuinely touched by the old lady's warm reception and decided to have her on the spot. But first there were other introductions to endure. The Right Reverend Richard Chatterton was next in line; a sixtyish, tall, bespectacled gentleman wearing a gray suit, black shirt, and white clerical collar. "So good to meet you, Damon," he said, giving a limp-wristed handshake. "And allow me to introduce you to my wife." "Please, call me Violet," Mrs. Chatterton said, shaking hands energetically. Violet was a willowy, somewhat pinch-faced, brunette in her late fifties, dressed in a powder blue business suit with matching silk paisley scarf knotted about her long, tapering throat. Her bust, though petit in comparison to the mammiferous Mrs. Olson, was still nicely shaped, Damon thought -- even tantalizing. She had dazzling green eyes and he liked the slightly saucy turn of her mouth. Her breath smelled unusually of Tic-Tacs and bourbon. Damon permitted himself a fleeting fantasy of her kneeling before him, servicing his cock with that saucy mouth. He vowed to turn that fantasy into a reality this very visit. "Well, it is very nice to meet all of you," Damon said, affably. "I've heard so much about you from Sula." Then, after a moment's pause, he added: "I hope you will not think me rude, but I would like to steal Mrs. Olson away from you for a little while." "But of course, of course," burbled Mr. Olson, hospitably, the buzzing in his head growing suddenly louder. "We shouldn't be much more than about an hour, I think." "No rush, my boy. Take your time," insisted Mr. Olson, feeling a bit unsteady on his feet. "Sula?" Damon asked thoughtfully. "Oh, don't fret about us, darling," Sula sweetly assured him. "We'll be out here visiting." "Well then ..." Damon said, rubbing his hands together and looking around, "Uh ... bedroom?" "First door on the right," said Mr. Olson. "Let us know if you need anything." "Thank you," Damon said, winking at the buxom Mrs. Olson, "but I believe I've got everything I need right here." As everyone else took a seat, Damon placed a hand on Mrs. Olson's lush backside and gave it a firm squeeze as he guided her into the master bedroom. He could hear them all chatting amiably in the living room as he shut the door. "Well," Damon said to Mrs. Olson, "would you mind turning sideways? I'd like to see that splendid bust of yours." Mrs. Olson smiled shyly, looking flattered, and promptly did as requested. Damon examined her profile with deep satisfaction. "My! What a lovely, large bosom you have!" "I am rather large, aren't I?" she responded proudly, placing her hands on either side of her tits and lifting them slightly. "Yes, indeed," Damon said, fondling both breasts through her blouse. "They feel unusually firm for a woman your age." "Why, thank you." "And exactly how old are you, dear?" he asked. "Sixty-six." "I see," Damon said with delight. "Open your blouse, now, and give us a kiss." Mrs. Olson demurely unbuttoned her blouse down to the top of her skirt and spread it wide open. Her fleshy breasts spilled enticingly over the top of her bra. The skin over her chest was a bit wrinkled and crepe-like, just the way Damon liked it with his more mature women. She then snuggled against him, put her arms around his neck, and planted a slow, sensuous kiss upon his lips. For a full minute, they stood exchanging seductive, open-mouthed kisses, their thighs pressed together, while Damon's hands caressed her bountiful bottom. "Stick your tongue in my mouth, darling," he said. He parted his lips to permit her tongue entry. His hands groped her bra-covered breasts as their tongues wetly caressed each other. "Your tongue is very smooth, almost like velvet," Damon observed as he slipped off her blouse. She assisted, pulling it free of her skirt, and dropped it on the floor. His black hands roamed all over her breasts and deep cleavage, then reached behind her and unhooked her brassiere. Her heavy, full tits descended halfway to her navel. Damon took a half step back to admire them. Her nipples were surrounded by large, pink areolae. "I like the look and feel of your nipples," he murmured appreciatively, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and fingers. "Thank you," she said, feeling her nipples harden. "Put your right breast in your mouth now, dear, and suck the nipple." As commanded, she hefted her breast to her mouth and sucked the protuberance. "That looks very enticing," Damon observed, feeling his cock stir for the fifth time since their meeting. "Mmm," she responded. "Look how big my nipples get when I'm aroused." "Yes, they are ... deliciously large," said Damon, as he bent his head to sample each nipple for himself. "Oh," Mrs. Olson crooned, unconsciously rubbing her belly against his groin, "they're so tender, particularly the way you're licking and sucking and nibbling them." After a second generous helping of her nipples, he said, "Unbutton my shirt, my sweet, and kiss and suck my nipples just as I did you." Sula's mother obediently opened his shirt and gave each of his nipples delectable little treats with her tongue and lips. He tilted her chin upward and kissed her full on the mouth. Grasping her buttocks, he pulled her close as their mouths hotly mashed together. He unzipped her skirt and slid it down her legs. She obligingly stepped free of it, leaving on just a garter belt, silk stockings, and panties. He kissed her neck as his hand tweaked her fleshy mons. Then, he took her by the hands and led her toward the king-sized bed. "Take off your garter belt, stockings and panties, my love." Mrs. Olson perched on the edge of the bed and began to discard the designated items while Damon quickly shucked off his clothes. He pulled back the satin coverlet and sprawled himself on the fresh, cool sheets, his head propped up on two pillows. He enjoyed watching women undress, never tired of it, even the old ones. Once nude, he had Mrs. Olson slowly pivot 360 degrees, his eyes drinking in all the treasures this mature beauty possessed. He then had her bend over his supine form, slowly running her soft hands and fingers up and down his legs and thighs, gently stroke and massage his oversized genitals, and then lick him wetly, lovingly, salaciously, from crotch to eyelids, leaving a moistened trail with her tongue. "Here," he invited at last, patting the mattress beside him. Mrs. Olson knelt on the bed with knees well parted, exposing all of her charms. Her belly was pleasingly protuberant. Her gray bush and the fleshy lips guarding her split offered many obscene pleasures to come. Her big breasts looked magnificent. He had her pose for him in a variety of alluring positions so that he might enjoy her massive mams from every conceivable angle. For the finale, he had her lace her fingers behind her neck and pull her elbows back, causing her bosom to thrust forward boldly. Unable to constrain himself any longer, he sat up to fondle and kiss her breasts from their origins near the armpits, down along their sides, underneath, and all over the tops. He nuzzled his face in the soft flesh and inhaled. She smelled nicely of lilac. She moaned softly as he licked her nipples and sucked them deep into his mouth, working them over expertly with his tongue. Then he had her lie down on top of him to seductively kiss his neck, face, and lips. She put the tip of her warm, moist tongue in his ear, and sucked his earlobe. He pointed to his enormous, stiff-standing cock. "Suck me, my love. Thrill me with your lips and tongue. Be creative, naughty, and very vulgar." For the next thirty minutes, he lay in infantile delight as Mrs. Olson performed unimaginably salacious acts upon his cock and balls. The sight of those tiny, sexy age lines around her mouth as she intently sucked and nipped his member was, for him, a special visual treat. He looked on in satisfaction as she sucked his nut bag. He relished how her face contorted when the tip of his cock prodded her cheek from within, causing it to protrude obscenely. He adored the way her tongue, fully extended now, sensuously slid along the exquisitely tender underbelly of his penis as her sweet, gray head bobbed slowly up and down. As much as anything, he enjoyed seeing her frothy secretions freely course between her lips and cascade in slow rivulets down his shaft to pool over his scrotum. But the most wickedly delicious part of it all was that he'd known from the first moment he'd laid eyes on the demure and oh-so-proper Mrs. Olson that it would come to this: that this aging beauty's moist, warm mouth would soon be engaged in voraciously sucking his young black cock and become the receptacle for his potent sperm. Feeling himself ready to cum, Damon grabbed a fistful of Mrs. Olson's perfectly coiffed hair and forced her face down toward his crotch until his cock was deeply ensconced in her throat, causing it to bulge like a bullfrog. His cock erupted. The shockwaves of his ejaculating semen pummeled the back of the old woman's throat, making her gag and retch most charmingly. She grew red-faced, and a little of his semen even dribbled out of the corners of her mouth and her nose. Afterward, in gratitude, he kissed her on the mouth, but only after she'd first swallowed all his spermatic liquor and his sperm cells were wriggling contentedly in her tummy. Ultimate Power Following this deliciously protracted oral exercise, Damon rolled Mrs. Olson onto her back and gave her sweet pussy a well-earned working over, spending considerable time titillating her aged clit with his lips, tongue, and fingers wetted with his spittle. He paused in his labors of love to gaze upon her face. She looked transported, her eyes unfocused, dazzled. She had never felt anything so sinfully thrilling. It was as if the young man's mouth and tongue were a sixty-piece orchestra, creating a symphony of sexual delights. His dexterous tongue worked an obligato of thrilling trill notes upon her clit. She became giddy. He then took her into a swirling vortex, as he sucked her labia and penetrated her deeply with his tongue while naughtily fingering her asshole. She writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat, spasmodically squeezing his head between her thighs, as he ate out her pussy with no let-up until she'd begun laughing and sobbing, climaxing spectacularly, several times in a row. But at the end of it all, her vagina, alas, was still too dry for what he'd planned next. He gave her a little while to recoup, then asked: "Do you have any lubricant, my love?" "I have some baby oil," she said, and went straight into the bathroom to fetch it from the cabinet below the sink. Damon had Mrs. Olson get on all fours and began liberally applying the oil to her voluptuous body. There came a knock on the door. It swung open and Mr. Olson poked his head inside. Like a deer transfixed in the headlights, he stood with mouth gaped in astonishment. There before him knelt his wife of forty-three years – his Irene -- naked as a courtesan, as this young black buck rubbed oil in a most sensuous manner over her dangling breasts, belly and bottom. "Everything all right?" asked Mr. Olson, solicitously, his head buzzing like a swarm of bees. "Yes, perfect, thanks," said Damon, spending what Mr. Olson felt was an inordinate amount of time massaging his wife's lovely tits. Mr. Olson looked on speechlessly as Mrs. Olson now sat up, poured oil into her own hands, and began applying it slowly -- even a bit amorously, he thought -- all along Damon's enormous black member, up and down, down and up, from the giant hairy balls to the massively engorged and shiny cock head, which she seductively massaged with her fingers and cupped palm. As if coming out of a trance, Mr. Olson stammered, "Well, I–I-I didn't mean to disturb you." "Not at all," Damon said magnanimously while encouraging Mrs. Olson onto her back. As she lay winsomely spread-eagled, looking up at him with lewd anticipation, Damon got between her thighs and began slowly rubbing the tip of his twitching cock teasingly, up and down between her lubricious pussy lips. "It was really most kind of you to check on us," he said to Mr. Olson. "And now, if you wouldn't mind closing the door on your way out?" "Oh! Well, why, certainly," Mr. Olson responded. He shut the door and wandered back to the living room, fuzzy headed and not a little disoriented. Sula noted her father's look of distraction. "What's wrong, daddy?" He pointed vaguely toward the bedroom. "I ... I got the distinct impression just now that your young man was preparing to have sex with your mother." "Damon? Oh Daddy," Sula giggled, "how absurd! You and your hyperactive imagination." "They're merely getting acquainted, Charles," chuckled Reverend Chatterton. "Relax and have another drink." "Yes," Mr. Olson said a bit tremulously, "I suppose I will." Meanwhile, inside the bedroom, Damon knelt 'twixt Mrs. Olson's motherly thighs with his huge cunt destroyer in hand. "You have a very thoughtful husband," Damon opined as he notched his cock at the verge of her well-lubricated pussy. "Yes, he is, isn't he?" Mrs. Olson said, looking down at Damon's enormous tool with a tinge of trepidation. Damon inserted the head of his cock just a wee little bit inside her mature honey pot. "Oh, my goodness!" Sula's mother exclaimed, feeling herself decidedly being entered. Damon leaned back to enjoy the spectacle of penetration, one of his favorite pastimes, in fact. He advanced his pelvis, cautiously easing himself inside her, just a couple of inches at first. He observed her blissful facial reaction as she felt her love channel being stretched wide for the first time in God knew how long. "Do you like the way that feels?" Damon asked solicitously. "Doesn't that feel nice?" he asked, now sheathing his cock in her about a third of the way. "Oh, it most certainly does," said Mrs. Olson. She then suddenly gave out a high-pitched, "Oh!" as Damon abruptly slid about three quarters of his length into her – that is to say, a good nine or ten inches. Damon leaned down and gave Mrs. Olson a slobbering kiss, swabbing the inside of her mouth with his tongue, as he initiated the deliciously sensuous act of slow fucking. He asked her, "Do you know, my precious, what we are doing?" "Ooo, yes," she said, starting to pant, "It feels like we're making babies." "But you can't have babies anymore, can you?" "No," she said, disappointedly pouting. "We're doing something much better, though, than making babies, aren't we? We're fucking! Just for the fun of it!" he said, giving her several shallow strokes followed by a glissando slide all the way back inside. "Ohhhhh!" Mrs. Olson exclaimed. "I'm fucking you in your pussy," Damon said. "Say it, darling, say it for me: You're fucking me in my pussy." "You're fucking me in my pussy," she echoed, thrilling to his behemoth cock moving back and forth in her. "Have you ever been fucked by anyone but your husband before?" "No," she said, thinking hard, entirely new to the practice of adultery, "I don't believe I ever have." "Not even before you were married?" "No, I never did. Although," she suddenly recalled, "I used to masturbate little Peter French after class when we were in high school together. And sometimes he'd put his finger up inside me and wiggle it until I'd nearly pass out." As he visualized a young Mrs. Olson engaged in these nascent erotic exploits, Damon's cock gave a sudden lurch, causing her to gasp. "Ohh! That feels so-o-o good! Your penis is so-o-o large!" "Yes," agreed Damon, " it is large, and I'm going to fuck you with it even deeper now. Would you like me to fuck you deeper?" "Oh yes, please," the good woman answered enthusiastically. He swept his arms under her thighs and lifted her buttocks off the mattress. Then, pubes to pubes, he rocked up and down in her, grinding her pussy with his cock, like a pestle into a mortar. She rotated her hips instinctively as he quickened the pace of their coitus. "Ohhh," she moaned, "Ohhh-ho-ho-ho ... you're getting into me s-o-o-o deep! I don't think I can take one more inch of you into me." He took her left hand and placed it between their bellies. "Feel me, my love. Feel my cock fucking you." Mrs. Olson's fingers touched his gigantic, slimy black snake as it slid slickly back and forth between her everted pussy lips. "Ohhh," she exclaimed breathlessly. "Does it arouse you, dear, to feel us together like this? To feel my penis moving inside your pussy, fucking you?" "Oh yes-s-s-s," she answered rapturously, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to hers. They kissed feverishly. He put his hands over the top of her head, clutching her tightly, as he fucked her brutally hard. They moaned into each other's mouths, their tongues cavorting like two slithering eels. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was coming at quickening intervals. Mr. Olson, who had been lurking by the bedroom door for the past several minutes, heard the sounds and eased the door open for a look. He was accosted by the sight of his wife's sweet old anus being harshly spanked by Damon's big black balls. Mr. Olson eased the door shut and sank down on the floor outside the bedroom, nursing his drink in befuddlement. After several minutes of this exquisite coupling, without dislodging himself, Damon rolled both of them over, putting Mrs. Olson in an upright straddle position. With his encouragement, she began raising and lowering herself, tentatively at first, then faster and faster, pausing at times to push down as hard as she dared, thrilling to the feeling of being thoroughly impaled on his stiff stander. Damon lay motionless, allowing her to do all the work, delighting in the sight of her massive swaying tits, her face flushed red with sexual exertion, her aged white pussy moving up and down on his glistening, young ebony cock. She leaned forward, allowing him to feast on her sweat-dripping nipples, while she humped his cock harder and faster. He parted her ass cheeks and fingered her asshole. He could feel her tension mounting as she careened toward climax, waiting until the most strategic moment before sticking his finger up her ass. "OH! OH!" she cried, her body spasmodically jerking. "Cum, darling," Damon encouraged as he now began thrusting up into her, "cum on my cock-kuh." "Ohh! UNNNH! OH MY GOD! OHHH!" Mrs. Olson cried, her body violently spasming as she spun off into a salvo of orgasms. Damon felt a squirt of warm liquid hit his abdomen and realized delightedly that in her excitement she'd momentarily lost sphincter control and leaked a bit of urine. Finally, as Damon felt his cock and balls ready to explode, he announced, "I'm going to cum inside you, okay?" It was, of course, a completely rhetorical question. And then, when his penis did erupt, he shouted, "FUCK! UNNH! YOU BITCH! WHORE! UNH! CUNT! OHHH!" "OH GOD! OH-HO-HO!" Mrs. Olson sobbed, feeling his cock thunderously jettisoning its sperm against the walls of her pussy. She grabbed his face in her two hands and hungrily pressed her lips into his. It was at this precise moment that Mr. Olson, curious as to the source and meaning of all the commotion, opted to reenter the bedroom. He caught his wife and the young black man in the throes of passion, at the absolute pinnacle of their joint climaxes. Mr. Olson's eyes fixed themselves on Damon's great, ropey-vesseled, ebony cock deeply embedded in his wife's vintage vagina. The monstrous thing was contracting powerfully in muscular waves, like an anaconda caught in the violent act of disgorgement. With every fresh pulsation of Damon's cock, another wave of thick white cum oozed from her pussy. Mr. Olson clapped his hands to his head in shock and disbelief, his mind madly screaming, CHRIST! CHRIST! WHAT IN GOD'S GOOD NAME IS HAPPENING?! But within moments of being back in Damon's mystical presence, Mr. Olson began to feel considerably comforted, even serene. The fact that his ostensible future son was copiously inseminating his wife – well, it seemed quite acceptable, just part of the natural order of things. With his mind now much comforted, Mr. Olson quietly closed the door and retreated to the living room for another highball. Mrs. Olson and Damon lay conjoined in the afterglow, luxuriating in each other's arms, blissfully exchanging tonguing kisses until the last drop of sperm had dripped from his cock onto the inner silken folds of her love nest. He withdrew his penis and the vaginal introitus filled immediately with his thick, white seminal fluid, which then spilled out and slowly dripped down the lips of her pussy to cover her asshole. "Oh, my goodness!" she said, wiping a puddle of sweat from her splendid tits, "I'm all sopping wet." "Well, that's only to be expected," Damon explained, fondling her steamy breasts with one hand while stimulating her spermy cunt with the other. "We've just got through with a good bit of fucking." "Yes... yes, I suppose we have," she replied, dreamy-eyed, in a fucked out, post coital haze. They cuddled together for a brief respite, a languid interlude of gentle, soulful kisses and fondling of genitals that grew more heated by degree. Their tongues again entwined and explored the hot, moist recesses of each other's mouths. Damon turned Mrs. Olson on her side with her back to him. She shivered as his fingers gently wended their way from her neck to her shoulder, then along her spine to the swale of her lower back. He caressed her luscious, silken buttocks. She craned her neck around and their lips locked. He rolled onto his back and gently scooted her on top of him, so that her back lay sprawled on his chest and belly. He parted her thighs and insinuated his now quite hardened cock into her now quite moistened pussy. He passed one arm across her to grasp a breast and toy with her nipple as he started his thrusting. The fingers of his other hand found her clit and began expertly frigging her. Mrs. Olson began to whimper and moan as her excitement mounted. Her brain entered a fevered state such as she'd never experienced before. With all her sensory organs fully engaged and on fire, she spun out of control. The arm across her chest restraining her only added to her sense of helplessness. She grew alarmed and began to cry out. Damon clapped his free hand over her mouth to quiet her as he continued pumping her with ever mounting passion. She became delusional. Her mind, confused by lust and sensory overload, tried to make sense of it all by concocting an explanatory fantasy. She imagined herself the chaste and virtuous Queen Mother of an ancient kingdom overrun by African barbarians, now being violated in her marital bed by their fierce, young warrior chieftain. To add to her shame and humiliation, her rape was being carried out in full view of his entire army. Their leader, once sated, would naturally turn her over to his warriors as the most coveted of the spoils of war. She could see them all now, watching from the shadows, their eyes burning hot and bright, their hard, black, chiseled bodies covered in sweat and blood, their inordinately large members under their loincloths, hardening with desire, each awaiting his turn to ravish her alabaster, voluptuous body. She would be serially raped, endlessly, day after day, pumped full of black, barbarian sperm, while her husband, the King, would be made to abjectly kneel in chains, forced to watch his wife's disgrace and sexual degradation. Mrs. Olson didn't settle down again until Damon had injected her with his seed and relinquished his grip on her, both mentally and physically. Checking the time, Damon suggested they shower and return to the living room. But while showering, another hankering for Mrs. Olson took possession of him. He stood behind Mrs. Olson, she there in her shower cap, in the shower stall, warm water cascading down on both of them, his hands roaming her soapy tits and belly and ass. He turned her to him. He lifted her thigh and placed her foot on a marble ledge, then slipped his rock-hard member up into her suds-slick pussy. The muscles of her vagina spasmodically clutched his cock. The young black man and the aging white matron kissed hotly amidst the steamy mist, tongues engaging in innumerable caresses. With her back flat up against the tile wall and their fingers entwined on either side of her head, he thrust up into her at a frantic pace, getting into her nearly all the way to the hilt. The shower stall's walls reverberated with their grunts and groans and cries of passion. Mrs. Olson came powerfully, five, six, seven times, until her legs went wobbly. She sank down on the shower stall's marble seat and took him into her mouth, massaging his balls with both hands while sucking his cock and circling the tip with her tongue. She took the first couple of jets of sperm in her mouth, but then let the rest of it spew over her face and tits. She looked up at him, open mouthed, gargling the water and cum together, which he thought made her look a bit depraved and, therefore, very alluring. He ran his hands over her face and breasts to wipe away the sperm, then delivered a tender kiss on her lips. Minutes later, after they'd toweled off and gotten dressed and she'd re-applied her make-up, Damon and Mrs. Olson returned to the living room where everyone greeted them cheerfully as if they'd just returned from a honeymoon in Bermuda. "Well, welcome back," said Mr. Olson, the buzzing in his brain increasing triple fold in Damon's immediate presence. "Did you two have a good time?" "You'll have to ask the lady," Damon smiled, deferentially. "Lovely!" Mrs. Olson tittered. "Simply lovely! I had a great many orgasms." "Very satisfying, wasn't it?" Damon asked. "Oh yes, yes very," Mrs. Olson cooed. "In fact, I'm ashamed to say, I lost control over myself so badly I even squirted urine a couple of times. Didn't I, Damon?" "Yes," Damon said, "when you were climaxing. You were very naughty." "You had me do a great many naughty things." "And you seemed to enjoy every one of them." "Oh yes, I enjoyed them so very much. In fact, I can't ever remember having enjoyed myself so." She looked at Damon and asked, "What's the past tense of 'cum', dear?" To which he replied, "Came." " Oh yes, of course," she giggled. She then turned to the others and said, "He came down my throat and it was very yummy. I swallowed every drop." After a half hour of such lovely reminiscences, and a dozen corny anecdotes about Sula's childhood, Damon noticed that Mrs. Olson, seated beside him on the sofa, had scarcely taken her eyes off him, was, in fact, massaging his cock the entire time through his pants. He felt a sudden yen to have her again. "I am embarrassed to admit this," he said rising, "but I never got around to fucking Mrs. Olson doggy style." He looked at Mr. Olson. "If you don't mind, sir?" "Why no. Go on. There's no time like the present." "Procrastination is the thief of time," the Reverend Chatterton chimed in sagely. "Thank you for being so understanding." Damon offered Mrs. Olson his hand. She rose from her seat with eager anticipation as if invited to dance. Damon stopped. "I hesitate to make her leave the party again after having been gone so long." Then he added brightly, "I know! Why don't we do it right here?" "Why not, indeed?" exclaimed Violet Chatterton, excitedly clapping her hands. "By all means!" seconded her husband, the Right Reverend Chatterton. "Sula?" "Oh, well, Damon, you know you don't have to stand on ceremony with me. Besides," Sula added with a breezy laugh, "it wouldn't make any difference if I did object, would it?" "No," Damon admitted frankly, "it wouldn't. No difference at all." Everyone laughed heartily at this splendid joke. "Mrs. Olson," Damon said, "if you would be so kind as to remove your underwear?" "Would you prefer that I undress entirely?" she asked. "Lady's choice." "Then I will!" And with that, Mrs. Olson took off all her clothes and laid them on the ottoman. "What splendid breasts!" exclaimed Reverend Chatterton. "I had no idea." "And a nice, big, round, spankable bottom to boot!" declared Violet. "Now," Damon said, addressing Mrs. Olson, "if you would kindly kneel on that club chair the Reverend is sitting on." Taking the hint, the Reverend stood up and gallantly yielded his chair to Mrs. Olson. "Oh, Sula," Damon said, caressing Mrs. Olson's ass and running his fingers along her pussy slit, "if you would be so kind as to get the baby oil off your mother's dresser? She tends to be a little dry down there." "Of course," Sula said, dashing away. She returned in an instant with the oil. "Thank you, my sweetheart, my angel," Damon said kissing her lightly on the lips. He poured some of the oil into Mrs. Olson's cupped hand. "Now, my dear, if you would do me the honors?" Ultimate Power Mrs. Olson used the oil to lubricate her pussy once again, giving everyone in the room a good look as she worked her slippery digits all around the inside of her vagina. The pubic hair around her snatch lay all greased down, nice as you please. Sula had thoughtfully laid a bath towel on the seat of the chair to avoid staining the expensive fabric. Mrs. Olson assumed a kneeling position on the towel. "Excellent!" Damon exclaimed, shucking out of his shoes, pants and underwear. His cock was already hard as a hammer and ready to go. He let Sula have first honors. "Thank you, darling. I love to suck your penis," she said. She held his cock daintily between her fingertips and kissed and licked the head for a bit, lolling her tongue round and round, then running the tip of her tongue in and out of the hole in its crown. Damon then approached Mrs. Olson from the rear as she laid her head down across her folded arms atop the backrest of the chair. He very slowly introduced the engorged, purplish head of his cock into her freshly lubed cunny. Everyone gathered around to watch as he began to slowly pump her. "Oh, Mr. Olson," Damon moaned, pressing all the way into her, "your wife has a highly fuckable pussy." "Well, thank you, Damon," the old gent said, beaming with pride. "I've certainly always thought so." "And her bottom is awfully nice, too," Damon said. "Big and bawdy!" And with that, he delivered a smart slap on her butt. "Oooo!" Mrs. Olson exclaimed, as everyone good-naturedly chuckled. Damon laid his chest now across her back and reached around for her great, pendulous tits, while he gave her a non-stop, righteous hard cunt fucking. "Can you see?" he asked. "She's stretched out nicely now. I'm getting into her all the way up to my balls." Everyone delightedly confirmed they could, indeed, see that he was getting into her all the way up to his balls. After a solid half hour of exuberant fucking and grinding, Mrs. Olson entered a sublime state of sexual agitation, as manifested by her shoving back faster and harder onto Damon's thrusting cock, accompanied by a steady crescendoing of flesh slapping, cries and whimpering. "Reverend," Damon now directed over his shoulder like a surgeon to a nurse, "I think she's going to cum very soon. Would you mind giving me a little assistance, please, with her clitoris? My hands are rather full right now," he said, clutching the luscious cheeks of her sweaty ass and pressing the fleshy part of his thumb up against her asshole. "Not at all," the Reverend chirped, and, being the Good Samaritan that he was, began robustly rubbing her clit with his hymnal page-flipping fingertips. "Oh God," Mrs. Olson moaned somewhat less than entirely spiritually. "Oh God ..." "You're doing a very good job, Reverend, keep it up," Damon encouraged while his balls slapped repeatedly against her cushy bum. "Oh God, I'm going to do it! I'm going to –OH-OH-OHHHHH!" Mrs. Olson cried, her voice warbling in a high register as she climaxed. Damon was meanwhile grunting and groaning as he plowed the lovely old woman while pulling at her tits. As he felt his cum start to roil through his cock like hot magma, he grabbed hold of Mrs. Olson's shoulders and shoved into her, his penis going all flip-flop and herky-jerky, like an out-of-control high-pressure water hose, spewing semen all over the interior of her twittering cunny. He cried out as his body bucked spasmodically with each seismic expulsion of sperm: "UNNH! FUCK! YOU BITCH! AHH! CUM! CUNT! WHORE!" After what seemed an interminable orgasm for them both, Damon lay limply across her back, licking her sweaty neck and sucking her earlobe as he kept up a gentle thrusting into her. Mrs. Olson half-turned her head toward him and their lips met in a long, hot, tonguing, slobbery kiss as he obscenely manhandled her tits. "Well!" exclaimed Mr. Olson with a clap of his hands. "Anyone hungry? I've dinner reservations at a most charming restaurant." "But I'm not through yet," Damon demurred as he withdrew his cock from Mrs. Olson's cum-oozing cooze. He turned to Reverend Chatterton and asked, "I hope you won't mind, Reverend, if I Violet your wife's mouth with my cock?" The Reverend Chatterton looked stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. "An excellent pun, Damon! Excellent! But of course you may." Damon took a seat on the sofa with regal bearing and spread his knees. Violet leapt to her feet like an excited teenager just proclaimed Prom Queen. She took her husband's face in her hands and kissed him gratefully for the bounty she was about to receive. Then, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder to steady herself, she nudged the Mary Jane ballet flats off her feet. Violet turned toward Damon and slowly, seductively hoisted her suit skirt above her slender waist and rolled down her panty hose. After stepping free of the clinging garment, her fingers trembled with excitement as she unbuttoned her suit jacket and shrugged it off, revealing a frilly bra, which she removed and tossed into her husband's lap. Violet smoothed her skirt back down over her hips, and, with breasts wantonly bared, she undulated slowly, one foot in front of the other, toward her ebony god. Damon, meanwhile, had been stroking his cock throughout Violet's ecdysiastical performance. As the church lady vixen approached, he looked at her with keen appreciation. He liked that she was slender without being skinny. Liked the way her prominent collarbones arced gracefully toward her shoulders. Liked the way the scarf around her neck complemented her lovely, pendular breasts adorned by her smallish nipples and areolae. Liked seeing the lower margins of her rib cage, her flat, surprisingly well-muscled abdomen, the sensuous hipbones rising just above the top of her skirt, and the sexy oval of her inny belly button, a surrogate for the slit between her legs. All of this mature deliciousness moving ineluctably toward him, like a semi-nude runway model walking down the center aisle of a cathedral toward the altar, made the head of his cock throb in anticipation. Violet put a hand on each of his knees and leaned forward, brushing her lips softly across his. Using just the tip of her tongue, she traced the perimeter of his mouth and his full Negroid lips. She then kissed him, truly, deeply, her tongue entering his mouth like a welcome guest bearing gifts. Damon considerately tossed a pillow on the floor between his legs and she obediently knelt upon it. Violet looked worshipfully at the monumental instrument of his generative power, from the stout base nested in black, wooly hair to the great shiny knob towering above her head. She slipped her slender and heretofore virtuous Episcopalian palm beneath his massive hairy, black balls, and used her long, tapering fingers to caress them seductively. She then lay his member along the length of her palm and forearm to try to get a better measure of its size. So immense was it that it reached nearly to the bend in her elbow. The girth of its base was such that her two hands could not have encompassed it. And the heart-shaped, blood-congested glans atop the shaft was easily half the size of her fist. As Violet moved her face closer to his cock as if examining a holy relic, Damon could feel her feathery breath fall upon his exquisitely sensitive organ. Supporting the massive knob with just the tips of her fingers, Violet parted her soft, sweet lips and pressed them against the head with its high sheen and the hole in its center, as if kissing the mouth of her lover. Again and again, as if performing acts of veneration, her lips caressed the massive head, top, bottom, and all around. At times, the tip of her tongue emerged from between her lips to lend another form of caress. Then, ever so gently, Violet began to suck him -- just the tip at first, no more than a few millimeters. At a snail's pace, she kissed, sucked and licked her way all around his tender, throbbing glans, her lips, mouth and tongue performing little miracles of pleasure. His knob, already large, engorged almost painfully as her lips kissed their way with aching slowness, up and down the sensitive underbelly of his cock, pausing for a full half minute to obscenely suck upon his scrotum and lick his heavy balls. She then wetly smooched her way all the way back up to the tip where she discovered a pure, clear bubble of pre-cum oozing from his meatus. Her lips approached the dewdrop with great reverence, as if it were a bead of sweat on the brow of the Savior. As she sipped the precious liquid between her lips, it fell upon her tongue, and her eyes rolled upward in delight, as if she had tasted Heaven. Violet now placed her hands behind her back, as if handcuffed, and engulfed him in her saucy mouth, bobbing her head slowly up and down. "Gock, gock, gock, gock ..." Damon hooked his thumbs in the corners of her mouth and watched the saliva flow over her lips. At this time, Damon noticed Reverend Chatterton standing close by, observing every detail of his wife's pornographic performance. He appeared horny and a bit agitated as he stood there, wringing his hands. Taking pity on the vicar, Damon said, "Reverend Chatterton, if Mrs. Olson is amenable, and if you don't mind fucking in my leavings, you may have her." "Oh, may I?" Reverend Chatterton asked Mrs. Olson like a little puppy dog. "Oh now, Richard, you know better than to have to ask," Mrs. Olson responded hospitably. "How many years have we known each other?" And with that, she wiped some of the excess cum from her pussy lips and lay down on the carpet. Faster than you could say Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, Reverend Chatterton stripped out of his clothing – all save his shirt and clerical collar -- and joined Mrs. Olson on the floor. The moment she spread her legs, he hopped aboard and got right to it, like a shepherd with a whole flock of sheep to fuck by noon. Damon had Violet stand up and turn around, then ease herself down onto his cock. Taking his stiff maypole in one hand, she parted her pussy lips with the other and guided him into her holy of holies. Her breath came in snatches as she began posting up and down on him, impaling herself repeatedly on his Brobdingnagian cock. Once she got her rhythm established, she reached down to caress his balls while he reached forward to cup her breasts and stimulate her perky nipples. "Oh God," Violet said, building toward the first of what was to be a great many orgasms, "Oh Gaw-hawd!" Damon glanced up in time to see Sula lead her father by the hand into the hallway. With a contented smile on his lips, Damon wrapped his arms hard around Violet's waist and started prodding her toward heaven with his cock. Sula opened the first door off the hall on the left and guided her father into her old bedroom. She turned on the overhead light revealing a riot in pink, a teenaged girl's perfect fantasy: wallpaper, seat and window cushions, and -- yes, the bed, with the bright white posts, covered by a great pink canopy. Sula seated Mr. Olson at the foot of the bed amidst her dolls and stuffed animals. Mr. Olson looked on a bit perplexed as his daughter walked now to the center of the room with her back to him. She crossed her arms in front of her and began to slowly hoist up her silk camisole. The silk material rose curtain-like, incrementally revealing an exquisitely shaped back with a sexy swale down the middle. As the camisole cleared her shoulders, Sula twisted a bit, providing Mr. Olson with a provocative glimpse of the most perfectly shaped breast. She looked at him over her shoulder in a decidedly sultry manner as she let the camisole drop to the floor, then unzipped her skirt, letting it slither down her long, perfect legs, revealing a thin black thong that disappeared within the crack of the most perfectly shaped buttocks imaginable. Mr. Olson suddenly realized he was experiencing the stiffest hard-on of his life. But this was his daughter, for God's sake, his daughter! Sula walked up to her father, drew him to his feet, and took hold of the zipper of his leisure suit. She drew the zipper down his chest and abdomen toward his crotch, all the while looking him in the eye, with her perfect lips nearly touching his. Somehow – he never could remember how afterwards -- he found himself standing before her in his undershorts. Sula took a small step back, hooked her thumbs in both sides of her thong, and pulled it off. She approached her father again, put one hand behind his head and softly placed her perfect lips against his. He became lightheaded as their mouths opened and their tongues joined in a luscious lingual embrace. He nearly swooned as her long, tapering fingers insinuated themselves between the elastic of his underpants and his belly, descending to encompass his swollen cock. The next thing either of them knew, Sula was on the bed, on her back, with her father kneeling between her thighs. Mr. Olson lodged the head of his cock between Sula's perfectly formed rose petal labia and slowly sank into her. Her pussy yielded to him like room temperature butter. His penis found itself immersed in a heavenly chamber of pleasure, the warm, moist folds of her pussy already in full flutter. Mr. Olson leaned back and firmly grasped his daughter's ankles and spread her gorgeous legs far apart. From a kneeling position, he pumped her slowly at first, then faster and faster, until he was fucking her with complete abandon, his balls slapping a hectic tattoo on her perfect ass. "Oh God, Daddy!" she cried. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" Her father leaned down and stared intently at her beautiful face, unable to get over his good fortune in getting to have such a gorgeous creature. He ran his fingers through her silky blond hair, palmed her perfect head, and mashed his lips into hers, thrusting his cock into her harder. With surging passion, he pushed himself upright, straddling her with outstretched arms, and swiveled his hips round and round, spinning his cock inside her like a whirling dervish. Sula looked up at her father as he knelt, thrusting madly between her legs, broad chest densely matted with wet white hair, the muscles of his belly paunch straining, sweat pouring. He was almost unrecognizable as "Daddy", what with his spittle-flecked lips, hair sticking out in all directions, and bright cherry red face demonically contorted by his copulatory frenzy. There, with his long, thick cock madly plunging in and out of her perfect body, Sula's father looked for all the world like a berserk Greek god Priapus, a rampaging bull gone mad on Viagra. Far from feeling fear, Sula was seized by the dizzying, delirious need to be fucked in every orifice at the same time. Her head was filled with obscenely depraved thoughts and images of pussies and mouths and assholes filled to overflowing by a thousand spurting cocks. Her pussy's nerve endings had never experienced anything so potent, so powerful, so rampant. Yet, through her fog of lust, she pleaded with her father, "Daddy, don't cum in me. I'm ovulating. I took myself off the pill. I didn't tell Damon. I wanted him to get me pregnant so he'd marry me. Don't cum inside me. You'll give me a baby." "I won't, Princess, I won't," Mr. Olson assured her, humping away furiously, releasing her legs to grab handfuls of her perfect breasts. He fell heavily upon her taut belly, mauling her tits and nipples with his ravenous mouth. "Don't cum," she moaned in a manner that only served to further stiffen him. "Don't cum inside me, Daddy. Don't get me pregnant, please," she said, frenetically kissing his neck and sticking her tongue in his ear. "Oh, go deeper ... harder, oh yes, oh yesss!" she said, wrapping her long legs tightly around his waist as he continued churning her. "Ohhh ... Daddy... Don't cum inside me," she moaned, reaching down to grip and massage his balls. "Don't cum in me ... please." "Oh, Princess, no, I won't, ungh," he groaned, grabbing the glorious globes of her perfect ass and drawing her up to him as he burrowed in deep, burying himself in her up to his roots. "Don't cum," she moaned into his ear, "don't cum in me, please ... oh Daddy ... oh don't cum... oh cum-m-m ... cum-m-m... cum-m-m-m-m-m ..." "Oh, Princess!" he groaned loudly, smothering her mouth with his lips, as they slathered each other's tongues. At that instant, all his inhibitions collapsed. "UNGH!" he shouted as he blew his stack. The instant she felt her father go off inside her, Sula's gorgeous blue eyes rolled up in her head so that only the white of her eyes were showing as she dug her fingernails into his back. "OHHH! FUCK!" she and her father cried in unison as the wild spurting proceeded unabated. Wave after deliriously delicious wave, Mr. Olson spewed his hot paternal cum into Sula's receptive pussy, straight into her fertile womb. The three perfect ova lying within were swamped in a hot tsunami of his ravening seed -- taken by brute force, as it were, like the sacking of Rome. The deed was done. But just to be sure of matters, Damon had Mr. Olson keep his cock up his daughter for another thirty minutes. And then, to absolutely seal the deal, he had Mr. Olson inseminate his daughter one more time. Soon after the Right Reverend Chatterton and Mrs. Olson had fucked each other to a mutually satisfying and boisterous denouement, the cleric felt himself called by the Holy Spirit to throw on his clothes and scurry home to compose a sermon for the forthcoming Sunday service. It would be a supremely motivational and inspiring sermon about sharing -- a well-mined topic, to be sure, but one that the good Reverend intended to imbue his congregation with a startlingly newer, broader, more libidinous slant. Taking stock of the situation, Damon decided that his relationship with Sula had come to a suitable conclusion. He invited his two lovely, aging companions to go home with him for the weekend for an extended worship service of an entirely different sort. Naturally, what with all the incessant buzzing in their charming heads, neither Mrs. Olson nor Violet could have conceivably refused.