Pretty and precocious, Maryon found the following year's Christmas due to be dull and unhappy.
It was not because of anything she'd done, or because of her increasingly sex-fantasied life's real-world disappointment, though sometimes in the secret nights of her 'soul' she would wonder whether it might be some 'judgment' on her that things had gotten so screwed up. Did her frantic, often frenzied fingerings of herself in the dark hours somehow radiate a sort of mood or aura out from her, that affected the others in the house? She didn't seriously think so, of course. Still, it was queer, the way it had all happened so suddenly…
First, quite early in the year, suspicious Lois had at last braced herself to personally check on some of Burt's overtime activities, and had found him quite truthfully making time – with his office typist, in the back seat of a floor-model '64 sedan, demonstrating the exquisite ease of his personal synchromesh system, though not without a considerable amount of double-clutching, and in the process flooding the girl's own carburetor, though using a steady-enough stroke. The appearance of Lois' furious face at the window effectively cut his ignition, however, though the unseeing underlying girl's motor continued to turn over for several seconds.
The result of this discovery was to send Lois to a lawyer, seeking divorce, with her trump card the fact that, should she tell Burt's boss of his demonstration techniques her future ex would find himself fired from a lucrative job. But, of course, the better the job he had, the better the alimony prospects, so it was a stand-off of sorts. However, the couple had separated with Michael, preparing for college, ostensibly staying with his father, though he had a pad of his own, and Maryon left with her mother. Lois, taking the whole thing badly, had herself started an affair with a sympathetic, bar-met male by the name of Jim Harris.
Though Jim was a pretty easy-going man in his middle thirties, not bad looking, and with a good job in an insurance office, the stretched-nerved Lois was often quarreling with him, usually about nothing of importance, and threatening to break up the affair.
And on this second Sunday before Christmas it had happened that way again. Jim had promised to drop by and take both his girls out for a drive but, earlier, over the phone, Lois had got mad at something she imagined he'd said or implied and hung up on him, telling him she'd call him… when she was good and ready. Maryon cringed at the thought of spending a day with her mother when the latter was in one of her moods, and said she'd go and visit Karen. Lois said that was just fine. Because she was going out to spend the day with one of her old girlfriends herself – to cry over several mixers of martinis, Maryon secretly supposed. But Karen hadn't been in, and so, for the sake of peace and quiet, she'd pretended a conversation over the phone with her friend in which it was 'arranged' that she'd go over there in a little while.
Satisfied that 'her little girl' would be all right, Lois had left and Maryon, thankful for a whole full day on her own, prepared to relax and enjoy herself, remembering vaguely at the back of her mind that other day just before Christmas, three years ago!
After listening for a while on her record-player to a new group called the Beatles, she began to get restless and bored. Suddenly she realized that this would be a good time to see what she would look like, 'grown-up'. The house was hers for the day, and if there were visitors or phone calls she just wouldn't answer. Making sure that the back and front doors were securely locked, she turned off the record-player in her room and, feeling excited, slipped out of her 'round-home' dress, her bra and her panties, grabbing up a robe, just in case, as she went along the corridor to her mother's room.
As was usual lately, Lois' clothes were strewn everywhere about the place, as though the imminent lifting of the bonds of matrimony had also freed her from the restrictions of neatness, appearances, and other lower-middle-class importances. Dropping her own robe as carelessly to the floor, Maryon switched on the special light above the full-length mirror of the dressing table and admired the way in which her body had filled out lately. Her breasts were full and ripe and lush, as big, at least, as Sylvia's had been last year. And she was only thirteen yet! Her waist was as narrow as ever but her hips had a new and more subtle roundness to them, with lean bones quickly becoming submerged into fair and creamy hills. The hummock at her crotch stuck out boldly, firm to her fingers as she parted the bright gold curls of pubic hair to let it be seen by her in the starkly illuminating mirror. Posing coltishly the while, shifting from one leg to the other, raising a knee to show off to herself the excellent, fashionably slender length of her legs, thrusting her pink-tipped, well-separated and high-hanging breasts out toward her mirror-image as if she hoped that other might reach out and fondle them, Maryon shook her long blonde hair free from its hasty knot and, reaching for a rubber band, put it into a ponytail. Caught by some memory of a Roman siren, seen on the TV, she sought around until she found a length of thin white cord and with it bound the hair nearest her scalp into a seven-inch-long whip stock from which the rest of her shining silk flaunted yellowly down in a true tail that flicked her well-pronounced milky mounds of ass each time she shook her head.
For a while she disported herself by lashing at herself with her hair, thrilling as it slid quickly across her breasts when she leaned back, and drew exhileratingly up between her thighs when she bent forward then slowly straightened her body. But this was wasting time, however secretly delightful it was. Deftly running through the heaps of scattered clothes, remembering to remember more or less where everything was so that she could obliterate any traces of her clandestine visit, the nude nymph shortly had gathered what she wanted for the moment. Lois didn't allow her to wear much else but the school uniform and what Maryon considered to be 'kid's clothes' – jeans, shorts, sweaters, simple, discreet frocks and skirts and blouses. Why, she suddenly realized, looking at her collected booty, she'd never worn stockings in her life!
Lois and Maryon were now of a size, though it was obvious that the girl would shortly out-top and -bust and -hip her mother, so there was little fear of her repeating the comic (as she now remembered it) masquerade of that other time-before-Christmas.
Stockings being paramount on her mind, she pulled a pair of dark-toned nylons on first, standing in front of the mirror while she smoothed the cool, electric stuff up over her legs, carefully matching the darker rings of their tops against each other as they all but bracketed her gold-coiled cunt, riding high on her thighs. Next, a garter-belt – a brief black net nylon thing was conveniently to hand and, wriggling her hips so that her full breasts bounced loosely and independently upon her, she got the thing about her waist and, impatiently, fingered its clasps so that when she stood up straight again and looked in the glass at herself the dark stocking-tops formed perfect crescents in the center of her satiny thighs and, at the back, fitted comfortably up under the slight curved overhang of her cheeks, the straps framing most sexily (she thought) the cleverly concealed cleft at the front and the boisterous, saucy billow-walled separation at the back.
A pair of bright blue high-heeled shoes next caught her fancy and, as soon as she stepped into them she realized why women often preferred to wear them. The heels threw her body forward so that she felt a delicious tenseness along the fronts of her thighs and down the length of her stomach. In the mirror she could see how her breasts and butt were given extra prominence by this new posture and, when she began awkwardly to walk about, her hips rolled and her whole pelvic structure seemed to be floating in thick oil, constantly pushing her quim out and up so that she could feel the pleasurable tremors begin to work back into her from its pretty prancing. Eagerly now she stepped the into shoes' matching dress, shivering with delight as the bright blue nylon slithered up over her stockinged legs. Not wanting to bother for the moment with panties and bra, content to view the outward took, she thrust her arms into the sleeveless armholes, settled her breasts comfortably into the twin scoops of material that bracketed the low V-neckline, fitted the high, embroidered-banded waistline against her slim rib-cage, and with difficulty zipped up the back of the thing to where its top, in a lower-cut V, notched halfway down her spine. The dress was a trifle tight about bust and hips, but that only added to the delectable image she presented to herself in the mirror. The skirt was very full and, when at rest, just covered her knees… but when she twirled her hips the bright-blue stuff shirred and flayed high about her thighs.
For a few minutes she amused herself by running her hands slowly, tenderly up her legs, watching in the mirror as the dress rose higher until at last it formed a bright blue curtain draped enticingly each side of her yellow-curled cunt, and she parted her labial lips with the forefinger of each hand, letting her thumbs play with her clitoris until she could see her nipples harden through the nylon and feet the desire to becream herself flush and excite her craving cavity. But she stopped herself from loosing her load too soon, wanting to prolong the shivery ecstasy until the last possible moment. She let the dress drop to her knees and began to caress her whole body through the thin nylon, her eyes half-closed as she imagined other hands touching her here, there, sliding, stroking, kneading. And all the while she moved herself beneath the material so that its electrifying contact would upbrush the fine hairs on her body and sustain the sweet tingling that imbued her. She slid her hand into the neck of the dress, fondling one sensitive breast, wandering what it was like to have another perform on her – thus, and thus and thus! – while she just relaxed and enjoyed the sensation…
When she was about ready to explode another sound suddenly overlapped her heavy breathing. The door-buzzer! Someone was out there! Who? Not her mother, for Lois had a key.
Careful not to make a noise, thrilling anew at the touch of the dress on her bare skin, feeling especially excited at the knowledge she wore nothing under it, making sure she wouldn't trip in the high heels, Maryon crept down the passage, through the living room, and across to the front door. Through the peephole she saw the magnified image of… Jim! What could he want? He wasn't supposed to be here? Caution flung to the winds, keyed up and already excited, Maryon opened the door a crack and stuck her head around it, her long, fancy blonde ponytail dangling.
"Jim? Mother's out for the day. She's mad at you. What are you doing here?"
It was evident, even to her, that he'd hit a few bars on his way over, for his face was flushed and his eyes mindfully solemn. With a nod he indicated the two packages he carried. "Came to make up. Brought some presents, too. Got something for you… ain't you going' to let a man in?"
A present for her!? Well, why not let him in. Lois would get over her mood, eventually. And Jim paid so little attention to Maryon, that he wouldn't now concern himself about her dress. She'd get him out of here in a hurry, anyway, once she'd found out what the present was. She pulled the door open and waited till he'd entered before closing and locking it again. She really didn't know why she was being so careful…
Jim put the three packages carefully down on the low coffee table and let himself fall – phhheeewww! – to the couch, putting his arms along the back. "Gee, little girl," he said, not yet looking at her, "that's a mean weight to carry about. Your mom's not home, you say? When'll she be back?"
"Oh, not for hours, I expect. She's gone to see one of her friends…"
"A boyfriend!?"
"No…! One of the ladies she went to school with, or something."
"Oh. Say, Maryon Alysun, are you all dressed up to go riding with us today? Aw, that's a pity. But it ain't really my fault, y'know. And you took so pretty like that, come to think of it, don't ever remember seeing you wear a dress like that, and those shoes! Why, you look all grown up."
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Maryon, making a mock curtsey, aware of the length of leg she exposed as she raised the hem of the bright-blue dress and bent her knee.
"No, I mean it, kid! You really look grown up. Say, how old are you again? Thirteen? Wow, when I was your age little girls didn't look like you, kid. You know your mother when she's in one of her spats, though. Don't understand her sometimes. And she doesn't seem to understand me! But you wouldn't know about that. Jeeze, but I could do with a drink. She's out and won't be back till late, you say? Well, tell you what, I've, got a gallon of Chablis here – not great stuff, local but okay for a picnic, which is why I brought it. Since we're not going on a picnic, I might as well break into it, huh? Can you get me a glass, girlie? Old Jim ain't got much class, but he hasn't gotten to where he drinks out of the bottle, yet. Oh, and say, get a small glass for yourself, Maryon. We'll celebrate my solitude, a slug won't hurt you."
Acutely conscious of her over-swaying slender hips, bare under the nylon, Maryon sauntered into the kitchen, found a couple of glasses, and returned, wishing the while that he'd hurry up and get out of here – after he'd left his present! – so that she could further investigate the mysteries of her mother's roomful of clothes. Now she put the glasses on the table and, watching as he expertly poured, sat down on a red leatherette hassock across from him, careful to bend her tight-closed legs away from him and pull the edge of the dress down over her knees, lest he see beneath it to her nude little nubbin.
"Now, sip that carefully, don't want your mother to get mad at me all over again 'cause I got you drinking," said Jim, taking a healthy swig from his own larger glass. Maryon felt a warm glow go through her as she drank. The wine tasted a little bitter but as her mouth and throat and chest warmed to it she could understand why grownups would like it.
"Mmmhhh, that's good," she said, looking at him out of her big blue eyes, screwing up her nose and shaking her long ponytail. "Uh, Jim, what present did you get me?"
He was already pouring his second glass and waited until he'd taken another drink before he indicated one of the two parcels, the flat, smaller, square one. "Bet you can't guess what it is?"
Maryon took another drink of wine, a bit more, this time. It was beginning to taste good, and nothing seemed to be happening to her. "Can I touch it?" she asked.
"Sure, sure," he said expansively. "Hey, come sit on my knee, and then you can open it. But you should guess, first. Bet you don't get it, first time off. Hey, mind my glass!"
Wondering what it could be, Maryon hastily had finished off her drink, picked up the package, which seemed light, and sat herself uncaring down on his knee so that she almost spilled the glass in his hand. Leaning around her he refilled both glasses and leaned back to watch her as she puzzled. "Hey, what'll you bet?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, I don't know…" she said, reaching for her glass and weighing the gift in her other hand. "Uh… if I win, you get to buy me another something like whatever this is; if I don't guess, I'll give you a big kiss. And you get a kiss for this present anyway."
"Oh, yeah, just like all you girls," he said, laughing a bit ruefully. "Doesn't cost you anything, but I'll have to fork out if I lose. Well, okay. Can you guess?"
"Oh, don't rush me," she said, jiggling on his knee, feeling his bones through the thin dress against her rump. She moves a bit closer to him up his thigh and wriggled back until she sat on both his legs. His arm went about her waist to hold her. There was a moment's silence as they both drank. "Oh, I give up," she said, and began to fumble at the wrappings.
"The bet first," he said, and pulled her toward him. She turned her face up and kissed him full on the lips as they came together, having meant only to dab him on the cheek. But even though she was intent at the moment on getting into the package, she couldn't help giving him a responsive open-mouthed kiss as his warm hand came up around her shoulder in what had probably started off being a friendly hug. And then she pulled from him and ripped into the fancy covering paper. It was a record, an album, The Sound of Music! She'd wanted to get it but her allowance wouldn't allow it. Tucking it under one arm, she threw her other about his neck and wildly kissed him, full on the mouth again pleased that he'd thought specially of her, and driven by the wine to extravagant gesture. "Oh, think you, Jim," she said, looking at him with shining eyes. "Can I play it now?" And with a fine disregard to the high-riding of her bright blue skirt up her stockinged legs, she slipped down from him and ran into her own room, where she impatiently set the record on the player and waited for it to start.
When, floating with the music, she returned to the living room, she found her glass once again full and Jim lying back against the couch grasping his own.
Feeling light-headed, grown-up and happy, Maryon danced around the room, arms outstretched, pausing only now and again for a gulp of the heady wine, careless of the way the high-waisted dress swirled out from the stems of her legs, letting the music decide her movements for her. When, out of breath, she paused, the skirt settling down over her dark-stockinged legs, she was surprised to see that the gallon bottle had been reduced by over a third. Jim, with a peculiar smile on his face, eyed her through half-closed lids. "I've never seen your mother move about like that," he said, his voice comfortable and blurred. "That's a piece o'real 'ntertainment. Y'deserve a li'l som'p'm fr y'r time. Screw Lois, always standin' a man up. Here, kid, take this instead o'… instead o' her. Try it on, lemme see if it fits though, huh? At least a man deserves that, don't he?"
Clumsily reaching for the parcel beside him, Jim attempted to toss it to her, but between his bad aim and her sudden, strange lack of coordination, she not only missed it but, in trying to catch it on the fly, fell over the hassock and sprawled on the floor giggling, one long leg still caught over the hassock so that the bright blue dress fell back upon her thigh. She was still shaking as she crawled along the floor after the parcel, and when she noticed that one naked breast was peeping through the V of the dress she was too helpless with laughter to be able to fix it, and too gay to care. And when, the oblong package under her arm, she tried to stand up again, she knew that her bent knee must reveal to his focusing eyes at least some hint in the shadows of her thighs that she was equally bare there.
A little unsteadily Jim pushed himself to his feet and came over to her, taking her arm. "Upsy-daisy," he said, lifting, and at last she was on her feet, though unsteady in the forward-straining high-heeled shoes. She swayed against him as she scrabbled at the wrappings and at last got them off, feeling his hot breath on her ear as he supported her. The oblong box now revealed she quickly dropped to the floor, holding on to the tissue-paper covered bundle of lightness inside. Taking hold of a comer of black material that showed she shook and waved it from her hand until the paper floated away and she could see that she held a garment of some kind. And such a garment!
It was made of sheer black nylon, transparent as the stockings she wore, with large-patterned diamond-shaped ridges on it. It was a one-piece affair, with legs and arms that ended in black ruffles that matched the ones edging the navel deep V in front and the deeper V in back. The front was the front, she could tell, because of the black ridges which outlined where the wearer's breasts would be held. As she examined it more closely, closing one blue eye to concentrate better, she saw that a small plastic zipper ran from the notch of the rear V around to that of the front one, and now she carefully unzipped it so that, as she held it out in both hands, it resembled a floating black butterfly. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she said, with a slight hiccup, and pushed herself away from Jim to try to dance again to the tune of 'These are a few of the things that I love'.
"Mmhh, put it on, honey," said Jim. "I bet it's your size."
Obediently, happy to oblige, Maryon kicked off her shoes and tried to step into one of the clinging legs of the harem-type costume, but kept on losing her balance. "You'll have to help me, Jim. And gimme some more wine, please." She'd show him whether she was big enough to take her mother's place or not!
He gurgled the Chablis into the two glasses and gave her one, then knelt in front of her. "Put your hand on my shoulder, Maryon," he said, then took her foot in one hand and eased it into the leg of the thing, then changed hands to do the same with the other leg. He spent a minute at her feet making sure he'd got the thing on her the right side out and the right way around, then, pulling at the black nylon, slid his hands slowly up her calves and over her knees, then up to her thighs, under the dress. "Can't see what I'm doing," he said, and without thinking she took hold of the hem of the dress and tucked it up under her chin, quickly, returning her free hand to his shoulder and taking a sip of wine from the glass in the other.
The sight of her unconcerned nudity seemed to be too much for the man and he stared at her gold-twined cunt as it was exquisitely framed by the stocking-tops and the garter-belt and its straps as if he'd struck real gold. More slowly now, never letting his eyes deviate from that bland blonde nest that faced him, he slid the harem-costume further up her thighs. At the touch of that nylon-on-nylon sensation on her legs, Maryon felt that old feeling start all over again. She shook her hips impatiently. "Hurry up, Jim," she said. "I'm getting tired of standing."
She quivered as his hands cupped the lush balls of her ass, fitting the thing to her like a glove, then looked down the length of herself as she felt him fumbling at her thighs.
"Ought to take this thing off," he was muttering, unfastening the straps of her garter-belt. "Otherwise might tear something. Better get your dress off, too. Here, let me put your glass down while you do it."
Maryon felt her breasts pull free as she struggled to get the bright blue dress off over her head, her long-whipped ponytail getting in the way for a while so that she strained and stretched her body to set her agile young breasts to dancing above Jim's head as he loosed the taut straps resting against the satin creaminess of her thighs and laddered the jiggling, ballooning richness of her cute little rump. Finally he managed to unhook the thing and drop it to the floor, then stood up help her with the dress, as she arched her back, shrugging her shoulders, she was pressed against him and with a hidden gasp she realized that he was hard beneath his tight pants, and soon, if she was lucky, she would get her first look at a real man.
The dress flung carelessly over the hassock, Maryon stood lax and limp as Jim quickly pulled the rest of the garment up over her and slid her arms into its sleeves. Stepping back, he told her to get herself sorted out and, awkwardly bending her neck to see what she was doing, since there was no mirror in the room, she cupped her nubile breasts and tucked them carefully into place under the transparent dark nylon. At his suggestion she stepped into the blue shoes, then reaching behind her with an arc of her slim stomach that she knew thrust her titties out to their fullest prominence, took hold of the zipper that lodged above the crack of her ass and pushed it down as far as it would go beneath her, before leaning over to reach down in front of her, her breasts like cherry-tipped pears, to grasp the zipper and pull it up in front.
Its tightening track pulled the harem-thing about her like a second skin, and as she wiggled and stretched to get more comfortable in it the transparent black nylon moved with her. When she bent her legs and stuck her butt out, placing her hand to cup her crotch and smooth the bite of the ridge out of it, she surreptitiously fingered herself, oblivious of Jim's bright-eyed stare.
Suddenly becoming aware again of the music, she put her hands on her neck, below the swinging ponytail, dropped her head back and, standing in place, lithely put her body through the paces of a wild dance, feeling the excitement grow in her as the tight nylon subtly slid and tugged against her flesh.
"I think you owe me a kiss for the present, honey," she heard him say softly, and then she felt one arm about her shoulders and the other on her waist. Still keeping her hands behind her, she let him pull her writhing body against him, and she deliberately drove her little crotch against the bulge in pants, letting the sleek nylon slide sussuratingly over him he had to be aware that she knew what she was doing, dropped a hand to her behind and feverishly clutched and stroked her animated ass, while on her closed-eye face she felt his hot, musky breath. His lips came down on her own parted rosebuds, and immediately she darted her long, wriggling tongue into his mouth, thrusting and seeking his until they met and struggled.
The familiar longings quickly spread through her, tinged with the delicate spice of daring, the consequences of discovery or disclosure in this instance would be far more severe than would have been the case with her brother, even. She mashed her wet lips the more resolutely against Jim's and prepared herself for utter abandonment.
Before long he was searching with his lips down her body, sucking her hardened rosy nipples through the shadow of black nylon, fondling the lower cracks of her ass, rubbing his head excitingly against her belly, finally on his knees, reaching up for the zipper and plunging it down into the nest of her crotch. Obligingly she parted her thighs, feeling the strain on their slender fronts as she turned them out, still rocking to the music in her head, the playing album now finished and off.
His head nuzzled deeper into her crotch and inexorably she felt herself being pushed back toward the couch, though only half aware of the cooperation she was affording him. Maniacally she swung her lissome body until the lashing ponytail beat on her shoulders and her cheeks. Moving forward after her on his knees the man clasped her thighs and, digging his fingers into the crevice behind her, pulled her apart until she felt she would split there. Even through the delirium of her passion she was conscious of relief when at last her calves hit the edge of the couch and she fell back onto it. Impatiently he caught hold of the edges of the flimsy garment and pulled it apart, exposing her fresh lush breasts to his gaze and hands.
He held one each in his hot, sweaty palms, roughly caressing them, squeezing her aroused, ardent nipples between finger and thumb so that she almost cried out, except that the torture was insanely wild and invigorating. Lust consumed her and she flung one stockinged, nyloned leg over the back of the couch and let the other fall to the floor, splitting herself into a limber V the better to accommodate his gaping, gnawing mouth and strong-licking tongue. "Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby…" he gasped, slobbering wetly about the smooth cream satin of her inner thighs, between whiles sinking his teeth gently into her taut, whitened tendons as they pulled out from her as if into the soft tender meat of a drumstick. As he moved his head slowly up her arched, upward-thrust bare belly, she caught at one of his hands in her own and pressed it down from her heaving breast, sliding along her panting flanks until he palmed her quivering cunt, and he insinuated one finger between her craving lips and rubbed his thumb on the hard node of her clitoris until she jerked and jerked again, sucking with her labia to draw him into her, hungry for her helpless hollow to be filled.
Presently his teeth and hand left her bobbing, tormented nipples, though the hand at her cleft continued to twist and tease her. In a brief flash of panic Maryon thought that he'd decided to stop, and for the first time realized that she was hopelessly, helplessly lost to the gusts of desire, and animal instincts overrode all other considerations with her. But then he was back. She knew at the back of her mind that he must have stripped off his pants, for against her face she felt the hot hard stick of his prick and the wet soft bags of his balls as he straddled her head. Reaching dreamily for him with one hand, she rubbed his parts about her cheeks, smelling the sweaty incense of him, pulling him down to run her nose along his length, then taking the loose skin of his testicles between her tiny teeth until she could suck the dangling fruit into her wide-open mouth, swilling his nuts deliciously in her swollen cheeks.
To her blurry, slitted, near-sighted vision his cock was massive, magnificent, marvelously long and broad. Positioned as she was under him, she couldn't get it into her mouth however she twisted, so she contented herself with kissing it wetly, running her twinkling, lascivious tongue along its length, licking butter from a corncob. Bending her slender neck a bit, she could see a pearl of moisture at its red, distended tip, and lovingly she curled her tongue up around to pick it off his cock-head, savoring the liquid nodule of nectar. As if her laving tongue had provided the lot touch to his fuse, Jim abruptly jumped around on her, and, removing his rampaging hand, at last laid the head of his tool at her portal's lips. He reached for her hand and placed it on him. Instinctively she grasped it, squeezing its pulsing palmful and thrusting up with her hips bravely to encompass with her sadly cunctated little cunt-lips his broad-domed driving rod.
Taller than she, he could no longer nibble on her trembling tits, though with the hand that did not support him he roved her breasts like a pirate with a chest of gems, and in her ear, as meantime he bit her lobe, she could hear him through her own red torrent of tingling blood incoherently mutter how he'd give it to her, how he'd fuck Lois, how he'd been saving for his screw, how Lois would now get what had long been coming to her, how he'd make her whimper for him and quit her whining at him, but he was not completely unaware that it was not her mother under him, Maryon realized as a thin blade of rationality cut down through her raging emotions for a second, for often, as he eased his prick heroically into her juicy tightness, he would murmur, "Thirteen-year-old pussy; a thirteen-year-old piece. Thirteen-year-old pussy; a thirteen-year-old piece!" with a shade of amazement in his words.
Utterly abandoning herself to him now, Maryon began to respond to his stronger thrusts with twisting drives of her own, letting the new-found muscles of her hot, velvet cavern use their steel fingers to draw him in. All sensation in her ran from nipples and toes down and up to her pleasure-pain-aching loins and, reaching blindly down, she caught her dark-nyloned legs behind her knees and pulled them back and apart still more, wondering why she could not get the rest of him in her that she sensed kept his crotch from grinding on hers.
His thighs smoothly riding between the shallow, silky fork of her own, he began to piston harder, stronger, battering at some blockage within her that, finally, with a sharp pain that cut into her like the slice of a razor-blade, shivered and split. "Ooooowwwwwaaaaawwwwwggggghhhhhgggnmuuhhhhh!" she cried in shock, and withdrew her bouncing ass from him, pushing at his shoulders with fragile, frantic hands and pressing her high-bent knees against the powerful bones of his hips. But his new freedom of passage only served to lash his lust to further endeavors, and her sudden tight clamping on him seemed to encourage rather than dissuade his zealous zest. Now each plunging stroke and sticky part-withdrawal rubbed her raw, but at the same time it was exactly like scratching a nettle-itch, too tantalizingly pleasant to give up despite the consequences. And when his bludgeoning blows at last beat their way to the ultimate door of her desire and his slippery key sidled with oil on its grooves into her final, canaliculated lock the clean erotic delightful delirium her instinctive constrictions sent her into washed away all semblance of hurt. Her inner body hesitated with titillating indecision whether to shrink back from the bold bumblebee invading the tiny petals of her shockingly sensitive cervix or to fleetingly, flutteringly blossom about it.
Short quick shivers consumed her whole being as her vaginal fingers clutched and clung to his swollen thrumming member and then, all too soon, her balm-dam burst and floods of golden flaming sweltering sweetness flowed from her about him, more gloriously satisfying than anything her fiery fantasies and fleet fingers had been able to achieve. And still he rode into her, sshhhwacking up and down her tremorous tunnel so that the very sound of it drew more gushing gallons from within her, so that her vitals seemed about to be sucked out of her. Then as she lay there writhing, pinned it position like a dying butterfly, a hot hard stream shot through the sundered shards of her erstwhile honey's haven and first time Maryon knew the incredible impact of an uncontrolled creaming. She sucked in her belly and roiled her hips rapidly, gasping at the repeated jets that squirted into her deepest recesses, filling them to an overflowing that laid a layer of viscous liquid between his prodding prick and her wambling walls, and clenching herself desperately about him to contain the excess and squeeze him dry. Clench – squeeze – thrust – squirt… clench – squeeze – thrust – squirt… Clench – squeeze – thrust – squirt… there seemed to be no end to it… to him… to her… to the aching misty magic moment…
Against her singing ear he groaned gratefully in his throat, and from her own still-childish lips came quick little cries of gasping gratification.
At last, hot and damp and panting, he'd finished with her, and Maryon was left breathlessly beneath him to experience the tender tantalizing tortures of mutual tabescence.
They lay there, breathing deeply and slowly, as if asleep.
And then dry sobs for an ache of something irretrievably lost, began to consume her and, wine well washed out of her wits, she shudderingly drew herself out from under his uncaring, uncomplaining bulk and ran, naked, hands clapped to her ravished reddened cleft, to the bathroom where, locking herself in, she jumped into the shower, tearing the remnants of her clothes from her and mingling her frightened tears with the running water as she scrubbed demonically at herself.
When, eons later, she plucked up innocent courage to return to the living room, she found bottle, paper, boxes… all traces of Jim gone. The couch had been wiped clean of whatever might have stained it, and the glasses, rinsed, returned to the kitchen.
She picked up the dress and one shoe, got the other and the stockings from the bathroom and restored them to Lois' room, pulled on a sweater and jeans and went out to hide the harem-thing at the bottom of the garbage can.
In her room again, she stamped and hammered on the Sound Of Music with her shoe, then took the remains of that, too, out into the trash can.