Helen lay beneath Barry for a long time, her pussy contracting involuntarily at intervals. As the effects of her vodka wore off, the contractions began to embarrass her, and flashes of anguish made her shudder each time she squeezed his cock.
But what can I do? she asked herself. How can I undo what's already a fact? He's in and we both know it. She restrained her growing restiveness until Barry eased his cock out of her hole and lay beside her. To her chagrin, her first response to him gathering her in his arms and pushing his limp dick into the nest of her pussy hair was to return the pressure. Realizing too late what she had implied, she buried her face in the hollow of his neck and whimpered.
"Pretty much for one night, isn't it, baby?" Barry whispered.
"Yes."
"First time?"
"Yes. The first time tied up – or naked – or with the lights on – or most of the other things. And the first time with anyone except Art. Not counting Danny's father, of course." She wasn't going into that episode.
"Baby, don't let it get you down."
"Huh?"
"I mean, you can't hide Tom yourself, and no one else is important enough to hide from."
"Like now?"
"Like now." Barry gently lifted her face from his shoulder and grinned.
His teeth are as crooked as his nose, she thought. I forgot that when he was chewing me. It struck her he was heavier than Art… stockier and with more bulges. His features reminded her of the face of a granite cliff, seamed and craggy, and his eyes were a gray-green that looked out of place with his olive complexion. It was a wonder he could sell anything, and she recalled wondering often how he managed to stay at the top of his field. But his very roughness was a source of comfort to her right now, as if homeliness guaranteed sympathy and understanding. Her only problem was the increasingly nagging awareness of her nakedness and the intimacy of their embrace.
"But Barry! What'll I do? Brrr! You realize what I've done tonight?"
Barry nodded and grinned again. "Christ, yes! It's something you ought to be proud of. Something to remember. Look how Art ate it up!"
"He… he was terrible!"
"Because he liked what was going on?"
"Yes. Oh, Barry!" she wailed. "He should have stopped us!"
"Forget it, baby. I'll bet he's never been that turned on in his whole life. No offense to you, either."
"But imagine what he must think of me! To act like that after all this time!"
"Look, pet. Don't answer me if you don't want to. But keep asking yourself and giving honest answers when you do. Did you enjoy what happened? At the time, I mean. Did the things I did to you feel good? Was it good to see how excited Art got and how much fun he had?"
She shook her head slowly. "Those aren't the important questions, Barry. The only important question is, 'Was it right or wrong?'"
"That's not a good question until you decide what right and wrong mean. What they mean to you. To me, what you did was right because it was fun for everyone here – because no one else will ever know about it and can't get hurt – because maybe it accomplished something worthwhile. 'Right' is something different from 'socially acceptable' or 'conventional', baby."
"You believe that don't you!"
"Damn right! And I think you're too big a person not to agree, once you really think about it."
She tried to think about it, but her awareness of his cock's stirrings continued to distract her. At last she giggled and pulled back. "Barry, darling…"
"Huh?"
"Whether it's right or wrong, I'm getting sober enough to feel embarrassed. Would you mind if I went and got some clothes on?"
"I'd mind. But I suppose if I'm too greedy this time, I'll screw myself out of the chance to get another piece from you later on."
She wanted to tell him his consideration wasn't about to earn him a repeat performance, then thought better of it; if she said something like that, he might take it as a subtle hint she wouldn't resent greed.
She scrambled over him, furious at herself when she paused to let her pussy rest on his warm flesh for a moment. His quick grin assured her he hadn't missed the significance of her hesitation, and she fled with burning cheeks. When she got back to the living room, both men were dressed and Vanessa was parading before them.
"Oh! There you are!" exclaimed Vanessa. "I guess I've got to get respectable, too. Looks like the games are over." She vanished into the hall.
The conversation seemed strained to Helen. No one mentioned the orgy, although she was certain it was uppermost in every mind. With each trivial comment, she became less patient and more self-conscious. The vision of her nude, spread-eagled body grew so vivid in her imagination that she felt she would see herself if she looked at the grating. And her memory of the individual caresses she'd experienced were sharper in the quiet of reflection than they'd been in the haze of her passion-so strong she was afraid Barry and Art would see them in her eyes if she glanced at them. When Vanessa returned, Helen mumbled apologies and urged Art to take her home.
"We do have to get up early," she said, cringing in the expectation someone might wisecrack she'd only wanted to stay long enough for the sex.
But there was no such gibe, and Art sighed happily at her suggestion. "Thanks for everything," he said to Vanessa. "Helen's right, though. Five-thirty comes early, and I've got to be out at that six-way interchange first thing in the morning. See you both soon!"
In the car, he made no pretense about the way he felt. "Come on over here," he said with a gentle growl. "What's the sense in leaving all that empty space between us?" He held out his arm and she slid into it, tensing for the feeling-up she anticipated.
To her surprise, he merely held her, seemingly content to feel her warmth at his side. And they were nearly home before he spoke again.
"I don't know what brought that business on tonight, sugar. Maybe I'm not supposed to. But I could see what it was costing you, and I think you were something else. You showed guts, doll!"
"You're not disgusted with me?"
"That's the last word I'd think of using. It's at the wrong end of the scale." After another silence, he asked, "Hey, where was that snotty kid sister of Van's?"
"Olga?" Helen tried to recall Van's mentioning the girl, but without success. "I don't know, honey. Maybe she went home."
"Naw. They'd have made a big deal of it last night."
"Probably had a date or something then."
"Yeah, I guess. They sure didn't seem worried about her showing up early, though."
Helen shuddered. "I'm glad I didn't remember her! I'd have been a wreck!"
Art chuckled. "That'll be the day! You being a wreck, I mean."
When they got into their own bedroom, Art went into the bathroom as usual and Helen took advantage of the time to get ready for bed. And as usual, when he came out, she was tucked securely under the covers. As he had done the night before, however, Art appeared nude. He paused in the bathroom doorway and gazed reflectively at her.
"Honey," he said at last. "Do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Come here."
She hesitated. Something about the light in his eye warned her he had no interest in sleep. As if he'd come out here naked if he meant to sleep, she commented to herself. "It's late, honey," she murmured.
Art grinned. "Come here, baby."
Reluctantly, she turned the covers back and sat up. Still reluctant, she rose and went to him. "Art, I wish you wouldn't come out here like this. It's…" She stopped abruptly.
"I know," he replied. He took her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth.
She stood stiffly in the circle of his arms and held her lips quiet against his. Knowing how cold she would seem if she were entirely passive, she put her arms around his shoulders, her fingers on the back of his neck. The scent of the masculine soap he used and the tangy odor of his cologne washed across her nostrils while the bristles on his neck pricked her hands. His lean body was hard and warm against hers, slipping on the nylon of her nightgown. She felt a stirring at her belly and knew his cock was rising.
A wave of hunger, surged through her, taking her by surprise and making her tighten her grip. Her body reacted as if her mental control were still under the paralysis of vodka. She crushed her mouth on his and rolled her head. Her boobs flattened against his chest and she thrust her pussy against the ridge of his upper thigh. Slowly and deliberately, she wiggled her belly on his cock. Her hunger turned hot and raced back and forth through her.
Art squeezed her butt gently and she felt the hem of her nightgown rising. Breaking free of the kiss, she protested, "No, Art! Don't!"
"Easy, baby, easy." His tone was soft and soothing, but he had the gown up to her hips and was continuing to lift it.
"Art! No! Don't do that!"
He let go of her nightgown and twisted free of her arms. Without moving, he seemed to draw away, and she gazed numbly into an expression more remote than she'd ever seen on his features.
"Art…" she whispered. "Art, honey?"
In a low, flat tone, he asked, "Want me to tie you up first? That the idea?"
"Art! Oh, no, Art! Please don't ever say a thing like that again!" She'd been so drunk… she'd been trying to shock him out of his sex thing… Vanessa had stampeded her… But she'd done it, nonetheless, and now she wouldn't. The worst thing of all was the way she'd let Barry treat her. She hadn't screamed or fought or cursed him; she'd wallowed on his hand and his mouth and then his cock like the most primitive slut in heat. She'd loved it! And Art had seen and known. What could he possibly think if I couldn't do as much – respond as hard – with him? she asked herself. Reasons don 't count… not when he's got pictures like that in his mind.
She backed slowly away from her husband. At arm's length from him, she reached down mechanically, arms crossed, and grasped the material of her nightgown. Intensely conscious of the need for grace, she peeled the garment from her body and over her head, tossing it towards the vanity chair. She ran her fingers through her auburn hair and shook her head as Vanessa had done to fluff the thick masses into a cloud about her shoulders. Gazing into Art's sober eyes, she backed to the bed and lay back on it.
'All right," she whispered. And after a momentary silence, she extended her arms above her head. "My legs, too?" she asked.
Art came to the side of the bed and stared at her. "Sugar, that's the most beautiful body I've ever seen. Anywhere! Jesus, how much I've been missing!"
Beauty! She struggled to adjust to the idea. She'd thought of nakedness as dirty. Displaying the body was a wanton invitation to sex, and in a marriage – where sex belonged – invitations weren't needed or desirable. But Art was talking about beauty, and at the moment the idea seemed to have displaced sex in his thoughts. She was still acutely conscious of his stare, though, and it still produced sharp tingles just under her skin. I want him! she realized. I want him to make love to me! He thinks my body's beautiful, and I want him to feel the beauty if it's there.
She raised her knees and thrust them apart. "Come here," she said softly. She saw his eyelids flicker in disbelief, and she let the corners of her mouth quirk into a smile. "Come here, man," she repeated.
He grinned and knelt, one knee between her thighs, then bent over her and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She held her breath, her hands holding his face and her thighs clamped on his knee.
"Darling!" she whispered. Her desire had ballooned in the brief moments of his touching her until it overwhelmed everything else. She loved Art, and all the physical excitement and imaginative stimulation she'd enjoyed earlier in the night coalesced around that love in a pounding, heady ecstasy. She couldn't hold still. Her hands left his face and caressed the sides of his body. She rubbed her legs on his. Her hips twisted and her shoulders flexed. And she moaned low and continuously.
Art lowered himself, guiding the nose of his cock into the embrace of her gash, then thrust urgently, plunging it through her rim and into the heart of her cunt. Clutching her to him, he rolled with her so he lay on his back and she lay astraddle his hips. He seized her butt and stroked her on his cock, jerking her entire body back and forth. Her boobs surged on his chest while his body hair harshly scrubbed her nipples. He pried her asscheeks apart and fingered her bung, dipping his fingers into the fluid at her cunt and lubricating her with the juice.
"Art! Art, baby!" Helen crooned, abandoning herself to her most sensuous longings. Her clitoris rode on the rocky base of her husband's cock and drove her into spasms of delight. She tightened her butt-cheeks convulsively when she felt his finger plunge into her asshole, and then the new wave of thrills forced her thighs to their widest angle and brought a deep groan of pleasure from her throat.
"This is where it's at, baby," Art muttered between grunts. "You being all woman and me all man."
"Art, baby," she said with a hiss. "Fuck me!" She said it reverently, using the words to seal a bond between them she hadn't been able to accept before. With it, she promised him the hidden Helen.
He pounded her on his cock, his hips driving in opposition to her motion until the convulsions of orgasm swept her and the heat of his cum seethed in her belly.
"Ahhh!" She clenched her teeth, then opened her jaws wide. "Aghhh! Nnnh! Yes, yes, YES!"
Her tension exploded and she writhed with the force of her contractions. And even while she sobbed her pleasure to Art, the awesome sensations faded and she began to go limp. She collapsed, muscle by muscle, lying quietly on her husband with the fullness of her cunt and her ass still the only firm realities in her universe.
"I love you, darling," she whispered.
"Yeah, sugar. I love you, too."
They clung to each other, Art reeking satisfaction and she trying to keep the memory of her great pleasure uppermost in her mind. His breathing quieted and grew increasingly regular, until a faint snore told Helen he slept. She squirmed cautiously off his cock and pulled the covers over them. After a long time, Art stirred, and when he turned, she slipped off him and settled onto the mattress. She stared at the ceiling, not caring that the light was still burning, and let the night's events filter through her mind.
In trying to change her husband, she'd changed herself. Not changed, though, she insisted silently. I can't pretend I don't know myself I'm what I was before Grandma died. She faced the fact bleakly. That's the me I've been trying to hide – no, to kill – all this time. That was the lustful, physical self, she decided, and she stripped away her old defenses to weigh her discovery. I can't be both. There can only be one me, either the modest, spiritual one or the lustful, wicked one. And Art wants me lustful.
She watched a speck on the ceiling – an insect too small to identify – make its way across the featureless surface, neither digressing nor wandering from its straight line. It only goes one direction at a time, she reflected. It knows where it's going – instinct, maybe – and it goes. All right! I know I want Art! I know what he wants me to be. So that's the me I'm going to be.
She slept, dreaming of her new role and waking often in panic at the nature of her dreams. When light came and she gave up further effort to sleep, she wasted little time on introspection. She reiterated her decision and conceded the change would be difficult. She knew herself; every influence in her background had contributed to make her abhor halfway measures or attitudes. Her entire mental foundation consisted of blocks that were platitudes and truisms.
"There's no such thing as half-right."
"If you start to do something, do it all the way."
"You can't live on both sides of the fence."
She missed Dan at breakfast. Art's exuberance was the only thing that salvaged the meal. She thought she'd not seen him as enthusiastic and warm since before their marriage. After he'd left the house, she turned to her never-ending vacuuming and dusting with a glow of satisfaction in her decision. Despite that crutch to her morale, however, there were times during the day when she felt she was experiencing a bleakness even worse than she'd suffered when she became pregnant with Dan. And she felt sharp pangs of guilt over having shunted Dan off the night before. As a gesture of restitution, she baked bread and cookies in the afternoon.
Dan appeared to have felt the situation as strongly as she. He was early. "Shortcuts," he offered when she remarked on the fact. And he was effusive, hugging her affectionately before letting her see the way his nose wriggled at the scents that floated from the kitchen. She kissed him again, then watched his broad shoulders sway as he hurried towards the smells, his black hair swishing on his neck. The day was a good one after all.
With her tensions dissolving, she sighed and remembered she hadn't had her bath. She called to Dan that she'd be in her room for a while and went back to draw water in the sunken tub. She poured a double portion of bubble-bath and began to undress. As an afterthought, while she was knotting the belt of her dressing gown, she loosened the knot, slipped out of the severe garment, and laid it aside.
Not me, she thought. That's the old modesty. She went to the radio on the dresser, tuned it to an FM station with a program of the older, romantic music, and went back to the bathroom, shivering at her nakedness, and leaving the doors open so she could relax to the music. She slipped gratefully into the water and sank into the mounds of bubbles. It was a fine day, she decided, and it would be even better when she had her man at home.
"Mom! Mom!" Dan's voice came from the other end of the house.
"Yes?" she called.
It appeared he hadn't heard her. He continued to shout, no urgency in his tone, as he roamed the house looking for her. She smiled. Always, she thought. Always the same. And it doesn't matter what he wants to tell me. It's just being able to when he wants to.
"Mom!"
"Yes, Danny!"
"Oh. Mom?"
"What?"
He could tell her from the bedroom, calling through the open doors. It would never do to wait, she reflected. Not for Danny.
"I'm in here," she called.
"Oh. Okay." He'd reached the bedroom, she decided. "Hey, Mom. I wondered if…"
She gasped. Danny loomed in the doorway, his eyes getting round as he realized she was in the tub. He appeared to be paralyzed, his gaze fixed on her suds-flecked tits and his mouth still open.
"Mom! I…"
She realized suddenly she'd been paralyzed, too. With a burst of motion, she slid down until only her head remained exposed. "Danny!"
"Gee, Mom! I didn't know… I mean, the door's…"
"It's… it's all right, Danny. Never mind. What was it?"
He shuffled from one foot to the other, his face flushed.
He doesn't know what to do, she realized. He can't sink through the floor, and turning around and running would be too undignified at his age. He's trying to figure out how to appear casual-how to look blas? about it all.
Dan drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Crossing to the toilet, he seated himself on the closed lid and leaned against the tank. "I get it, I guess," he said.
"Hm?"
"It's like they said in school. You know, in Social Adjustments. About us getting to the age when it's time to start learning the facts of life."
"Oh," she replied weakly. "What was it you wanted?"
"Huh? Oh! I wanted you to come look at Smokey. He was doing a new trick… bowing." Danny grinned. "Sure looked funny with his rump in the air and his knees on the ground."
She giggled. Her mental image of the tiny donkey, his ears as big as he was, bowing to Danny provided a trigger to release the tension in the situation. "I wish I could. See it, I mean."
"He'll do it whenever I tell him, now," said Danny airily. He gazed thoughtfully at her. "Mom, sometimes I just can't get over how complicated you and Dad are."
"How?"
"Well, I mean you're too complicated for me to figure out yet. Like I think I know exactly what you think – I figure a rule is because something's just right or wrong – and then all of a sudden I find out it was just because you didn't think I was old enough. Like not talking about Dad's salary. I used to think that was some kind of big secret no one ever knew. And then I got old enough you knew I wouldn't go around talking about it. Or like knowing what I was… about not knowing I was half-Indian until last year. Same thing. And I always figured people seeing other people without their clothes on was something you and Dad had a hang-up about. I was wondering how a guy learned all the stuff they were talking about in Social Adjustments – except the theoretical junk, I mean. And all of a sudden it turns out I was just too young for that, too." He grinned sheepishly. "Should'ah known better."
"Yes." Her voice caught in her throat. I'm trapped! she thought. My God, there s nothing I can do! And then, Yes, there is! I can tell him this is one time it isn't a matter of how old he is!
But Dan had leaned towards her and was continuing in his little-boy, confidential tone. "I'm glad, Mom. I did want to know, and the books and pictures just didn't do it. Besides, I've been feeling awful funny some of the time. I've been dreaming things and thinking funny things when I look at girls – or women." He stared meaningfully at her.
No! Oh, no! she thought wildly. She wasn't going to be able to tell him this was a special case. Not when he'd revealed himself to her so honestly. She steeled herself and pushed herself slowly back to a sitting position, deliberately letting the foam slide off her tits, leaving them shiny and smooth beneath her son's wide-eyed stare.
"Danny, get the towel… that big, thick green one."
"Huh? Oh. Okay." He rose and brought the towel.
Helen's hand trembled as she pushed the lever to drain the tub. She extended her arm. "Help me out," she said, her lips dry with fear.
Danny took her hand and lifted while she climbed out of the sunken tub to stand before him on the tile. She saw his body tense as his glance fell to the rich auburn of her pussy hair, and she was uncomfortably aware of a sudden tightening in her cunt.
"You dry me," she said, forcing a smile. "I'll be the queen."
Danny laughed self-consciously and began to towel her. She winced but smiled more broadly at the way he lingered while he dried her boobs. And she rose to the balls of her feet and grabbed his shoulders when he pressed too long into the sensitive flesh of her pussy.
"All right!" she whispered. "All right, Danny! Thank you."
"Did I do okay, Mom? Do I get the job?"
Get the job? Alarm flared. "What do you mean?"
"You gonna wait for your bath till I get home from now on so I can dry you?"
"Danny!"
"Didn't I do it good?"
"You… Yes, you get the job, Danny."
He let his Lance sweep over her, taking in the glow of her skin and the firm curves of her flesh. Admiration was so clearly evident in his expression she couldn't bring herself to resent the frank interest. For a moment, then, they were frozen in uncertainty, while Helen wondered how to bring the episode to a close and struggled against the rising wave of awareness that pervaded her.
"Gee, Mom! That's great!" said Danny, starting as if suddenly conscious of his concentrated survey. "Just great! About the stuff from that class…"
He was now counting on her help, she knew. She had allowed him to think she'd provide it, and he'd see no reason why any other time would be better than now. He certainly wouldn't forget the commitment. And if she was going to yield on that point, delay would buy nothing.
"Okay," she murmured. "What about it? What would help most?"
"Well…" he hesitated. "Well, there was a lot of stuff about how girls are… well, put together. About how women are built. It's just hard to visualize. And that was way at the start of the semester!"
"I… I'll show you." She was finding it hard to breathe. She was going to let him examine her and the bed – any bed – would be too suggestive.
"What time is it, Danny?" she asked.
"Hm… two-thirty."
Art would get home at six or a little after. No one else would come before then. She could choose the setting without fear of interruption. She braced herself and smiled. "Okay. There's time. Come on, Son."
Danny followed her to the dining room, looking puzzled.
"I'll get on the table," she said, fighting for calm. "Just like an examining table. That way, you can move around any way you need to."
Danny studied the drop-leaf table, now standing against the window with its leaves down. He brightened. "Hey, Mom! Super!"
"Move it away from the wall so you can get to the other side if you want to."
"Okay."
He moved the table away from the wall and stood back.
"Need help, Mom?"
"I'll make it." She hitched herself onto the end of the table and hesitated for a moment before lying back. It was all she could do to avoid folding her hands over her crotch, but she folded them under the back of her head instead, and winced at the expression of sudden new interest in Danny's eyes.
"Gee! That makes you look different!"
"How?"
"Well, I mean the way it makes your ribs stand up and stretches your… your breasts!"
"Oh." She levered herself backward and lifted her knees, setting her heels against her butt. "All right, Son. Find out what you need to know." She slid her feet outward to the sides and let her knees fall away from each other. The air chilled her twat and sent a sharp tingle into her belly.
Dan bent over her to peer intently at her boobs. He probed at the bulging surfaces with a finger and a look of awe passed over his face. The touch of his finger was like that of an electrode to Helen. She drew a deep breath, embarrassed at the quivery sound. And when he took a nipple between his fingers, rolling it and exploring its texture, she gasped audibly.
"Mmmm!"
He jerked his hand away. "Mom! Did I hurt you? I'm sorry! Oh, Mom!"
"No, no!" She was distressed at his agitation. "You didn't do anything wrong, Son! It's just that some spots are awfully sensitive. They're supposed to be. Go ahead. Just don't be too surprised when I jerk or make a noise."
He grinned. "Okay. If you say so, Mom." He resumed his examination of her tits, and she tensed against the growing flood of tremors his fingers produced.
Despite her efforts, muscles fluttered involuntarily and a primitive excitement heated her. She suspected – and then became thoroughly convinced – that Danny was teasing her. He'd certainly had time to complete his familiarization, yet he continued to manipulate her nipples. She knew she couldn't absorb much more of that kind of stimulus without making some major – and unmistakable – body movement.
She protested, trying to make it sound light. "Danny! That's not fair!"
He laughed and gave each nipple a last affectionate tweak. "Okay, Mom."
He tweaked harder than he had been and a powerful jolt of excitement raced through her. She felt a gush of warmth in her pussy and groaned, knowing she'd started to ooze. Danny went around the table to stand at her feet and she turned her head, looking through the window into the side yard. But curiosity tugged hard at her as she felt Danny's hands on her knees. Gently, he pushed them farther apart and down until her crotch was spread as far as it would go. She felt the slow parting of her pussy-lips, their sticky surfaces separating reluctantly, and shuddered at the realization that her cunt was opening before her son's eyes.
She forced herself to look at him. His head was lowered and he was staring wide-eyed into the pink playground. As if he were unaware of their movement, his hands stroked down along the inner slopes of her thighs towards her crotch. Her legs twitched and she felt an involuntary tightening in her asscheeks.
Oh, no! she thought. I mustn't poke it at him! Dear God, don't let my hips jerk!