Sunday mornings were usually slow and easy in the shady patio of the Spicer family's suburban home. Today was different. Jerri, the eldest daughter, was home fresh from her first year of college. And as far as her mother was concerned, the girl had acquired a few new habits that were far too wild.
"But Mom," she argued, "you don't understand. It's not a matter of trying to show off how Pm built or anything. It's just the style now. There isn't a girl in my class that wears a bra anymore. And besides, it's more natural.”
Jane Spicer looked across the breezeway to where Jerri sat with her long legs draped carelessly over the arm of the lawn chair. The front of her thin cotton tee-shirt sheathed her breasts so tightly it was quite obvious there was no brassiere underneath. Her nipples were outlined so distinctly it was ridiculous.
"Now Jerri, you know I've never been downright prudish. You have to admit I've never been as hard on you girls about things like that as some mothers. But really, dear, you might as well be naked as to let yourself flop around like that.”
"Flop around?” cried Jerri. "Mom, I do, not 'flop around.’ I won't have to worry about that for a few years.”
Her tone was icy and Jane knew that she had piqued the justifiable pride Jerri had about her firm young shape. She smiled and conceded her exaggeration.
"Okay," she relented, "I won't nag you about it. You're nineteen now. I guess you're old enough to make your own decisions about something that personal. I just hope Karen and Kathie don't get any bright ideas about it from seeing you around the house and want to do the same thing. You know how impressionable they are at their age. And you know how they both look up to their ‘big sis' as being somebody pretty special.”
Jerri laughed and, swung her legs off the chair. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back as she straightened her back.
"Are you kidding?" she chortled. "Neither one of them is old enough to worry whether to wear a bra or not. Gosh, Mom, Karen's only thirteen and Kathie's just ten. What makes you think they give a darn whether I wear a bra or not?”
"But it's the idea of the thing, Jerri," said Jane. "And for your information, Karen started wearing a training bra right after you left for school last fall and she's already moved up to the next size. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to leave on your date last night when you got here from school, you'd have noticed how much she's grown since you've been away.”
Jerri sat down by her mother. "You know, Mom, you really ought to quit wearing bras yourself. The way you're built, you don't look like you need one. Nobody'd ever guess you're thirty-seven. And you know how everybody's always asking if we're sisters. Not one of my friends at school has a mom as young-looking as you.”
Jane beamed under her daughter's praise. She couldn't help being proud of the fact that at her age she was youthful-looking enough to elicit such a comment from Jerri. She told her that she'd gone along with mini skirts, boots, and most other fashions, but that going without a bra was too far. Jane knew full well that her large, firmly fleshed breasts were as attractive as those of women several years younger but she was so accustomed to wearing a brassiere it was too late for her to change. Or so she thought, at the time.
Jerri asked when she had last gone out with anyone. She knew her mother was a very good-looking woman and hated to see her sitting around the house pining for something to do.
"How can you even think such a thing," Jane answered, a little abruptly. "You know your daddy's not been gone a year yet. It wouldn't be right for me to be running around so soon.”
Jerri said it wasn't the medieval ages anymore and no one expected a woman to be so strict on herself nowadays. It was what her father would have wanted, anyway, she told her mother. There wasn't a thing in the world wrong with her beginning to start a new social life for herself.
Jane didn't answer right away and Jerri knew she had at least made her think. But just then Karen and Kathie came running out to ask if they could go play in the park. After being granted permission, they tore out the door and hopped on their bicycles. Jerri noticed, as Karen dashed past her, that her mother had been right about her growing a lot. The young teenager's budding breasts were definitely beyond the stage where hers had been when she was thirteen. The kid was going to have an awfully nice pair of tits when she grew up, Jerri mused. It made her wonder whether Karen's interest in boys was as developed as her breasts were.
Jane busied herself in the kitchen and left Jerri alone in the patio. She couldn't help thinking about what her daughter had said. Was it possible that she was being old-fashioned about avoiding men now that her husband had died? A flush of color passed through her face. It was more than just his presence she missed now that he was gone-it was something far more specific, whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not. The thing she missed more and more as the days went on was the touch of a man's hands on the nakedness of her body. She had taken his love for granted for so many years that she now found herself aching for it. Alone at night in her bed, with the covers over her lush, curvaceous body, she was becoming downright hungry for a man's love. And there had been dreams so stimulating to her that she was ashamed even to recall them, much less to dwell on them in any detail. At first Jane's late husband had figured in the dreams, but after a few months other men began to appear there… invariably in the role of lover. There had been the one about the faceless, hard-muscled man who stripped her nightgown off and stood staring down at her nakedness with his hardened organ jutting from the fly of his pants before-
A saucer slipped from Jane's hands where she was washing dishes and crashed to the tile floor. She kneeled, muttering, and picked up the pieces. She really must keep her mind from wandering back to such scenes.
The noise of the dishwasher kept her from hearing the knock of Jerri's boyfriend on the back door. When he caught sight of Jane on her knees he quit knocking and just stared. Rodney had been informed by Jerri that her mother happened to be an especially good-looking woman, but he hadn't expected anything like this!
Jane's back was to the door and he had a clear view up the back of her short skirt. She had dressed with typical Sunday-morning informality and wasn't even wearing stockings or panty hose. Rodney could see the naked flesh of her firm legs all the way up her thighs to a point that had to be only a few inches below her panties, he thought. Wow! Maybe if he cooled it for a few minutes and she stayed on her knees long enough…
Her motions as she swept up the last few bits of glass turned her body sideways, depriving him of any further view up her legs. Her new side angle, however, provided more than he had anticipated. Just as he was frowning at the disappearance of her naked legs, her torso shifted into view and he was treated to a quick but satisfying shot of a plump breast. No wonder Jerri had such fine tits, he thought. Any daughter of a mother with jugs on her like that would have to be pretty well endowed. The most striking difference between the two was their hair. Although Jerri's long hair was black as coal, the woman on her knees had tresses of a dark blonde color. He realized she might turn around at any moment arid see him gawking so he started knocking again.
This time she heard him and jerked her head up in surprise. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and started to let him in, but Jerri sailed into the kitchen and beat her to the door. Jane thought the dark-haired boy seemed more than a little nervous when Jerri introduced him but she had no idea it was because he had been sneakily looking up her skirt and inside her carelessly buttoned blouse while she was on the floor.
She followed Jerri back to her room while she quickly changed clothes and asked for more details. Rodney was twenty-one, a junior at her college, a member of the track team, and was from a town in Indiana, she learned. She watched while her daughter snapped the waistband of her panty hose, testing the fit, and stepped into a little dress that covered far less skin than Jane wished. True, it was summer. But this flimsy little one-piece dress looked as if it would blow right off her body in the first gust of breeze. A look at the firm, willowy curves of Jerri's body convinced her that the girl was getting more and more womanly every day. All of her daughters were good-looking girls, but Jerri, being the eldest, naturally sported a body that most resembled Jane's. And Jane knew well the feelings that could be aroused from such a body-even if it had been ages since she herself had had it happen. She knew better than to warn Jerri to be careful on her date. She had done that all through high school but now the girl was too old to stand for such comments.
She watched them walk toward Rodney's car and saw his arm go around Jerri's waist. Then, to Jane's consternation, she looked on as he let his hand travel downward and all too playfully caress her buttock through her clothes. It was obvious to Jane it wasn't the first time he had bestowed such a touch on her daughter's rear and she wondered just how much more had gone on between them at school.
Just as they drove away, the phone rang. It was a man's voice, deep and a little gruff. "Hi, honey," he cockily said. "Who is this? Never mind, I know. You're Jane Spicer, right, baby? Your old man's been dead for a year now and I bet you're just dying to have a nice, big old prick inside your panties, ain't you?”
She was aghast. Before she could get her wits about her and either demand to know who he was and what he thought he was doing or slam down the receiver, he growled, "How'd you like to lie down right now and strip yourself to that hot gash of yours? I've got something in my hand right now I know you'd just love to have fuck the shit out of that wet, hairy cunt of yours!”
Jane crashed the phone down and felt herself grow red in the face.
First she was plain scared, then she was angry. Who in the world could it possibly have been, and how did he know her name? She had never heard the voice in her life but he seemed to know plenty about her. Not only her telephone number, which was bad enough in itself, but also her name and the circumstances of her late husband's death. And the things he had said to her!
She had heard about things like this happening to women but it never had to her before. My God, what if little Karen or Kathie had been the one who answered the phone? Would the creep have poured out the same kind of filth into their young, innocent ears, Jane wondered? She walked around the room fretting for a few minutes and then it finally occurred to her to call the police. They were amazingly unresponsive. The desk sergeant told her it happened all the time and there was no way to trace the call unless they had advance warning. He asked her exactly what was said and Jane was too embarrassed to repeat it. She got red in the face and stammered that the things the man had said were too perverted to talk about.
"It was probably just some nut that got your number out of the book, lady," he glibly told her. "It'll probably never happen again.”
It infuriated her that the policeman was ignoring the other details of the call-the personal things the caller had referred to that no stranger could possibly know. She gave up and hung up the phone.
The phone rang again and startled her out of her wits. She answered it frantically, sounding like an idiot, but it wasn't the deep gruff voice she half expected at all. It was only Harry, her husband's former business partner. There were still a few routine details to clear up about their mutual business interests, he told her. Could she meet him for dinner? A few times before Harry had asked her to come down to the office but nothing like this before. She knew he was a married man even though she had never become well acquainted with his wife.
"Well, I-" she began.
"Come on, Jane," he said. "It'll do you good to get out of the house.”
It bothered her a little that he was obviously referring to her stay-at-home ways now that her husband was gone. She didn't really know why. Reluctantly she agreed to meet him after asking as unobtrusively as possible whether his wife would be joining them, and he had said she would.
The girls came dashing into the house on their way back from the park. They were squealing and yammering about some boy.
"You should have seen Karen's face when Wilbur rode by on his bike and waved at her. Boy, she got red as a beet. Ha ha. She really likes him but she won't admit it!" teased young Kathie, her blonde pigtails flying.
"I do not,’ fumed her older sister. "He's just a boy in my class at school, that's all. All I did was wave back.”
Jane smiled at her two young daughters. She thought it was cute that Karen, now at thirteen, was becoming interested in boys. And ten-year-old Kathie was just the right age to be at her about it all the time. Her elder daughter's proud young breasts pooched self-consciously underneath the top she wore and Jane saw that it clung damply to her torso everywhere except over her brassiere.
"You've both been playing awfully hard. Look at how sweaty you are, Karen. Both of you go take a shower," she told them.
Kathie was still teasing Karen about Wilbur but as they went up the stairs Jane heard the older girl say, "Oh, be quiet, Kathie. You're just jealous 'cause you don't even have anything yet to make a boy look at you.”
Jane saw her jut out her small breasts as they reached the top landing and saw Kathie stick her tongue out and made a face at her older sister in response.
After dinner she told them she was going out and started to call the sitter for them. They wanted to know why Jerri couldn't stay with them and Jane explained that Jerri was old enough to have a life of her own and was out with a boyfriend. They were so insistent about not having the sitter called that Jane finally gave in and told them they could stay home alone if they'd both be good.
She went to her bedroom and started getting dressed. The mirror would have pleased her if she had been uninhibited enough to admire what it reflected. As the clothes came off her still-slender frame, the woman's nakedness revealed a finely turned rear end that jutted provocatively below the curve of her waist. Inside the front of the panties that stretched tartly over buttocks, between her long legs, hid a thick, damp mat of brownish-blonde curls. Above, gently and heavily bobbing under their own weight, the lush mounds of her breasts swelled to twin peaks. Jane was no teenager anymore. Not by a long shot. There was a trace of extra padding at her thighs and her breasts perhaps lacked the tight-as-a-drum perfection of those of Jerri. But to have lived thirty-seven years and to have have given birth to three daughters, she was an unquestionably good-looking woman. She stood out among friends her own age like a pearl in a pea pod.
On went the sheer panty hose, the flouncy yet sedate half-slip and a few quick sprays of cologne to pervade her secret regions with a clean, aromatic scent. She paused as she drew the straps of her brassiere over her shoulders and smiled to herself at what Jerri had said about going without a bra. It was true, she saw to her pleasure, that she could have easily done without the support of a bra. Of course the twin swellings of her prominent breasts would undoubtedly shift and sway under her blouse-but barely more than Jerri's did. She stopped herself. What a silly thing to be thinking! If she wasn't careful, she might find herself adopting some of the far-out ideas of her daughter about how a woman should dress. Or about how she should undress, rather, she chuckled to herself. The way Jerri ran around in her thin long dresses with no bra underneath and her form-fitting mini skirts with her groin covered only by the skimpiest excuse for panties, was more like being undressed than dressed.
When the doorbell rang she let Harry in and ran to get her purse. Kathie and Karen were in the living room watching television. Harry walked past Kathie and patted her on the head, but when he got to where Karen was sitting he was a little more attentive.
"How you doing, honey?" he asked with considerable interest. "Haven't seen you for a few months. You're really growing up fast, aren't you? What are you watching there on TV?”
As he spoke he patted her on the head as he had done Kathie but he went one step further. He ran his hand down her smooth blonde hair and instead of walking on past, he lowered himself beside her and allowed his hand to continue over her round young shoulder to the tender area of her ribs. For a fleeting instant the teenager felt his fingers actually graze the base of her breast where the cup of her small bra was stitched to the strap. The touch was ended almost before it began, but his intention was BO secret to the girl. It was obvious that he wanted to get a feel of her titty even though he tried to make his action appear as something far less than it was.
She answered him distractedly and kept watching the screen. By the time Jane returned with her purse he was already up and ready to guide her out the front door. Jane suddenly stopped and yelled back, "Girls, listen, don't answer the phone tonight if anybody calls while I'm gone. I meant to tell you that earlier, Be sure, now, you hear? It would just be someone calling for me and there's no use of you answering it if I'm not here.”
The memory of the obscene caller loomed in her mind and she was afraid he might call back-in spite of what the police had said-and spew his filthy talk into the ears of one of her innocent daughters. She would just die if Kathie or Karen were to be exposed to such language. The girls promised to do as she said but they were very puzzled. She had never warned them before against answering the phone when she was gone from the house.
When the door slammed behind them, Kathie could hardly contain herself. "I saw him. I saw what he did to you, Karen," she exclaimed. "I saw him feel you up after he patted you on the head. I'm going to tell Mom when she gets home. I bet you wanted him to do that, didn't you? Miss Tease! Miss Tease!”
"Oh Kathie, darn it, I did not. What would I like about that old bastard? He's way too old, silly. Besides, he just barely touched me there. You better not tell Mom-you're just jealous because you don't have any ninnies on your chest!" she yelled.
"I am not! I don't care about your old ninnies. They don't make you any prettier. You think you're something special just because you finally started growing a pair. Judy Lee Smithers had same way before you did, and she's your very same age, too!" retorted the younger girl.
But it was apparent that Karen's comment had hit home. The truth was that Kathie was so precocious at the tender age of ten that she simply couldn't wait until she developed the coveted signs of womanhood on her own smooth, flat little chest.
"If you tell, I won't let you sit on my bed and watch that window across the street anymore. You know how good you can see that man and woman from my window-you can't see nothing from where your bed is. You better not tell!" threatened Karen.
There was a lot Jane didn't know about what her two young daughters did at night in their bedroom. She would have blistered their bottoms thoroughly if she had any idea they often spied from their high window down into the house of a neighbor. So far they had only succeeded in seeing a man and woman take off their clothes a few times but they had great hopes of getting to see more. Karen knew that Kathie was every bit as interested in peeking as she was, if not more. If worked. Kathie agreed to not blab about what she'd seen Harry do with his hand to Karen while their mother was out of the room.
The television caught their eyes again. Both girls wore simple day dresses and Kathie was barefoot. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her legs over the arm, hot bothering to keep her knees together. Her young crotch was completely visible from where Karen sat, even the V where her white cotton panties separated the slim lengths of her gawky, coltish legs.
"Kathie, for gosh sakes, watch yourself! I can see all the way to your panties!" she called out.
"Aw, so what. Nobody else is here to see anything and I've seen you do the same thing plenty of times. Besides,” continued Kathie, a smug little smile on her face, "my panties cover up the main thing-you can't see my cunny, can you?”
While the two girls argued with each other at home, their mother was arguing-much more decorously-with Harry. It was bad enough when ^e hadn't brought his wife along like he said he would. He claimed she had to stay in with a cold. But when he insisted that Jane have a drink with him before dinner, she had to look upon the entire evening in a different light. She told him she had already eaten a small dinner with the children, and expected only to have a salad or something while they went over the business papers, and that she didn't want to drink. It had surprised her when they arrived at the place because it wasn't just a restaurant. It was a supper club, complete with a dance floor and dimly lit tables. To drink with him would surely strip the evening of any claim to being a business dinner and turn it into a… well, she didn't know what. But she relented when he assumed a sad face and assured her there was nothing in the world wrong with them having a friendly drink together. After all, he reminded her, he had been business partners with her husband for years. He looked genuinely hurt about it.
"Well… all right," she gave in. "Maybe just one. A small glass of wine or something.”
When their order arrived she discovered her drink was hardly anything as simple as a glass of wine, small or otherwise. It was a tumbler-size glass filled with an exotically colored liquid. But it had a cool, sweet taste so she drank it as they attended to their business papers. There was so little to discuss that Jane was surprised that Harry had even requested her presence. One more detail to make her suspicious of Harry. She'd seen him casting furtive glances at her legs in the front seat of the car. As an unabashedly attractive woman, she was accustomed to more than passing attention from men with respect to certain parts of her anatomy. But since she was in Harry's company-even though it was supposedly for business purposes-Jane felt different about having him look at her like that.
The drink went down somehow much easier than she thought it would and before she knew it Harry had another one sitting in front of her. She started to protest.
"Go on, Jane, at least join me while I finish mine. Let yourself go a little," he cajoled.
It was the least she could do to join him, she thought. And the drink was pretty tasty, she had to admit. She accepted the drink and sat back in her chair a little to watch the dance floor. What Jane didn't know was that the drink was more than just tasty-it was also highly potent. A smooth blend of rum and fruit juices, the concoction's strength was concealed under the pleasant sweetness of its fruity taste. A more experienced drinker would have recognized it for what it was, but Jane had never been much of a drinker since her husband had passed away.
An hour later Harry had the papers all in his briefcase and Jane was twirling her third drink in her fingers. Harry saw that she was gently moving her head to the slow rhythm of the dance band as she watched the couples glide around the floor.
"Come on, Jane," he suggested. "Let's get in on some of the fun ourselves. We don't have to just sit here and watch, you know. Here, let's go join them.”
He extended his hand as he rose and Jane realized she was trapped. She had let herself get so carried away with the music that her tapping fingers left no doubt about her enjoyment of the music. Besides, the alcohol in her blood made such decisions a little easier for her. She rose and took his hand.
Harry led her onto the floor and eased her into his arms. They entered the flow of the other dancers and Jane let herself settle into his arms. It was very pleasant to be able to give herself to the rhythm of the music in this wholehearted way. Back at the table, when she was tapping her fingers and swaying her head to the music, this was what she unconsciously wanted. Harry was not a terrifically handsome man by anyone's measure but she discovered he had an easy, confident style of dancing that made it fun to move across the floor in his arms. He was ten or fifteen years her senior and his hair was quite gray, but the feel of his body against hers gave her the impression he was far from over the hill. There was a certain sense of hardness to his arms and shoulders, and whenever one of his legs touched hers it was with firmness and heft.
When he pulled her closer she didn't push him away. Now his body was touching hers all the way from her knees to her shoulders. He bent his head so that his cheek rested in thickness of her blonde hair and wormed it downward until she could feel his chin on her ear. Jane was a woman who hadn't been in a man's arms-any man at all-for months. Months that now seemed like years. As he pressed her closer to him she allowed it, only partly against her will. He began running his hand up and down the firm, resilient flesh of her back. The crowded abundance of her breasts pressed into his chest and felt the beginning of an old familiar feeling. Not thinking, the alcohol flowing warmly now through her veins, she pressed her front against Harry's open jacket, belt buckle and pants.
Hold on a minute, came a warning of alarm from somewhere inside her head, things are getting too chummy here. Don't let him squeeze you close like this – he can feel everything you've got.
She halfheartedly raised her head from under his chin and moved an inch or two away from his body. The warmth of their bodies wafted up into her nostrils from between them and she detected the scent of her fruity cologne mixed with a more musky, masculine aroma.
"Maybe we've been here too long, Jane," he said to her. "Maybe you'd like to leave.”
"Yes," she answered, "let's do.”
Maybe Harry wasn't bent on anything like she was thinking, after all. Maybe he was just trying to be nice to her as a friend and wasn't trying to get her to act like a woman with him.
But when Jane agreed and said yes to his question, Harry took it an entirely different way. He hadn't simply been inquiring if she was tired of dancing so much as whether she was ready to do something else instead of dancing. She sure had let him get a nice close feel of those big jugs of hers, that was for sure. When she agreed to leave he hoped to hell she meant she was ready to let him get his hands on her and do them both some good. He knew she was far from weak-willed-that's why he had plied her with drinks. Now it looked to him like he was going to get some action out of her.
On the way to the car he held her tighter than was necessary. In the front seat he slid in beside her but as he inserted the keys in the ignition she felt the purposeful caress of fingertips along the tops of her thighs. He peeled out of the parking lot with such force she was thrown against him as the car sped down the street. He buried his hammy hand between her legs and pressed his fingers against the inner surfaces of her thighs.
"Harry," she called out, "what are you… what are you doing? I think you better-”
"Let's be grown up about this, Jane,” he said, as he steered the car off the street and braked to a halt beside the freight dock of an abandoned warehouse. "You liked what was happening on the dance floor as I did. You don't need to play games with me. Don't be afraid to admit you need some loving.”
"Wait a minute," she said. "You're not… you don't understand. I can't have you think-”
"Think, hell," he exclaimed, interrupting her again. "I don't need to think anything, and neither do you. Just come off your high horse and act like a woman.”
He was breathing hard and his tie was twisted sideways. He turned to face her and took her face in his hand while his other one busied itself in the soft folds of the clothing between her thighs. He was trying to find an opening into the secrets of her underclothes.
"You're beautiful, god damn it. You're a beautiful woman, Jane, and your husband's gone. Why don't you admit you need a man's hands on those big tits of yours, huh? Why don't you admit you need a good hard prick between your legs?”
His forehead was covered with sweat. Jane jerked her body back and forth on the seat but the drinks she'd had made her movements irregular and lurching. The motion made her breasts strain against her bra and heave back and forth under her blouse like two balloons under a tarpaulin. It was exactly the wrong thing to do if her aim was to stop Harry's attentions-and she was less and less certain just what her aim was. The way she was moving herself around in the seat made her sexier than ever to him. He couldn't wait to get his hands under there and get his fingers on the sweet naked flesh of her breasts and groin.
"No, Harry, no… you can't do this, you're making a fool of us… you're a married man… stop it, now… you really better lay off before-“
He covered her mouth with his lips.
"Mmmffff!" she cried.
He pursed his lips and sucked the sweet moisture of her mouth off her red, squirming lips. He took his hand from her face and threw it around her back.
"Ungh," she grunted, unable to speak with his mouth covering her lips. But the outcry was only partly a protest. The feel of his mouth and hands on her was taking its due. There was no way for her to keep the truth from herself any longer. She was beginning to like what he was doing to her. She was beginning to like it, and she was starting to want more of it. It didn't matter what her head was telling her anymore. No matter how much she thought she shouldn't be letting any of this happen, her sensitive breasts and slowly moistening genitals were right there underneath her thin clothes denying every protest.