Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Marilyn's Story

Evidently, he enjoyed this latter type of conquest the most. He was almost addicted to the thrill of slowly winning a reluctant woman who, though very aroused, was loath to capitulate her honor. In the end, he knew she would succumb, they always did. The joy of loosing her breasts, of dragging her panties off and spreading her legs, of shoving his cock deep inside her as she turned her face away, forcing an involuntary groan from her tightly clamped jaws. The thrill as first her arms and then her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, moaning as she realized how much better he was than her husband. He'd laugh as she abandoned herself while he thought ahead of all the ways he would fuck her until he finally tired of her months later. Often by then she would be hooked on the excitement he brought into her life and would still be available for a periodic fling if he felt like it.

The end wouldn't change if children were present, just the route. He would implore her to join him for dinner, at a nice restaurant in a romantic setting, consuming lots of wine over a dinner far more expensive than she was used to with her husband. Of course, they would have to stop by his room, in the hotel or close by, to pick up some papers he wanted to leave for her husband. Once in his room, the same game would play out. It would always end with his cock inside her, mouth or pussy, typically both. Strange as it seems, he usually found the women to be wilder in their own homes.

Eventually, one of these plays went dreadfully wrong. I'm sure that others had misfired before but he was probably able to keep those situations quiet because it would be mutually embarrassing but also because the offended wife would leave things alone if her husband's business wouldn't suffer. But this time, Dad moved on the wife of a major client, and it was his business that was in danger of a major blow. He just couldn't help himself, she was so attractive, and he misread the signs that showed her complete lack of interest in him.

I was called in to manage the disaster. I was dispatched right away with the authority to do whatever it took to placate my father's most recent target to ensure that her husband never found out. Dad told me this woman had misunderstood his social nature as an advance. He just couldn't understand it and was unable to persuade her that she was mistaken in the short time before he was given the bum's rush out the door.

Given my father's unconvincing story, I was pretty sure about what had happened. This was an embarrassing task but one I had to do if our family was to retain a viable business, for the word would certainly spread. I also knew that if I was successful, and let Dad know that the truth had come out, I would forever have an advantage over him. So I went and, though reluctant at first, my enthusiasm for the task grew as I drove.

She was a very attractive woman. In her mid to late thirties, just a few years younger than Mom, a second wife married for several years but still no children—I had done my homework—yet her husband's attention had turned back to the business and then to other distractions, like my father.

I approached Greta with honesty. I turned up at her door because I was certain she wouldn't meet me otherwise. There, I told her about what my father had said, and my instructions, and how utterly convinced I was that it was total bullshit. I added that my father had done this before and that he was an extreme embarrassment to my mother and myself.

Mentioning my mother was a godsend; Greta invited me in. I following her, admiring the fall of her long black hair cascading over her pale yellow sweater, falling just short of the black stretch pants clinging to her long legs. The movement of her finely shaped behind rhymed with the sway of her hips. She was naturally seductive and I could see why my father thought she was worth the risk. It was an effort to tear my eyes away from the perfectly timed pair of animated half-pears and but I forced myself to concentrate on what needed to be done.

Greta led me through the house and outside down a stone path that led over a small bridge between a pair of ponds to a garden-surrounded gazebo. She motioned for me to sit on one of the cushioned lounges and poured us each a glass of orange-pinkish looking juice from a large pitcher that was almost full. The ice cubes clinked as they tumbled into the short stubby glasses. I was surprised by the taste of alcohol.

Over the next hour or so, I explained my suspicions about my father's transgression and made my pitch to assure her that it would never happen again and that in future I would handle her husband's account. There would be no uncomfortable chance meetings with my father. I talked about how messy the situation could become and acknowledged the emotional damage Dad may have caused. In compensation, I described how, soon after I took over the account, I would negotiate a more amenable business arrangement for her husband which he would assume was achieved because of my youth and naivete.

She smiled when I finished. "I don't think you're a very naive young man," she said.

"Nevertheless," I replied, "he will assume so, if he's anything like my father."

Her smile widened, "I believe they are cut from the same cloth, your father and my husband."

I was disconcerted by this remark and wondered if she knew just how much like my father her husband really was. What a shame to waste a woman like this, and my mother, on men like them. I tried to continue outlining plan but Greta turned the conversation around to focus on me and my mother. She needed to know what we were like, she said, before she could make up her mind about whether to go along with my plan.

So we spent another hour chatting, very pleasantly, about myself and Mom, with a few anecdotes about Greta thrown in that were relevant to the discussion at the time. When Greta refilled our glasses, I was surprised to see that the pitcher was empty. I was feeling quite pleasant. Eventually, there was a pregnant pause in the conversation.

"Well, I'd better be going," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "I shouldn't have stayed so long. I hope I didn't overstay my welcome."

"Not at all, Nathan." Greta stood with me. "I'm very glad to have met you and I'm glad you came. This was the best afternoon I've had for some time. You're welcome anytime."

"So you'll think about my proposal, then?"

"Perhaps over dinner," she smiled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I have stayed too long. Is your husband coming?" I had thought he was away for a couple more nights and was a bit flustered that he might arrive at any minute.

"No," she laughed. "Don't panic. He'll be gone for a few days yet."

I couldn't help looking relieved.

"I was just about to make some supper, that's all."

"Oh." I felt awkward. "I'm sorry, I should have invited you to dinner. It's the least I could do."

"No, but thank you." She stepped through the glass doors into the house, carrying the pitcher and two glasses. I hadn't even thought to bring my glass inside. "Isn't that one of your father's tricks?"

"Yes, I guess it wouldn't look good for you to be out with someone when your husband's out of town." I realized as soon as I said it how silly it sounded. After all, I was just a kid barely out of high school. I actually shuffled my feet. Good grief. She was teasing me.

Greta smiled, but it was a smile that didn't make fun of me.

"Actually," she said, "I wouldn't say no to some pizza, but we've both had too much punch to drive, don't you think?"

I nodded.

"Right," she said. "You order some pizza -- there's a number on the fridge -- and I'll make some more punch."

I didn't think I should have any more punch, in case I lost my head. It would be easy to think she wasn't just being nice.

She handed me a full glass when I got off the phone and turned to walk into the living room. I followed, unable to keep my attention from her seductive assets. When the pizza arrived half an hour later, Greta let me pay for it without any argument. She was in the kitchen refilling our glasses while I was at the door and waited there until I brought the pizza in.

"Let's eat it right out of the box," she said, enthusiastically. "I haven't done that for years. Come on, bring it along" she said in a sparkly voice, leading me back to the living room.

As soon as I sat down, Greta handed me another glass of punch.

"I shouldn't," I said.

"Nonsense. You have to keep me company. It's part of the deal."

That was a good sign. It sounded like she was going to go along with my plan. I took a sip.

"That's better," she said. "Dig in."

The time passed quickly while we gorged ourselves on pizza. Greta talked more about herself, especially her college days. It made me rethink my own future, that maybe I should go to college instead of learning Dad's business. College hadn't appealed to me but as Greta recounted the joys of her past I began to reconsider my choice.

My glass was empty and, though I shouldn't have had any more, I was in the mood for it. The pitcher more than half gone. Greta saw me glance at the pitcher, grabbed it, and refilled my glass.

"No, I shouldn't," I protested.

"Have you booked yourself into a hotel?"

"Uh, no. Not yet."

"Then go out to your car and bring your bag in."

"Bring my bag in?" I was stupefied.

"Yes. You're staying here tonight."

"I can't do that. I can't impose like that. You don't even know me."

"I know you better than you think. Enough to trust you more than some men I've known for years."

I was pleased that I'd earned her trust but even more please that she'd referred to me as a man.

"Still, I can get a cab. It wouldn't look right."

"You can't go riding about in a cab trying to find a room. Go out and get your bag while it's still light outside. Go on, don't argue." Greta stood and stepped toward the front door.

"While it's still light?" I asked, not comprehending.

"Of course. You're my second cousin's son," she explained, cooking up a story for curious neighbors. "Why wouldn't you stay?"

As I walked to the door, Greta said, "We're having so much fun and you can't drive now so you may as well stay here. You can leave in the morning, and I'll give you my answer then.

I didn't see anyone outside. Greta's words sunk in as I pulled my case out of the trunk. She wasn't going to tell me until tomorrow morning, not at dinner like she said. Then I remembered, she said she'd think about it at dinner. She hadn't said she'd tell me. Just relax, I thought. Don't push, and be yourself. There's no need to treat her like a client. She's really nice and fun to be around. Just relax and everything will be alright. I felt better walking back into the house.

Greta wasn't there when I came in, but as soon as I shut the door, her voice rang out.

"Up here," she called. "In the spare room."

I carried my bag up the stairs and walked down the hallway toward the light coming out from an open doorway. Greta was inside, just finishing laying a set of men's pajamas out on the double bed.

She walked past me as I entered. "Put those on and we'll have a movie night," she instructed, walking out of the room. "See you downstairs." She sounded quite pleased.

It was a strange situation I found myself in, one I certainly wouldn't have predicted starting out on the highway this morning. I tried to think while I got changed, but wasn't able to come up with a plan, or even if I should have one. Just go with the flow, I thought. Have some fun.

I walked downstairs in her husband's flannel pajamas, holding the bottoms up. He was a little broader in the hips, or paunchier, than I. I found Greta in the kitchen, just closing the oven door.

"That will make a nice snack later," she said. "I love hot apple crumble with vanilla ice cream and tea. Don't you?"

Greta was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas that matched my own. It was a bit of a disappointment really because the loose flannel hid the small breasts and supple bottom I'd been noticing since I'd arrived, though I had tried hard to be discreet and kept my glances to a minimum. Still, I had the feeling that Greta was aware of my disappointment and my attempt to find the curves hidden by the shape hiding clothes. Though she didn't look it, somehow I thought she was amused.

Greta regarded me with a soft look. "Come on, let's go watch a movie."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the TV room where a large flat screen was fixed to one wall with three sofas arrayed in a semi-circle in front of it. She sat in the center one and gestured for me so to sit beside her.

"Tell me more about your mother," she demanded.

I sat down before the reaction of her mentioning Mom in this setting stimulated embarrassing effects in me. Within a minute, I became flustered as my member stiffened in response to thoughts about my mother that didn't match what I was telling Greta. Thankfully, I was saved by the previews ending and the screen awaiting the push of the play button, which Greta did. The chick flick started.

There were no heated sex scenes in this movie. It was a chick's chick flick. Was Greta seeing if I would go the distance to keep her happy, to see if I was willing to pay a price for her silence? Well, she'd find out, no matter how many chick flicks I had to sit through. I settled in to watch.

Sometime during the movie, I settled in the corner of the sofa and put my feet up on the seat. Greta had done the same in the opposite corner. Our feet mingled together, touching lightly, by accident at first, but by the end of the movie, they were nestled together. It was quite comforting and, though intimate, only mildly erotic and then only because I couldn't forget how fantastic her ass had looked as she'd walked ahead of me when she first invited me inside. But now I could only see her bare feet and her ankles up to where her calves began to thicken with muscle. And her very pretty face, of course.

I tried to see the outline of her cheeks as I followed her to the kitchen for our dessert but the flannel defeated me. Only for the brief moment when she bent over before the open oven to retrieve the apple crumble was I treated to the sculptured behind I'd witnessed that afternoon.

"Get the ice cream, silly," she admonished me as she straightened up to put the dish on top of the stove. Her tone could have implied, 'You're not your father, you know.' I felt the blood rush to my face.

"Let's eat it here on the counter."

She let the crumble cool while she made two tall mugs of tea in the single shot machine. We sat, on stools either side of the counter, eating our hot crumble and ice cream, face to face, smiling at each other. The alcohol buzz had worn off but I felt another now, one not entirely in my head. She really was a pretty woman. There was something so soft and feminine about her.

I was glad for the counter separating us because as I watched her delicately deposit each spoonful into her mouth and then close her lips tight as she pulled the spoon out, savoring each tasty molecule. I got a boner.

I tried to will it down, but every time that spoon entered her mouth and she raised it up in front of her upturned nose before spinning it upside down to drag it slowly out, digging her tongue into the concave bowl, my cock lurched.

What a moron her husband was. He was probably out in a bar or club, getting drunk, hitting on some tawdry tart half his age, the kind that would actually go to bed with an old fart like him. That was if he hadn't been able to influence some woman he worked with to offer herself up. Just like my Dad I thought, but a few years younger.

"Oops! Whoa!!" Greta cried out, grabbing at her chest. "Whoa. That's cold!"

She was digging at her pajama top, undoing a button, trying to get her hand inside to stop the downward progress of a spoonful of ice cream and crumble. She grabbed a dish towel and dabbed at herself, laughing, undoing another button.

I was enthralled. I could see the hint of her small breasts, even glimpses of her bare flesh, as her pajamas were briefly dragged apart so she could get the towel in, and then again as she wiped it away. I was further thrilled when she looked down between her breasts and slipped yet another button undone, reaching down to wipe something unseen from her tummy below the divide of her breasts.

"You can dress her up ...," she laughed. Standing, Greta grabbed her freshly poured mug of tea and stepped down from the stool. "Let's finish our tea while we start the next movie before I spill on myself again," she giggled.

I was very aware that she hadn't refastened any of the buttons even though her top was now loosely flapping between her breasts. They were small, so there wasn't any breast flesh bursting out, but I could make out the sides as she passed by. I was thankful that Greta didn't look at me until I'd settled back into the couch, giving me time to get my boner under my hands which I held crossed in my lap.

She started the movie right away. I would have noticed that it was steamier than the last one, restricted but not X-rated, except that my attention was on her blouse that opened whenever she stretched around to reach for her mug of tea. When she finished it, she turned to put her feet up on the couch like I had only this time she stretched her feet out past mine to nestle them under my thighs. A moment later, I let mine stretch out too, the feeling imparted by the soft underside of her legs giving me more cause to keep my hands covering my lap.

Greta's back was square to the end of the sofa but her head was twisted toward the screen, pulling her pajama top apart. Though I couldn't see her breasts because their small size still kept them hidden under the flannel, I could see the skin between all the way down to her navel. It didn't help my condition that every once in a while, seemingly in reaction to something on the big screen, she would scrunch her toes, scratching them down the underside of my thighs. There was no hope of quelling my raging boner. I gave up trying.

I became aware that this chick flick was about a woman who, depressed by her adulterous husband, by chance found new meaning in her life when she takes a holiday alone and meets a young artist living in a cabin down a lonely stretch of beach from the one she rented. Flashbacks show the young man to be much like her husband in his youth, before other recounted life events changed him, and her. The woman falls in love with the young man who is afflicted with a rare terminal disease, and she ends up sharing her bed with him in a very romantic but steamy fireside love scene before the inevitable tear-jerker ending.

The parallel with her own life was obvious but I couldn't help my own thoughts, despite the tear that ran down her cheek near the end, from noticing the camel toe between her legs which had opened as the movie progressed. The flannel was pulled tightly across her crotch and there was no mistaking the clear outline of her pussy and the crevice between her mound.

My eyes were on her face when the final scene ended. There were tears running down both cheeks when she turned to face me. It was heartbreaking actually, and my heart went out to her. She stretched her hands toward me and I raised mine to take hers. They were so small and delicate.

"Would you dance with me?" she asked, quietly.

How could I decline?

"Sure," I replied.

Greta stood, grabbed the remote and punched a few buttons. Music, slow and gentle, softly filled the room. She held her arms out to me, lifting her pajamas away from her chest, revealing a little more of herself. I tried very hard not to look but probably didn't succeed. As her arms circled my neck, I remembered my condition and kept my hips away but as we moved, she stepped closer and I stepped back, trying to avoid contact. Try as I might, I knew I couldn't avoid that embarrassing moment when she'd discover me and realize what a cretan I'd been all evening. Just after the start of the second song, I felt my tented pajamas graze hers and braced for her rebuke.

"I know about my husband, Nathan," she whispered, stepping closer, bending me up against myself.

"What?" I cried. "You do?" I was surprised that she wasn't angry, but flustered as well and I tried to act as if my condition didn't exist, even though she must be able to feel me.

"Yes. I've known for a long time. But I wasn't about to take revenge with someone just like him, like your father."

Her arms slid down to my hips and she pulled herself closer to me, pressing her belly firmly against my hardening erection. Her face turned up into my neck.

"If that's for me, it's very flattering," she whispered. She rubbed herself against me.

There was no need to hide anything now, but I was still trying to act like I was a little innocent, at least, that I hadn't been planning anything. She stood up on her tippy toes, bringing my stiffness into line with the mound under her flannel pajamas. Her mouth pressed against the side of my neck, pinching my skin between her lips.

"Keep dancing," she whispered, circling her arms around my neck.

I pulled her around the carpet, slowly turning in an oval in front of the big screen. I wouldn't have won any awards, that's for sure, but Greta murmured her approval.

"That's it, that's nice," she whispered, nibbling my neck, her arms circling tighter around me.

I shuffled from one foot to the other, turning slowly, arching back so she folded over the front of me, pressing on my erection, chafing against it. I twirled and twirled and all the while she hung from my neck, nuzzling and nibbling on my neck and, though I wasn't certain, a few times I think she pressed her pelvis harder against me in a brief rub.

Tugging herself up higher, completely hanging from my neck, her flannel covered pussy aligned perfectly with my knob. As she held herself pressed against me, her tongue slowly circled the rim of my ear several times and then dug into the center. When it pulled out her mouth remained, enveloping my entire ear, whispering.

"I love the feel of it."

"What?" I cried, in the hoarsest sound I'd ever heard emanate from my throat.

"Your cock."

I was totally blown away. In celebration, I emitted the most inane comment ever to exit my mouth.

"Thank you," I replied lamely.

Greta laughed. A low, throaty, amused roll of sound. "You're welcome."

I groaned as her legs lifted and circled around my hips, her pussy opening and surrounding my knob and the upper section of my shaft.

"Take me upstairs, Nathan," she whispered.

I didn't move. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. Maybe that was just my mind wishing.

"Quickly," she whispered. "Take me upstairs."

I ventured my first stumbling step, then another. Her arms and legs tightened around me. As I climbed the stairs, her heels dug into my buttocks.

"Hurry," she whispered.

I did, goaded by her mouth sucking on my neck and the softness enveloping my hardon. I didn't know where her bedroom was but somehow it was the first one I entered. My legs were weakening and I stumbled the last few steps before falling onto her bed. She was laughing, and she kept laughing as I struggled, pushing her farther onto the bed, hampered by her legs that continued to hold me like a vice.

She giggled at my frantic efforts to pull her pajamas down, and mine. I had to pry her feet apart, unlocking her hold on me, yanking her bottoms off and thrusting my hips down to meet hers, between her open legs. She laughed as I tried to enter her, moving her hips, denying me. Her arms were still locked around my neck, her mouth by my ear.

"Do you want it?" she laughed.

I grunted in reply, stabbing away with my eager stick.

She shrieked with laughter, then suddenly went still. Her tongue snaked into my ear and she spoke clearly, "Fuck me."

She was waiting. I pulled back until my cock fell between her open legs, then slid forward, tracing along her inner thigh into the little hollow before the final treasure, bumping there, finding the crevice, the head slipping and sliding easily between her moist lips, into the wet slit of her cunt.

"Yessss," she hissed in answer to the long moan I emitted as I slid up her clutching channel, reacting ecstatically to her magic grip. I paused when I reached bottom, groaning loudly. Her hands pulled my head closer to her but she didn't say anything. She never said another word the whole time I fucked her, pulling out and shoving in, slowly, then fast and hard, then gentle, grinding around, doing my best to jerk a moan or a grunt from her mouth. I loved it when I succeeded but the best was the mewling whimper she started to make when I was near and continued as my cum spewed inside her.

She didn't move when I stopped. She lay there, her fingers tracing up and down my back, over my buttocks and up my sides. Steadily, lazily. I was still inside her, soft, almost slipping out. Then, I began to harden. Her arms locked around my neck again and her legs lifted, her feet settling into the small of my back.

"Again," she said.

It was a much longer fuck. I tried very hard to please her and found that if I held myself high she would stretch her lithe body up to stay with me. I pulled so high I pulled out and her long legs strained with the effort to reach high enough to capture me again, back deeply arched, only her head and heels touching the bed. A dozen strenuous thrusts and I did it again. We played that game over and over until we finally climaxed in thunderous orgasms.

Laying quietly, recuperating, she shared an intimate laugh. "So you enjoyed making me work for it too, did you?"

I smiled, exhausted.

She got up and a moment later I heard the shower running. I didn't have the energy to join her, though the thought of warm water running over her beautiful, slender body was almost too much to resist. Returning to towel herself dry, she prodded me to get cleaned up. I thought she might be done with me and wanted me gone so I dragged myself up and into the shower. When I came back, she was laying on the bed, on her tummy, legs together with one foot resting on the back of the other. My eyes were drawn to the triangle outlined by her buttocks and the top of her thighs. Her head twisted to look back at me.

"You liked my ass when you first followed me in, didn't you?"

I was caught. How had she known? I thought I'd been so discreet.

"Yes," I answered honestly.

She smiled and unclasped her feet, spreading her legs. Her ass lifted and waved from side to side the tiniest bit.

"Take me this way," she said in a throaty voice, turning her face down and pressing it into the mattress, lifting her hips until I could see her pussy come into view between her parted thighs.

I tossed the towel to the floor and advanced, still wet, onto the bed, waddling on my knees between her legs, my cock rising to full mast by the time it was able to nuzzle against her furry delight. My hands gripped her hips as my knob started to nudge into her slit. Her head turned to the side.

"I don't let him do me like this anymore," she said, still in that husky voice.

God. I held her hips and shoved in, pulling back on her at the same time. Her "ohhhhhhhh" turned into a series of moans as I thrust in and out of her, full length. I wanted to get into her as deeply as I could, to make her moan louder. I got up onto my feet, straddling her hips and rocked my hips forward, plunging my cock down until my balls were lying on her ass, and then dug into her as far as I could.

She grunted. God, what a sound. I almost came. I thrust into her long and hard a dozen times and then dug into her again as far as I could, grinding. Another grunt, longer this time. I pounded her for a full minute, then the same grinding dig. Grunnnnt. Oh god. To make this woman do that, grunting to the rooting of my cock. Incredible. I did it again. Sliding my hands down her front to grab her small tits, squeezing them, pinching her nipples, hanging onto them through the next volley of thrusts, pinching them harder as I dug into her again, rewarded with a louder and longer grunt.

I gathered her long hair and pulled it as I thrust, tugging her head back just as I started the grind. I was fucking like an animal, crouching on my feet, thrusting repeatedly. Finally, I got so carried away that my weight pushed her flat onto the mattress. I straddled her hips, continuing to fuck her, to dig into her from behind, holding her hair, tugging just enough to raise her head so I could hear her sounds. I came soon after that.

Catching my breath, I was about to slide off her when she stopped me.

"No, stay there. I want you to lie on me like that. I want to feel you covering me."

I fell asleep laying on her. When I woke up, the sun was streaming in the window and Greta was laying on her side, gazing at me, smiling. The morning sunlight shining on her face accented her natural beauty. An incredible feeling rushed through me, culminating in a zing that zoomed up my cock and burst in a shower of teasing tingles.

"What should we do today?"

I can't describe the look on her face but it made me want to start making love to her right away.

"Today? I should get back. I have to work."

Greta frowned. "Isn't our account big enough to hold you until this afternoon?"

"It's not that. You know I don't care about that."

Greta put her finger to my lip, silencing me. "I know, she said. I was just teasing. But I do need your help. Will you help me?" Greta lifted her finger for me to speak.

"Yes," I replied.

Her finger pressed down on my lips again.

"I'm going to cleanse myself of my husband's crap."

Greta paused and didn't continue until I nodded to acknowledge that I was listening.

"Last night was a start. I gave you something I won't let him have again, but there's two things I never gave him, though I know he wanted them, and he deserves it if I give them to another man. I choose you."

I nodded.

"Do you understand?" She lifted her finger, indicating a nod wasn't enough.

"I think so."

"Do you know why you're so deserving?"

I shook my head. Greta smiled.

"Because you been laying there, patiently listening to me and all the while I've been holding your cock." Greta laughed out loud.

I was shocked. No wonder my cock felt so wonderful. I was suddenly blissfully aware that her small, soft, womanly fingers were wrapped around my knob. A groan escaped my lips.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you Nathan?"

I shook my head.

"It's ok. I don't mind."

"No," I groaned. "I don't have a steady girl."

"If you say so. But I know there's a woman in your life."

"Why?" I groaned as her hand slid down, gripping me hard at the root of my erection.

"Because you talk in your sleep," Greta explained. "You slept like a rock but you started mumbling when I teased you with my fingers, stroking it softly, like this." Greta shifted closer to me and started jack my cock slowly, squeezing her fingers tight as she rubbed up and down my length.

"Mumbling?" I gasped.

"And talking," she said, "when I did this." Greta bent her head and took my knob into her mouth, swirling her tongue around, her hand receding down my rod, followed a second later by her enveloping mouth. Quickly, she bobbed her head up and down, then pulled off with a loud sucking pop.

"Who's Marilyn?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhuuuunnnnhhhhh," I gasped. Her fingers gripped my knob as her thumb kept rubbing underneath.

"That's what you said this morning, and when I took you into my mouth again, you whispered her name, so I know she's the woman you want to do this."

Greta bent her head again, folding her lips over my cock and pushing down until she met my belly, holding her head there. What an incredible feeling. She pulled off with another loud sucking sound, gasped for air and dove down, rapidly and loudly sucking my cock with wet, squishy sucks. If she thought the wet sound of her mouth would get me really horny, she was right. She pulled off and looked at me again.

"I'm going to give you a treat now. Something I wouldn't give him, and I want you to take it."

She turned and propped her pillow against the headboard, then laid on her back, head on the raised pillow. She tugged on my cock, pulling me around and up towards her mouth. I followed, too surprised to respond under my own power. I think my cock was going there whether I wanted to follow or not.

My knees straddled her shoulders and I towered over her face as Greta pulled me into her mouth. Her hands slipped around my hips to grab my ass, pulling, forcing me forward until I was plugged all the way into her throat. She held me there again, until she had to push me off, gasping for air.

"Fuck it, Nathan. Fuck it until you come all over," she panted heavily, chest heaving, eyes wild, "so when he brags to me about some stupid deal, I can smile and remember the feel of your jizz all over my face."

She pulled me forward hard, into her mouth, and I started fucking it. So this was all about revenge, last night, and this morning. Alright. My hips moved faster. I could do it. As many times as she wanted. I'd fuck her face. I moved faster, reaching down to grasp the sides of her head, now loving the sloppy wet sound, the squishing and gurgling. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah.

I bounced up and down on her head, only pulling out of her face long enough to let her breath, then jamming back in again. Fucking a woman's face is a real rush but one that is as pretty as Greta is a real special treat. She must have taken something in her mouth to numb her throat. Otherwise, I don't know how she could have taken cock like that. She was drooling out the corners, soaking the pillow but I couldn't slow down, though I meant to make sure she was ok. I just got carried away.

I felt close to the lord when it burst up my pipe and I yelled as splat after splat struck her face, nose, forehead, hair, headboard, back to her eyes and nose, squeezing my cock to get the last dribble onto her upper lip. I pushed my cock into her mouth for a few gentle thrusts and pulled out as the second cumming surged up my shaft, dribbling it all around her face, as she pushed it up to take it all. I rubbed my cock all over, spreading my spunk, rubbing it to engrain the memory, the easier for her to recall in her husband's presence. 'Fuck you,' I shouted to a man I'd never met.

"Yeah. Fuck him," Greta cried.

I'd said that aloud?

I looked down at this gorgeous woman, buried under a sea of my white spunk. We both burst out laughing. A long purging and, yes, cleansing laugh. I pulled the sheets over and wiped Greta's face. She didn't stop me but she didn't help either. I got off the bed and fetched a facecloth, rinsed in warm water, and returned to gently clean her.

"Thank you," she said when I finished. "I know that must have been a hard thing for you to do."

Again, we burst out laughing, our mirth lasting for several long minutes, restarting twice as soon as our eyes met. We had a shower after that. Both of us, together, washing each other but not initiating anything sexual. We dressed and walked downstairs together. We talked about inane things as we ate a light breakfast and drank coffee.

It was almost noon when I finished my second cup of coffee and started making movements like I was getting ready to leave. Greta filled a container with very hot water in the sink, fetched something from the fridge, and put it into the makeshift bath. When I stood a few minutes later, about to say my goodbye, she took my hand and led me to the sink, pulling a bottle out of the sink.

"There's still one more thing I need you to do, Nathan."

"Today?"

"Today," she replied, firmly, walking toward the kitchen door, tugging me along.

I trailed behind her, admiring the sheen of her freshly washed hair, still damp from the shower, my eyes dropping to the panties that stretched across those gorgeous little pears that defined her ass, about halfway down where they bulged out into the fleshy bits that moved so enticingly under her panties. My scrutiny switched to her hand and the bottle she held. Some kind of oil. A massage? She wanted me to give her a massage, with warm oil?

Ok. I guess I could force myself to run my hands over that athletic body of hers. Was I up for another fuck? The tingle below provided my answer. My eyes looked down into the gap where her panties stretched across her cheeks, cupping the part that jutted out. I remembered last night and I started getting hard. If I could get her on her tummy, maybe I could take her from behind again. I topped the stairs with renewed energy.

She allowed me to slip my hand out of hers as we walked down the hallway toward her bedroom, perhaps realizing that I wanted to lag behind to watch her sexy ass. I followed my boner as it pursued her beckoning buns. She stopped at the end of the bed, stooping to grab the covers, pulling them off with one sweep to leave only a sheet covering over the mattress cover. She turned to face me.

"Take off your shorts."

She watched as I obeyed her, smiling as my hard cock sprang forth. I stood looking at her, waiting for her next instruction, but she said nothing. Slowly, she twisted the top off the bottle she held in her hand, tipping it to fill her hand with a clear, oily looking liquid. She lowered her hand and held it in front of me. I stepped forward until my cock hovered above it. Her hand rose and closed around my shaft, rubbing down and then back, repeating, slowly, working the warm oil into my skin.

Was I to get the massage?

Just as the thought flashed through my mind, she dropped the bundle of my nerves in her hand, recapped the bottle and turned away from me.

"Take my panties off," she whispered.

Eagerly, I pushed the panties over her hips and down her upper thighs. As I was about to bend down to tug them down her legs, she stopped me with another command.

"Push them the rest of the way with your feet."

Hooking my toe into her panties between her legs, I pushed them down. It was a struggle because she kept her legs apart, stretching them tight. I had to push first one side, then the other, then the front waistband, followed by the back. Finally, I succeeded. I waited.

Greta turned to face me again, stepping sufficiently close for my cock to rest upright against her belly on the slope down to her belly button. Silently, she uncapped the bottle, filled her hand, and again worked the slippery warm liquid up and down my rod. Refilling her hand, she worked the next palm full in just as thoroughly, then recapped the bottle and put it in my hand before stretching up to kiss me lightly on my mouth.

"You must do this for me," she whispered.

I nodded. Though I wasn't sure exactly what she wanted, I knew I would do anything for her.

"He threw my love away," she hissed, almost spitting. "Take everything, Nathan. Take it all."

She turned and crawled up on the bed. I expected her to lie flat and waited, deciding that I would work my way slowly up her entire body, from her toes to her ears. I would give her the best massage of her life, the most memorable experience I could create for her. But she remained on her knees, bending forward to rest her head on folded arms, ass high in the air, knees slightly parted.

She wanted to get fucked. From behind. I crawled up onto the bed, almost disappointed to miss the massage now that I could picture her body almost begging for my touch. But that feeling passed, superseded by the anticipation of rooting my cock into her from behind like I'd done last night.

I almost dropped the bottle.

The bottle. Why had she given me the bottle? She had gotten so wet last night, why would I need it? I knelt behind her, looking at her open ass, her little hole crinkling above her pulsing slit, bracketed by those incredible cheeks, waiting for me.​