Stacey walked slowly across the room to the dressing table, her bare feet making no sound on the deep carpet; the candles spaced around the room giving the only light, the flickering shadows hinting at hidden mysteries. She sat. Lifting the heavy silver brush from the table she began to pull it through her hair in long slow strokes, the rise & fall of her arm causing the thick cotton towel she was wrapped in to fall away from her body, draping across the sides & back of the stool. She smiled into the mirror, loving the play of light on her smooth just-scrubbed skin. The cool night air caressed her, raising gooseflesh across her arms & neck, puckering her nipples. She gazed down as they raised further, the aureole shrinking as the pink tips hardened. She shivered with delight.
She felt, more than heard, her lover approaching; before she could raise her head, his lips were at her neck, first kisses, & then playful nips with his teeth; every contact at just the right spot, each one pleasing her more than the last. She closed her eyes & tilted her head; raising her arms behind her, she ran her fingers through his hair. His hands snaked around her sides & cupped her heavy breasts & she groaned. The kissing had now moved to her back, & as his mouth travelled lower, softly brushing each indentation of her spine, his index fingers were circling the tips of her breasts. She placed her hands over his, squeezing, & he immediately took her lead; increasing the pressure he pinched her now aching nipples, tugging on them, milking them to a full inch in length. She felt moisture begin to flood her pussy.
Suddenly he lifted her body, & with a sweep of his arm sent the contents of the dressing table spilling to the floor. He bent her forward, & the glass top of the table was cold as her breasts were crushed flat against it. She tried to rise but he held one hand between her shoulder blades preventing her from standing. The other hand caressed her pink cheeks, his thick thumb running down her hot cleft, brushing across the tight brown button of her ass, the touch causing it to tighten, the involuntary muscle spasm that ran through her groin making her nether lips flower open. She felt the moisture begin to seep from her hot vagina. She was burning up, the ache in her pussy crying out for release; she wanted him, wanted his cock in her, his tongue on her most sensitive parts, anything to ease this sweet agony.
He knelt behind her, & she felt his hot breath tickle as his mouth closed over her rear passage. His tongue snaked forward, brushing gently over the puckered opening & she moaned aloud, her hips pumping up & down against his face. He moved lower & lapped at the small droplets of sweet nectar that beaded her fine pussy hair, teasing her puffy outer lips. She was making small noises now, mewing like a kitten, & entreating him to do more, to scratch the itch that consumed her whole body. His fingers roughly parted her labia, & as his thumb slipped into her hot canal, his middle finger circled her clit, stimulating the nerve core from within & without. She was panting now, arching her back & spreading her legs, opening herself to the invading fingers. Whimpering with lust she begged him to fuck her.
His fingers withdrew, replaced immediately by the hot head of his penis. He dipped the tip into her wetness then smeared their combined juices across her asshole, causing it again to dilate. He returned to her dripping entrance, then with barely a pause sank his entire length into her. She cried out, the cry turning to a moan of desire as he withdrew then slid back in again. Over & over he pistoned in & out of her, his heavy balls swing forward to slap against her swollen clit, heightening her pleasure. The waves of exquisite sensation pulsed through her, the blood that sang through her veins pooling in her sopping pussy, & the ultra-sensitive tips of her breasts that she brushed, back & forth against the glass tabletop to increase her own pleasure.
After what seemed an eternity spent in the grip of one long, drawn out orgasm, she felt him slow & lengthen his strokes, then with a loud moan he slammed into her further than ever before, the head of his cock ballooning, filling her even more. Pulling her head back roughly by the hair, he began to shoot jet after jet of hot cum into her cervix. Stacey saw herself in the mirror; a fine sheen of sweat covered her entire body, her hair plastered to her face, her body shaking with exertion, legs weak & barely able to support her in the aftermath of such a pounding; a red blush spread up across her breasts & neck as her orgasm suffused her entire body, & she cried out.
Her eyes were drawn to the shadow of her lover in the mirror, but as she tried to see his face, she realised a second figure was standing just behind him. The figure approached, the light catching his face. Jack. Her husband.
She gasped, turning her head to see whom it was behind her. Tears of shame rolling down his face was her stepson Paul; she felt his manhood buried deep inside her, filling her as she had never been before, heard him crying softly, ‘why?’ Jack was now at his son’s side & in unison they began to shake their heads, both their faces a mask of betrayal; together they accused & inquired, repeating over & over, ‘why, why?’
‘Why what?’
Stacey opened her eyes, & for a brief moment felt that dislocated sensation that comes from waking suddenly. She looked to her side. Jack, still half asleep was looking down at her with eyes barely open. ‘You kept saying why’, he yawned. ‘Why what?’
‘Nothing baby’, she said. ‘Go back to sleep, it was just a bad dream’.
He turned over, muttering something about ‘ 3rd time this week’, before his breathing slowed & deepened, telling her that he had fallen back into his usual deep, deep sleep.
She stared up at the moonlit ceiling & tried to sort the jumble of images that were circling in her mind. She had no doubt where the nightmare had come from, she had been having variations on the same theme over & over. What horrified her most was the aftermath of the dream; the sticky wetness of her vagina, the hard nipples that were poking against her cotton t-shirt, the dryness of her mouth that spoke of her excitement. The same type of dream, the same sexually charged content, the same signs of betrayal from her aroused body; every night for a month. The same long month that had passed since she had sexually molested her stepson in the shower. That’s what she had done, she told herself, she had molested her baby, abused him, destroying his life in a moment of sexual gratification.
She rose quietly & padded across to the en-suite, closing the door behind her before turning on the light above the bathroom cabinet. She sat on the toilet bending forward to rest her head on her knees. Immediately she could smell the musky scent of her arousal, & she sat bolt upright, the smell triggering visions from her dream. Lifting her t-shirt she studied her vagina. She had always kept her pussy hair trimmed, & her outer lips were clearly visible; puffy & inflamed, they glistened with her juices. Almost of their own accord her fingers brushed against them. They were tender to the touch, sensitive beyond belief, almost painful, & as her fingertips stroked them they slowly opened.
She began to breathe more heavily, one hand now inside her t-shirt stroking her breasts; her dream filled her mind, & as she slipped one finger into her hot pussy she gasped at the wet heat. Sliding her sticky finger to the top of her slit she traced a circle around her clit. Biting her lip to stay quiet she moaned at the sensation; her head thrown back, eyes closed, she saw Paul’s face flash into her mind. The vision filled her with conflicting emotions, lust & disgust fighting for control; her finger was now directly on her clit, & as her orgasm rushed toward her, lust won, & she whispered his name. As her legs began to tremble she spread them wide, opening herself up further, exposing her sopping pussy to the world. Panting with exertion she pushed three bunched fingers into her cunt, while the other hand milked her long clit, drawing the orgasm out of her with each squeeze.
Wiping herself clean she crept back to the bed, once again filled with self-loathing at her lack of control. She turned on her side & buried her face in the pillow. Closing her eyes, she wished for the millionth time that she knew what to do, & as she had almost every night for 4-weeks, she cried herself to sleep.
The morning brought no relief; Jack as usual was up & out before six, & the waking nightmare of another breakfast with Paul awaited her. She never knew how it would be, sometimes he would simply ignore her, other times he would try to approach her, the look of hurt on his face as she spurned him, heart breaking to her; other times would bring the accusations, the threats, but without fail every morning ended the same – him storming out of the house, her sobbing at the kitchen table.
