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It was almost nine by the clock on the fridge, and Mark Dehner hoped his sister would be down soon. She never slept late on Saturday unless she was out late, and even then she was up and out before ten, off to work at The Gap. Mark prayed she would be down soon; if she wasn’t then all of this preparation would be — well, not a waste of time exactly, but not what he’d had in mind either.
He placed the full filter into the coffee machine and turned it on. There. That should be brewing in a minute or two — now back to the eggs. Over-easy, not his specialty. He was having to keep a constant watch on the little bastards. Now where was that tray . . .
Yes. Oh, wonderful. Lara’s foot on the stairs.
There she was, her golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, her clothes only slightly less slutty than usual — for her, that meant formal attire. Tight off-white shirt he could see her bra through, the tightest of jeans, a silver-chain belt showing off her slender waist. She paused momentarily at the bottom of the stairs to regard him.
“What the hell are you doing?” she spat, making it sound like she was amazed he was doing anything.
“What’s it look like?” he said. “Making breakfast.”
Lara rolled her eyes slightly, gave him her best you’re-a-moron look, and said, “Uh, you don’t drink coffee, dipshit.”
“Making mom breakfast,” he corrected.
“Mother’s Day was a week ago.”
“Yes, it was.”
Oh my god,” said Lara, her face now panicky. “It’s not her birthday, is it?”
“No, Lara. You don’t have to wait till someone’s birthday or a national fucking holiday to be nice to them. You should try it sometime.”
“Oh, fuck you too.” After another moment, Lara said “What’s with you, anyway? You have some kinda religious conversion or something?”
“Because you’re acting weird lately. Oh wait, I know . . . You’re failin’ chemistry, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Uh, no I’m not.”
“Yes you are, you big fat liarhead!”
Mark smiled and flipped over an egg. “Well, you just go on thinking that if you like.”
“You are, you’re wiping out in Chem!”
“Oh, brother. So you get up and make mom coffee and eggs and bacon. That’s your way of buttering her up. What a retard.” Lara deftly snatched one bacon slice from the pan and headed for the door.
“Love you too, bitch.”
The front door closed behind her. Seconds later Mark heard the chirp of her car alarm being deactivated.
Failing chemistry: what an idea, he thought. True, he had been doing pretty poorly in Mr. Jacobs’ class a month or so ago. Mainly because he sat behind, and one row to the left of, Marilyn Adams in that class. Many, many formulas and equations had drifted right over his head and out the window while he admired the glorious curve of her butt in tight shorts, or checked out her long legs, or nearly came in his pants when she put the tip of her pencil in her mouth. But that was then, and then was a long time ago. Now, able to concentrate more clearly, he was at last understanding chemistry. His buddies also worshipped at the altar of Marilyn Adamson; when they saw his grades they’d be sure he’d turned gay.
Whir-r-r-r. Whir-r-r-r-r-r. The sound of Lara’s engine trying to start.
Oh shit, thought Mark. Start, you bastard, start.
Come on! Don’t flood it, you crazy bitch!
Whir-r-r-r-r . . .vvvrrrooooommmmmm!
Yes. Oh thank you God, thought Mark. He left the sputtering bacon to watch his sister’s departure through the living room curtains. That’s right. Keep going. Halle-fucking-lujah.
Quickly, he returned to the eggs. Just right, he thought. Bacon? Good enough. Okay, onto the plate, plate onto the tray. Coffee in the cup, one sugar. Good . . . but something’s missing.
Being careful to open and close the door silently, Mark stole out into the yard to clip one magnolia flower for the breakfast tray. He was glad he hadn’t forgotten. No way could he have done that with Lara around — she’d know something was up.
Before taking the tray upstairs to his mother’s room, he made double sure the doors were locked, and bolted.
“Mom?” he whispered at the door of her room. It was open slightly, he pushed it gently with the tray. “Mom?”
There she was, well-snuggled into the covers, like a little girl. All but her tousled head and one arm were buried beneath the big comforter. Lying there, snoring softly, with the ghost of a smile about her pouty lips, she was the very picture of sweet innocence and leisure. Mark put the tray down on the bedside table and sat next to her.
“Hey,” he said softly, kissing her bare shoulder. “Wake up. Lara’s gone.”
Melinda Dehner was dreaming. It seemed like the dream had gone on forever: sweet, slow dreams. She had heard that dreaming in color was a rarity. That was nothing. Not only were her dreams in color, they were even in bahis firmaları slow motion sometimes. And she could smell things in her dreams. Vividly, like she was really there.
In her dream this morning, they were castaways. That probably came from watching The Blue Lagoon together the other night. They had been alone on the beautiful, lush island for many days, and had long ago stopped bothering with clothes. There was no one around to see them, to interfere. The island smelled of coconuts and palm trees, and salty sea air, and pineapples and mangoes. There was probably no island that really smelled this good, but this was her dream, and it was all real.
They had been out in the surf, playing. It was a glorious day, and she could feel the warm embrace of the sun on her limbs. Her body was younger, fitter in her dream, and she loved the way he looked at it. Her body gave him a hungry expression that made her wet with desire, so that now, as she collapsed on the shoreline, and spread out her dripping, tanned legs for him, and his face lit up, she felt a stirring in her stomach, and a thrill passed through her chest. She smiled delightedly as he dropped to his knees before her, his body also bronzed and dripping, and knelt to lap at her crotch.
Now came the slo-mo part . . . With agonizing slowness he bent his face to her offered pussy, and dragged his tongue up and down the furry slit. She reveled in the delicious sensations, running her fingers through his damp brown ringlets in encouragement, grinding her butt into the powdery sand. And there, there was that smile, that wonderful smile, lighting up every corner of his lovely face . . .
“Mom . . . hey . . . wake up, sleepy.”
Yes. That face, her son Mark’s.
The coconuts, the salt sea air faded, to be replaced by more familiar smells: coffee, bacon, toast? Yes, there — on the nightstand. What an angel.
“I made you some breakfast,” he said. “Lara’s gone.”
“You sure?” was all his mother said, but she smiled beautifully, and squirmed luxuriously.
“Positive. Locked the door behind her.”
“Mmmmm . . . ,” she purred, and brought her other hand out from beneath the sheets, reaching for the front of his shorts.
Mark thrilled and stood up to assist her. She constantly surprised him. He had hoped to create a cozy atmosphere in her bedroom that morning, to ease her into their day with breakfast and coffee, then to spend a leisurely hour or so beside her. But this sleepy urgency was better than he had hoped for. He had barely unbuttoned and unzipped before she was grasping at his dick, rapidly hardening inside his underwear. My God, he thought, she’s barely even awake! But there she was, easing up on one elbow to smile sleepily at his cock, to take its throbbing head into her warm mouth. He combed a few strands of her brown hair behind her ear as she sucked him in, stood beside the bed and watched as she slowly devoured him, felt his knees weaken, heard himself moan as the delicious suction increased. He leaned forward so she could suck him with her head still on the pillow, and she now used her free hand to hold his balls. Her other hand, he noticed, had disappeared beneath the covers.
Mark rapidly peeled off his tee shirt and gingerly kicked off his sandals, being careful not to disturb his mother. When she had engulfed nearly five inches of him in her mouth, she moaned in a long, low tone, sending a buzzing sensation through his entire body that nearly made him cum. This was wonderful, so fucking wonderful. He had never dreamed anything like this.
He was so hard, he filled her mouth, and he was all hers! Melinda flicked a loving eye up and down his frame as he got naked for her, noting his bare chest, his tight little belly. He was young, he was fit. Oh, not as fit as some other boys at his school, he was no jock. But younger, fitter, more beautiful than anything she’d seen in a long time. And he was so hard, and she was doing it to him. She was loving his dick, so much bigger, stronger than she’d thought it would be, and he was happy, he was loving her for it. She could see it in his eyes.
She could also feel it in her mouth. One throb, two — he was close. She knew it, could feel it, could hear his quickened breathing above her. Sometimes when Melinda got him this close, she liked to stop, just to see what he would do. As hot as her dream had gotten her, as urgently as she was rubbing herself beneath the sheets, as much as she wanted to taste his cum, she stopped now, popping his cock from her mouth with the sound of a champagne cork.
There, she thought, smiling up at him. Now what would he do?
Before she had time to guess he was at it. What a wonderful boy. What a sweet boy. He didn’t grumble, didn’t complain. Didn’t grab himself and jerk off on her face (although in truth, Melinda thought she might not mind that sometime). In an instant he was at the foot of the bed, scurrying under the covers to crawl up between her legs. She sighed and wiggled her ass hedonistically kaçak iddaa against the covers, almost able to imagine herself back on that beach. In seconds she could feel his hot breath on her thighs, felt him wrenching aside the crotch of her panties to bury his face in her moist curls.
What a treasure, she thought, as she felt his tongue plunge into her. Such a good lover he was becoming. Not thinking of himself, not even touching himself — his hands were under her buttcheeks. Just concerned with her pleasure. He was having a tough time with the panties; she eased her butt off the bed so that he could drag them down. An instant later his tongue was back in her, lashing. His lips were sucking her in. He was always frantic at first: a few frenzied seconds of devouring her and he’d slow down, start to kiss and nuzzle her clit, and tongue-stroke her channel the way she’d taught him.
Had David ever been so considerate, so careful of her pleasure? She thought he may have been, when they were very young. She made herself push the thought from her head. She did not want to think of Mark’s father — his lies, his cruelty — but of Mark. Of her own baby boy, now doing his level best to suck the whole of her cunt into his mouth.
There. Now he was slowing, now he remembered. Up and down. Round and round — ohhhh — that was nice. Ooooh, God in heaven yes. Oh Jesus oh baby —
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” she muttered, unable to contain it. “Oh baby, that’s right . . .”
Wonderful, incredible. She let go of his head and ran her palms along both sides of her tits, rubbing the silky material of her nightgown over her nipples. Electric. Rippling little shocks all the way down to her pussy, the pussy he was licking and tonguing so sweetly. Good, she thought, observing the little points her nipples made in the gown, but not good enough. She slipped the straps down over her arms, hauled out her heavy breasts. Yes, they were big, not as tight and firm as she’d like. But he liked them. Oh yes. The tips of her fingers, round and round each nipple. The tip of Mark’s tongue, round and round her button. Oh my god yes. She pinched her nipples hard, wrenched at them. Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Mark loved her tits. He gobbled them up, every chance he got. She imagined his dick between them now, imagined it throbbing and spurting, her hard nipples covered with his boiling cum . . .
“Oooohh,” she moaned. “Oh god . . .”
He had stopped! Was he learning her tricks now? Was he able to sense when she was close, holding off to tease her?
No. He was just coming up to see her now. Here he was, all breathless and pussy-soaked. His grinning face, his bright eyes. That look: was that good, mommy? Are you proud of me? She’d seen that look since he was a little boy, but never imagined it could be so exciting. She kissed his flushed face, noted the slickness of his bare chin. Poor kid, he smelled like a pussy factory.
Oh! She shuddered violently. He had bumped into her, below. Such a hard, hot bump, against her tender lips. My god, he was so, so hard. He was so, so wonderful. He wanted her so bad.
He still had trouble sliding into her. No matter, he would learn. Right now she rather enjoyed reaching down, taking the hot wet shaft and guiding it into her. She felt him now, like an iron bar in her hand. There. Yes, and now here it comes. Here it comes. This was going to be good . . . ooooooooohhhhh . . .
Melinda almost came just feeling him slide in. Objectively, she knew he wasn’t hugely blessed in the dick department. His father hadn’t been so, either. But what a difference when he slid into her. He always got her so hot and bothered that when he at last entered he seemed to go on forever. There were inches and inches of him sliding into her pussy and he just kept coming. Juice ran from her pussy, onto the sheet; they were making quite a wet spot beneath them.
There. All the way in. Oh god all the way in.
He was looking at her, tenderly, almost shyly. She smiled and stroked her fingers across his nipples: a throb from his cock, in appreciation. Like her, his nipples were very sensitive. Now back, and forth. Back and forth. She ran her hands up and down his strong back, over his tight little buttocks. So smooth and clean. She loved the feel of his firm little body against hers. Loved to feel his taut frame working, his tense belly rubbing her as his cock plunged in and out, in and out . . .
Oh. Oh yes he was going to cum. She could feel it, could see the smile fade from his mouth, that wonderful dazed look. Inside her, his cock grew impossibly hard.
“Yes!” she told him, running her fingers rapidly across his stiff little nipples. “Yes, baby, yes! Do it! Cum in me!”
Incredible, oh so good so good. Throb, throb, throb, while his hot essence splashed her pussy walls. Throb, throb, while he panted and groaned, gritted his teeth, put his head back. “Oh fuck — fuck,” he whispered, as though afraid she would hear him. Throb. Throb. His body shuddered all over. kaçak bahis She hugged his hot, sweaty face to her breasts and cradled him, savoring every last spasm of his prick. With her pussy she grasped his convulsing cock, milking him, taking everything. Wonderful.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he panted. “I just couldn’t hold it.”
“Oh baby don’t you dare say you’re sorry, it’s fine, it’s wonderful. Ohhhh . . .”
She lay there a full minute, trying to keep his shrinking cock inside her. At last only the tip remained between her pussy lips. His breathing had steadied. He lifted his head from her flushed chest and looked into her eyes, long and intently. They shared their first real kiss of the morning.
“I think your breakfast is probably cold,” he said, chuckling.
“I’m sure it is — that’s fine, baby. You’re so sweet to fix it for me. Tell you what,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “We’ll just call you my first breakfast.”
Again they kissed.
“I’ll go pour you some more coffee,” he said, sliding off of her. “And see if I can warm up your second.”
“Thanks, hun,” she smiled.
“Then it’ll be your turn,” he added, with a mischievous laugh.
“Mmm — can’t wait,” she said.
She lay still and watched his beautiful naked butt as he walked out of her room. The sweetheart. She hoped he’d remembered to draw the blinds downstairs.
Still tingling from her wonderful wake-up call, Melinda rolled out of the bed, and drew back the comforter. Christ, she thought, chuckling to herself. What a poor housekeeper she was getting to be. It wasn’t just that there was a huge wet spot where her son had fucked her that morning. There were half a dozen broad stains on the sheets, from where he’d fucked her Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday . . . These were the sheets of honeymooners. Very messy, but also, very wonderful. She cupped her fingers beneath her pussy; his sperm was starting to run out of her. With one hand she found her discarded panties and cleaned herself up. Gosh, what a filthy sheet. If Lara had seen that, thought Melinda.
Oh, Lara. What to do about her Lara. She hadn’t caught on so far, miraculously. Little did she dream what went on in this house, just two rooms from her own. And it had been going on for . . . a month now, was it? Had it really been that long? Yes, a month since it began. Absently, Melinda Dehner looked over her naked shoulder at a spot on the bedroom wall: an odd place, where two edges of the wallpaper came together imperfectly. It was so hard to see, you had to move your head — there, that little glimmer. That was where it all started.
“Mom?” came Mark’s voice from the doorway.
She started and looked at him. He was still naked, still smiling, and his dick was raging hard again.
“I think I’d better just make you lunch instead,” he said sheepishly.
Melinda sighed deeply and tucked the corner of the sheet back under the mattress. Then she crawled onto the bed on her knees, rested her elbows on the mattress, and thrust her ass high into the air.
What a wonderful boy, she thought.
Actually, it all started with a noise coming through a wall.
Mark sat at the desk in his bedroom. It was late, his door was locked, his dick was out. Before him lay a shimmering, smiling naked blonde, her pert tits pointing at the ceiling, her legs gathered up to expose a perfectly shaved snatch to his adoring gaze. So what if she was only ten inches long, and invited his attentions from the pixellated domain of his computer screen? In his mind, she was real enough, and he pulled at his penis contentedly, waiting for a new view of her delectable body to download.
Mark Dehner — only recently eighteen years of age. Reasonably bright, reasonably studious, neither a dope nor a brain. An honor student in English. Passing trig. Failing chemistry, thanks to Marilyn Adamson. No sports affiliation — not enough muscle there to be a jock, not enough raw material to turn into muscle. Tall (six foot one) but painfully thin (one fifty-five). Possibly cute, certainly not handsome. No current girlfriend. No past girlfriends worth discussing.
Nicknamed “Neo,” by his gaming buddies. Nicknamed “Dork,” by his sister and his sister’s friends.
Nicknamed nothing by Marilyn Adamson, because he didn’t exist to her. Ditto for Sandra Coy, Lana Davies, Kim Butcher, Livia Barfield, etcetera. These were girls, oh so impossibly beautiful girls, who existed on some other plane, who belonged to the same dimension as the girl before him now. There was no getting to these girls — not by his kind, anyway. He made the most of it. He downloaded their replicas into his lap every chance he got, and enjoyed the way they smiled approvingly while he coaxed his cock to orgasm.
The girl before him now, for instance — she adored his dick, and desperately craved his cum. The flashing logo at the top of the page assured him this was so. It also promised more action to be had (“Wanna see her get fucked — hard? Free Trial Memberships Now For Just $4.99!”). Not for the first time that night, Mark longed for access to a credit card, though he was sure he would max it out in a day, regardless of the limit.
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